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Winning gold didn’t come as a surprise to Dazai. He was confident in his abilities, and he’d come back to figure skating with a renewed passion for the sport. Still, it was his first year back after almost leaving and he was grateful that it had gone so well, and that he could actually feel proud of everything he’d done to get there.

He was also happy to be sharing the podium with Chuuya.

Chuuya looked both overjoyed and like he couldn’t believe what had happened. He’d won bronze at the national championships after a year of struggling. It was a huge difference from last year’s nationals, where he was injured to the point of thinking he’d have to give up his career as a figure skater.

Dazai found Chuuya after they both managed to get away from the press. They’d both changed and were ready to go home. The Japanese Olympic figure skating team would be announced in less than 24 hours.

Chuuya grinned at him. Dazai got the feeling that Chuuya couldn’t stop smiling, and that made him smile too. He hadn’t seen Chuuya look so happy in a long time. It was like he didn’t even care that Dazai had beat him. A year ago he would’ve been furious.

Now he could barely contain his excitement, and it spilled over enough that Chuuya threw his arms around Dazai and kissed him.

Dazai tensed in surprise, his mind going blank for a moment as he tried to process what had just happened. Chuuya pulled away before he could do anything.

“Thank you,” he said breathlessly.

Dazai smiled at Chuuya through his shock. “It was nice competing against you again. And winning.”

Chuuya swatted his arm. “Next time you won’t be so lucky.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Dazai said.

They looked at each other for a moment, still standing close. Dazai’s thoughts were racing. Chuuya opened his mouth to say something, and then another skater came around the corner.

“Dazai-san, are we going?” Nakajima Atsushi, the skater who had gotten silver, looked like he was also caught up in the thrill of a win as he walked towards them.

Dazai took a step back from Chuuya.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at Chuuya. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Chuuya nodded.

That night, Dazai could barely sleep. Part of it was that he was waiting for the call that would tell him he was on the Olympic team. The other thing keeping him from sleeping was Chuuya.

He didn’t know how Chuuya felt.

He could dismiss the kiss as something that Chuuya had done in the excitement of the moment. He knew that was a stupid thought.

He tried to make sense of his own feelings. Over the past year, he and Chuuya had gotten to know each other as friends rather than competitors. Dazai’s instincts were telling him not to get close to Chuuya.

But he already was close to Chuuya.

He didn’t know if he could figure out how he felt before he saw Chuuya again, and that worried him.

*

As it turned out, Dazai didn’t need to figure anything out, because the news of the Olympic team assignments distracted him from everything else.

It distracted Chuuya, too.

Dazai got the call early in the morning that he was on the team. They didn’t tell him who else was. They were probably waiting for people to confirm before making the announcement.

The announcement came two hours later, and Dazai had a sinking feeling when he looked at the results.

The Olympic team would consist of himself, Nakajima Atsushi, and Akutagawa Ryuunosuke. Akutagawa had gotten fourth place in the competition the previous night, but he was otherwise a fierce competitor.

There were three alternates named as well. Chuuya was the first alternate, with Kunikida Doppo and Miyazawa Kenji as the second and third.

Dazai knew that was a poor consolation prize. Chuuya wasn’t on the team.

He had been so sure that Chuuya would make the team. He’d gotten so caught up in Chuuya’s excitement that he forgot to look at things from a more unbiased point of view.

Not making the Olympic team at their age was a tough pill to swallow. Dazai would have been pissed off if he were in Chuuya’s position.

He decided to call Chuuya. When he did, Chuuya didn’t answer. Dazai called again. And again.

No matter how many times Dazai called, Chuuya wouldn’t answer his phone.

*

After a morning of interviews, phone calls, and congratulations, Dazai slipped away from practice and took a walk.

Chuuya hadn’t shown up at practice, not that Dazai expected him to after the earlier announcement.

Dazai was annoyed even if he’d expected this. Chuuya had retreated after his injury, and it looked like he was doing the same now. Dazai knew that Chuuya would need time to process this, but he didn’t want Chuuya to wallow in self pity.

He wasn’t sure how to help him.

He stopped at a cafe to get lunch and to think over how he wanted to approach this. Chuuya wouldn’t take meaningless platitudes well. He would want honesty.

Dazai’s thoughts returned to the kiss, despite the current situation. Chuuya tended to go wherever his emotions took him without thinking--it was one of his most endearing features but also one of the most frustrating. It certainly didn’t help him when skating.

But the kiss had been nice. Dazai could admit that now.

He couldn’t deny that they’d gotten closer over the years. Once again he thought about whether Chuuya meant the kiss as an indication of what he wanted for their future, or if it had just been something he felt in that moment that would pass later. Dazai was inclined to think Chuuya had wanted something more of their relationship.

It didn’t matter now. Dazai didn’t think that Chuuya was thinking about the kiss at all now.

Once he was finished with lunch, he called Chuuya a third time.

This time Chuuya picked up.

“Dazai?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai said, and then he realized he didn’t have anything else to say. Asking “how are you?” seemed stupid.

“Congratulations,” Chuuya said, and Dazai was surprised by the way he said it. There was no bitterness there. Chuuya was genuinely happy for Dazai.

“Thanks,” Dazai said. He swallowed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Chuuya said. Dazai could tell he was lying from the way his voice sounded a bit too light. “I just don’t want to get questioned by everyone once I leave the apartment.”

“So you’re coming to practice tomorrow,” Dazai said.

“Yeah.” Chuuya’s voice held an edge.

“Look,” Dazai said, “you don’t have to pretend to be okay with it. You know-”

“It was a fair decision,” Chuuya said, and now his voice sounded flat. “Akutagawa performed better internationally. I got fourth at the Grand Prix. He got bronze. He did well at last year’s Nationals, too. And he’s never been to the Olympics before. He has more of a chance of getting a medal.”

Those were all true, except the last point. “Why does he have more of a chance of getting a medal, Chuuya?” Dazai asked.

Chuuya faltered. “His program...is more technically difficult. He’s insanely competitive.”

That was true. Dazai and Chuuya had both briefly trained with Akutagawa under Mori, and Mori had taken advantage of Akutagawa’s need to prove himself no matter the cost.

“You were thinking of adding difficulty to your program,” Dazai pointed out. Chuuya was also competitive, but not nearly as much as Akutagawa.

“It doesn’t really matter at this point,” Chuuya said. “What’s the point of going over who’s more likely to get a medal and why if the decision’s already been made?”

Dazai couldn’t really argue against that. “You’re still an alternate. I don’t want you to give up just because of this.”

“Just because of this,” Chuuya repeated. “It’s not exactly a small thing.”

“It’s one competition,” Dazai said.

“It’s the Olympics,” Chuuya snapped. “It’s easy for you to dismiss it because you’re going.”

Dazai wanted to argue. He hated that Chuuya was right, but he hated the idea of Chuuya giving up more.

Before he could say anything, Chuuya said, “I’ll figure it out,” and hung up.

Dazai groaned. “Chuuya, you idiot,” he muttered to himself.

On the surface, it seemed like Dazai couldn’t relate to Chuuya’s struggle. But Dazai had also almost given up on his career. It had been more of a choice in his case, but a lot of it had been influenced by an unhealthy environment and his own depression. Those were things he had to change and overcome, and it had taken a year of rebuilding himself to do it.

To everyone else, it simply looked like Dazai took a year off and came back just as good as before, if not better. It looked easy. Figure skating was meant to look easy, so that people wouldn’t see the struggle that got the skaters on the ice in the first place. No one wanted to see the hard parts.

Dazai still went to therapy. It had been the hardest part of getting himself back on his feet. He’d never opened up to anyone before, and opening up to a stranger went against every instinct Dazai had. The first few sessions were like pulling teeth, painful for both him and the therapist.

It wasn’t a physical battle, but it was still a battle. A hard one. It wasn’t until six months in that Dazai had a breakthrough. There were times when he thought he’d never go back to skating. There were times where he couldn’t see the point in living. It had been hard to move past those things.

The idea of telling Chuuya all that was terrifying, even if it would help him help Chuuya.

Dazai had kept his struggles to himself because he felt like bringing up his past issues would take away from Chuuya’s current ones. But he realized he hadn’t really wanted to make himself vulnerable. Which wasn’t fair. Chuuya had made himself incredibly vulnerable over the past year. He’d put a lot of trust in Dazai.

And Dazai hadn’t given him the same honesty.

He knew he’d helped, but now Chuuya’s problems had moved beyond physical injury. This situation was more of a psychological one. Something Dazai could relate to, but he didn’t want to admit it.

Dazai didn’t have Chuuya’s anxiety problem, but he knew what it was like to feel like nothing was enough.

The idea of telling Chuuya that terrified him.

So he didn’t.

He was sure Chuuya would figure it out.

*

Chuuya did show up to practice the next day, and it didn’t go well.

Clearly, he couldn’t leave his emotions off the ice, and it frustrated him. He fell on most of his jumps. He struggled with spins. Dazai’s hopes that Chuuya would sort himself out were falling apart.

Chuuya eventually skated towards the exit and headed to the locker rooms. Dazai muttered an apology to Fukuzawa and followed him.

When he got there, Chuuya was already struggling to take off his skates. He fumbled with the knots. Dazai leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest, watching him. He was both waiting for Chuuya to notice him and trying to figure out what to say. He’d never been good at this. He’d never cared enough before.

Chuuya glared up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out why you’re suddenly so bad at skating,” Dazai said.

“Are you kidding me?” Chuuya said, and Dazai realized he’d said the wrong thing. “We both know what’s wrong.” He managed to get one skate off and turned his attention to the other.

Whatever Dazai wanted to say stuck in his throat.

“You’re better than this,” he said instead. Chuuya’s head shot up, but Dazai had already walked out.

*

Back when they were coached under Mori, Chuuya had been used as an example of what not to do.

They were both on the ice for a practice, sixteen years old, and Mori wouldn’t stop talking. Dazai had learned to tune him out for the most part. Chuuya hadn’t.

Chuuya was the primary target of this particular talk.

Dazai’s practice had been going well, so he was annoyed that they’d stopped because Chuuya couldn’t pull himself together. He was upset about losing a competition that Dazai won. He’d fallen in his free program.

“This is exactly why you lost, Chuuya-kun,” Mori was saying. “This is why Dazai-kun has surpassed you in every competition this season. You let your feelings get in the way of your skating. If you can’t reign them in, then perhaps you’re wasting everyone’s time.”

Chuuya stood with his fists clenched at his sides, mouth set in a thin line. He was trying not to react to Mori’s words, because it would only prove Mori’s point.

“Artistry means nothing if you can’t master the technical aspects of the sport,” Mori continued. “Your program is as good as worthless if you let your nerves get the better of you. Perhaps you should talk to Dazai-kun about how to proceed.”

Dazai almost said something. He didn’t want to talk to Chuuya.

“There is no use continuing to train someone for whom training would be of no use,” Mori said. “The way you’re going, you will continue to fail. I can’t have that.”

Dazai recognized the words for what they were: an ultimatum. Chuuya would have to start showing results, and soon, because otherwise Mori would drop him. It wasn’t an empty threat. Mori had dropped other skaters before. He was known for letting go of anyone who didn’t succeed by his standards, and his standards were high.

“Tomorrow I would like to see some improvement.” They were dismissed. Dazai followed Chuuya to the locker room, a bit curious about how Chuuya would react once they were out of Mori’s sight.

Mori valued technicality over artistry because the technical aspects of figure skating earned more points. Artistry was judged on a more subjective basis, and therefore couldn’t be counted on to win.

This made Dazai wonder why Mori had decided to train Chuuya in the first place. Chuuya had talent, that was true, but his talent was more in the artistic aspects of skating. When it came to the more difficult technical aspects, he could be wildly inconsistent. Dazai was the one Mori depended on to always be good, because Dazai was always good.

That kind of pressure would have made Chuuya panic. It just made Dazai tired.

Chuuya’s hands were shaking when he tried to untie his skates. Dazai sat on the same bench, but a few feet away, unlacing his own skates. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chuuya’s foot drop, and then Chuuya rested his elbows on his knees, putting his face in his hands.

Dazai raised his head to look at Chuuya. Chuuya wasn’t just resting his face in his hands. His fingers had curled into his hair, pulling on it. He was shaking. Dazai could hear his stuttering breaths in the silence of the locker room.

Chuuya was trying not to cry.

The only thing Dazai felt was a vague sense of irritation.

Chuuya wasted a lot of time during practice. If he cared so much, why couldn’t he do better?

Dazai finished undoing his skates and put his shoes on. Sometimes people mentioned that Dazai and Chuuya trained together as if it was supposed to mean anything. Early on in their training, Chuuya tried to be supportive, until Dazai made him realized that Chuuya supporting him was also Chuuya preparing himself to lose. That was the impression Dazai got from Mori.

He stood up and took one last look at Chuuya, who hadn’t moved. He wondered if he should feel something else, because Chuuya could barely contain his emotions. He wondered if something was wrong with him because he didn’t feel anything except tired.

He knew why Chuuya reacted the way he did. Skating was Chuuya’s life. It would be his career. He’d dedicated almost all of his time and energy to the sport. If that all came to nothing, then that was years wasted.

Dazai walked out of the locker room. Skating was his life, too. But he didn’t feel like his life would fall apart if he stopped. He would be disappointed, but maybe it would be a relief.

Chuuya’s problems had the annoying ability of making Dazai wonder if there was something wrong with himself.

He was wondering that as he left the rink that day.

*

If there was one thing that could be said for Chuuya back then and now, it was that he still came to practice.

Even if he was doing badly, he still showed up. Dazai hoped every day following the announcement of the Olympic team that Chuuya would skate better, but he didn’t. It wasn’t like he wasn’t trying. That was the worst part. Chuuya was trying so hard, but something was bothering him and he couldn’t shake it.

Dazai thought about how Chuuya acted in the past. He didn’t know how Chuuya got over his fears and his failures when Mori was his coach. Mori pushed him to his limit, and maybe past it. Maybe Chuuya had broken down and somehow that helped. Dazai doubted it. He got the feeling that Chuuya had succeeded out of sheer desperation.

It would explain why he was never able to pull off a completely consistent season.

After a week of crappy practices, Dazai realized that Chuuya had never found a good way to deal with his problems. And without the incentive of the Olympics, he wasn’t scared enough to try to succeed out of desperation.

Dazai assumed that Chuuya never talked to anyone about this. He must have seen it as a personal failing. Dazai’s problems were different, but he could relate to a few things that Chuuya must be feeling. The one thing Dazai knew for sure was that talking about his problems helped. He still didn’t like opening up, and it took him a while to open up to his therapist, but it did help in the end.

It was hard. That was why he didn’t want to talk to Chuuya. But Chuuya had trusted Dazai to help him before, and that made Dazai think that he would be able to get through to Chuuya again.

And Chuuya had kissed him.

That meant Chuuya felt a lot for him. It meant Chuuya cared about him. Chuuya wasn’t the sort of person who made meaningless gestures. Chuuya had given him a lot. He’d put everything out in the open, even if it left him vulnerable.

It was time for Dazai to do the same.

This time when he found Chuuya in the locker room, Chuuya had already changed.

“Can you stay for a bit?” Dazai asked.

Chuuya had already pulled his bag over his shoulder, but he set it down. “Sure.”

Dazai mentally prepared himself as he took off his skates. Chuuya remained silent.

After a few minutes Dazai stood up. “I can walk you home.”

Chuuya’s expression was guarded. “What do you want?”

“Can’t I walk you home?” Dazai asked. “We used to do that a lot. Walk home together.”

“Dazai.”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Dazai said.

“Talk to me,” Chuuya said. “About what? How I’m still shitty during practice? Don’t worry, I know.” He looked like he wanted to walk out.

“I mean, that is what I wanted to talk to you about,” Dazai said, “but I’m not…” He struggled for the words. “I don’t blame you.”

Chuuya narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t being understanding the other day,” Dazai said. “I know you’re really upset about not making the Olympic team. And I guess you’ve hit a wall.”

“How do you know how I feel?” Chuuya asked.

“Anyone with eyes could see how you feel,” Dazai said. “But you don’t know how to move past it, right?”

Chuuya looked away. “And you do?”

“I do, actually,” Dazai said. Chuuya opened his mouth to say something but Dazai added, “I told you that Fukuzawa made me get therapy when he became my coach.”

“Yeah,” Chuuya said.

Dazai sat down. He got the feeling they weren’t leaving any time soon. “I didn’t think I had a problem. Which is why I couldn’t move forward. Because I thought that since I didn’t feel things as strongly as you, I must be okay.”

Chuuya sat as well.

“You’re one step ahead of me I think,” Dazai said. “You know you have some issues. Maybe not exactly what they are, but you can admit it.”

Chuuya frowned, but he didn’t say anything.

“I couldn’t even admit it,” Dazai said. “I thought that I just was tired of everything, and that’s not normal. I thought there was no point to anything, even figure skating, which I should have cared about more because it was my life. You worked so hard and you got so worked up about it and I wouldn’t have minded if I never skated again. It just seemed endless. There was always another season, always another competition, always some way I could do better. It really wore me down. It made me feeling like nothing I did would be enough. But I didn’t think about that, because that’s what we all signed up for.”

“You got tired enough to quit,” Chuuya said.

Dazai nodded. “I’d either medaled or won every competition there was to win,” he said, “and even then Mori wasn’t satisfied. I was skating for him and I didn’t want to anymore. I couldn’t see it ending, so I left. Looking back on it, I was pretty depressed.”

“You came back to skating,” Chuuya said.

“Yeah, because when I had nothing to do, I felt even worse,” Dazai said. “I started thinking things like, what’s the point of living?” Chuuya winced at that. “Sometimes I went skating at the rink to feel like I was doing something, and that’s where I met Fukuzawa. We talked and he told me to go to therapy, and I thought it was stupid but I didn’t have anything better to do so I did. It gave me something to do.”

“And it helped,” Chuuya said.

“It did,” Dazai said. “It was hard, though, to deal with that sort of thing. To find the point in anything. I guess I never learned to do things because I wanted them. I think you also have that problem.”

“What?”

“That’s why I’m telling you all this,” Dazai said. “We were both coached by the same person. We pretty much grew up in the same environment. And I know for a fact that you never feel like what you do is good enough. I wanted you to know that I do understand some of it. Not all of it. I don’t get anxious. I just got tired. You’ve already figured out that you love skating as a way to express yourself. I had to figure that out. I was never injured, and I haven’t dealt with having my problems affect my skating. But I can understand.”

Chuuya took this all in. Dazai waited. He was oddly nervous. He wondered if this was how Chuuya felt when he felt anxious. He wanted this to help.

“Thank you,” Chuuya said, “for telling me that. I guess...I guess I’m still in the mindset that Mori put me in, and the injury made it worse. I have to be good, or else there’s no point, you know?”

Dazai nodded. He did know. “But you still enjoy skating. You don’t have the be the best.”

Chuuya gave him a thin smile. “That’s hard to believe. I mean, I know that’s true. But I still think about rankings and competitions and results. Even if I enjoy it, that’s all there.”

“I know,” Dazai said. “But...talking about things helps, surprisingly. So I thought it might help you. If you talked about it without me being an ass to you.”

“You not being an ass helps,” Chuuya said, half laughing. Then he sighed. “I just have to get over it, right? It’s kind of stupid.”

“It’s not,” Dazai said. “It makes sense. On the other hand, the Olympics isn’t the only competition that matters.”

Chuuya nodded. “You’re right. It’s not.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, which wasn’t surprising. “It’s not. I still have plenty of other chances to kick your ass.”

Dazai laughed. “Having the chance to kick my ass is one thing. Actually being able to do it is another.”

*

Chuuya’s skating wasn’t perfect over the following week, but it did improve. Each day he made less mistakes. Dazai had helped. It felt nice.

He had to turn his attention away from Chuuya to the Olympics, but it was hard when he started thinking of the kiss. They hadn’t talked about it. They’d talked about everything else except that.

After the last practice of the week, Chuuya pulled Dazai aside. “Are you going home?”

“Yeah,” Dazai said.

“Walk with me?”

Dazai nodded.

Twenty minutes later they were both outside, heading in the general direction of their apartments.

It was chilly out, the air sharp, but it wasn’t so different from how things felt in the ice rink. In some ways winter was comforting like that. It was familiar.

The first few minutes they walked in silence.

“I’ve been thinking,” Chuuya started.

“That’s a first,” Dazai couldn’t help saying.

“I’m ignoring that,” Chuuya said. “I kind of kissed you and left you hanging, didn’t I?”

“You kind of did,” Dazai said. “But a lot happened right after, so I won’t be mad this time.”

“This time,” Chuuya repeated.

“Next time you leave me hanging, I’ll demand an explanation,” Dazai said.

“You’re getting one now,” Chuuya said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I like you.”

“I know,” Dazai said. “Everyone does. I’m very likeable!”

“I take it back,” Chuuya muttered. “I hate you.”

“Don’t be like that,” Dazai said.

“I like you,” Chuuya started again, “as more than a friend. I think...I’d want to try to be something more.”

Dazai had never been in a real relationship. He hadn’t wanted to care about people that way in the past. He hadn’t wanted the distraction. But now the idea didn’t seem so bad.

“Like dating?”

“Yeah, dating.”

Dazai stopped walking and turned towards Chuuya. “I’ll always have to bend down to kiss you, you know. In fact, I think you’ve gotten shorter in the past few years.”

Chuuya’s cheeks turned pink. “Shut up!”

“You know I’m right,” Dazai said. He quickly kissed Chuuya’s lips so that Chuuya wouldn’t protest more about being short.

Chuuya looked like he was trying and failing not to smile.

Dazai couldn’t help smiling too. “I can’t really refuse now, can I? Not to someone I poured my heart out to the other day.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Poured your heart out, huh?”

“I did!” Dazai protested.

Chuuya’s expression turned fond. It was the kind of expression Dazai had never seen directed towards himself before, and he found that he liked it.

“You did,” Chuuya admitted. “It’s only fair.”

Dazai knew what he meant. They had both revealed a lot about themselves to each other over the past year. It was scary.

But Dazai found himself not feeling as scared as he thought he would. He knew why. It was because he trusted Chuuya as much as Chuuya trusted him.

That, he thought, wasn’t a bad way to start a relationship at all.

*

The good thing about Chuuya being an alternate on the Olympic team was that he could accompany Dazai to the Olympics. The bad thing was that he couldn’t stay with the rest of the athletes.

Chuuya described it as feeling like a spare part, and Dazai couldn’t blame him.

Along with the two other alternates, Kunikida Doppo and Miyazawa Kenji, Chuuya didn’t get to stay with the competitors, or be part of the opening ceremony. Dazai, as a result, wouldn’t be seeing much of Chuuya despite him being there. As they separated in the airport, Chuuya gave him a quick kiss.

“I’ll try to see you,” he said, “but don’t go out of your way if you’re busy.” He grinned. “I want you to win so that if I beat you in the future, I can say I beat the Olympic champion.”

“So selfish!” Dazai cried. Chuuya shut him up with another kiss.

Everyone was busy with practice in the lead up to the games. Occasionally Dazai got to watch Chuuya practice. The alternates still trained like they were going to compete, even if it was unlikely that all three would. It was interesting to watch, because they were a diverse group of people.

Dazai was familiar with Chuuya, but the other two he hadn’t seen as much. Kunikida was an older skater, who had taken some time off trying to figure out how to best deal with the quick changes of the sport. Kunikida didn’t do quads, but he was good at putting his passion into his figure skating, and he was otherwise very good technically.

Kenji was the youngest competitor at nationals. Dazai hadn’t seen him skate, but he could tell that Kenji was full of energy. He didn’t seem to mind that he would probably not compete. He just seemed happy to be there at all.

Dazai’s own practices were with Atsushi and Akutagawa. He knew Atsushi pretty well because Fukuzawa trained Atsushi. Akutagawa he had seen in passing when he’d still been with Mori, but Chuuya knew him better. Atsushi and Akutagawa were apparently well acquainted, because they argued a lot. Dazai was happy to stand back and watch them.

The day before the first figure skating event, Akutagawa didn’t show up to practice. Mori also wasn’t around, despite having been an annoying presence the entire time. That was highly unusual. Akutagawa always arrived first and left last. In some ways, he reminded Dazai of Chuuya. The determination was similar.

At some point towards the end of practice, Akutagawa appeared in the seating area. Dazai hadn’t seen him come in, and he wasn’t dressed for practice. Fukuzawa had disappeared and Mori was nowhere in sight.

Dazai and Atsushi looked at each other.

“Should we go over?” Atsushi asked.

Dazai wasn’t sure. He was about to suggest that Atsushi go talk to Akutagawa by himself when Chuuya appeared and headed towards Akutagawa.

That was very weird.

“Stay here,” Dazai said. He skated away before Atsushi could question him.

By the time Dazai managed to make his way up to where Akutagawa and Chuuya were sitting the two had fallen into a deep conversation. Akutagawa abruptly stopped talking when he saw Dazai, his face going paler. Chuuya seemed troubled.

“What’s going on?” Dazai asked, sitting in the row below them. “Is everything okay?”

“Shouldn’t you be practicing?” Akutagawa asked, a little harshly.

“Shouldn’t you?” Dazai shot back.

“Guys,” Chuuya said. “We were actually talking about tomorrow.”

Dazai glanced between the two of them. “What about tomorrow?”

Akutagawa looked away from the both of them. “I may have injured myself.”

“What.” Dazai stared at him. “How?”

“Over-practicing,” Akutagawa muttered.

Dazai looked at Chuuya. If Akutagawa was injured, that meant that Chuuya had a chance to compete.

Chuuya didn’t really look happy. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Akutagawa isn’t sure if he should compete,” he said, “because it could make the injury worse and then he might have a long recovery time, or-”

“Or I might humiliate myself,” Akutagawa said.

Dazai wanted to ask Akutagawa why he would try to compete with a possible injury, but he knew the answer. It was the Olympics. It would be tempting to put aside any pain or health concerns to take a shot at winning a medal.

Akutagawa’s coach was Mori.

Dazai also knew why Chuuya hadn’t outright told Akutagawa he should withdraw. Chuuya was in a weird position. If Akutagawa withdrew, Chuuya would get to compete, which is what he wanted. But he didn’t want to push Akutagawa into any decision.

Dazai could see the conflict on Chuuya’s face.

“No one can make the decision for you,” Dazai said after a moment. “I’m guessing Mori wants you to compete, and to a certain extent you do, too. In the end it’s up to you.”

Akutagawa nodded and looked at Chuuya. “Mori dropped you after your injury,” he said.

“There was no skating through that injury,” Chuuya said. “Believe me, I would have if I could.”

“Even at the expense of making it worse?” Akutagawa asked.

“We all want to win, don’t we?” Chuuya said. “Even if we don’t always make best decisions because of it. There’s a lot of pressure. Mori...is a demanding coach.”

Akutagawa didn’t agree, but he didn’t disagree. He took in Chuuya’s words.

“The coaches are talking about this,” he said after a moment.

“They are,” Chuuya said.

Akutagawa glanced at the rink. Atsushi had resumed skating, though half-heartedly. “I wanted to beat him.”

Chuuya laughed. “I get that. I’ve wanted to beat Dazai for years.”

“Do you think you could here?” Akutagawa asked, meeting Chuuya’s eyes.

Chuuya was quiet for a moment. Dazai thought about it, too. Chuuya had gradually been adding difficulty to his program. The original plan had been to have a second quad in the short program and three in the free program, whereas before Chuuya only had three across both programs. It was possible that Chuuya had actually been training with that in mind after they’d arrived. Dazai had no way of knowing, because they hadn’t had much time to talk.

Chuuya had a disadvantage and they all knew it. He’d been working from the bottom back up. The emotional component was also there. Once again, Dazai wished he knew how Chuuya was doing in practice, where his mind was and how it was affecting his skating. Akutagawa and Chuuya were similar in that regard, though Akutagawa was better at holding in his emotions than Chuuya on the ice.

In that case, Akutagawa had the advantage. Even if Chuuya was capable of pulling off everything in both his programs perfectly, if he’d actually trained for the highest difficulty possible, if he let his emotions get the better of him then he wouldn’t place very high. The pressure at the Olympics was higher than anything they had experienced.

As much as Dazai had faith in Chuuya, he couldn’t help being realistic.

Apparently Chuuya had the same line of thought, because he said, “I don’t know.”

Akutagawa didn’t look satisfied with that. “Do you think you’d do well or not?”

“I’d do my best,” Chuuya said, “but I don’t really know what that’ll look like here. Does anyone? It’s kind of unpredictable, at least for me, especially after the past year. And compared to everyone else, I really don’t know. I know what I want, and I know I’d try my best to make it happen.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Akutagawa said. “I need to think about it.”

“You know,” Dazai chimed in, “Atsushi and I aren’t the only competitors here. It’s almost like you don’t consider us your teammates!”

Chuuya and Akutagawa both looked at him.

“Clearly I want to beat everyone else too,” Akutagawa said after a moment.

“But do you want me to beat everyone else?” Dazai asked.

“Self-centered,” Chuuya muttered.

“Only if I beat you,” Akutagawa said. “But...I need to think.”

“I should go,” Chuuya said. “Fukuzawa wanted to talk to me.” He stood, and Dazai did as well.

“I guess I’ll get back to practice,” he said.

Akutagawa nodded.

Dazai didn’t say anything to Chuuya. He knew Chuuya must be thinking about a lot. He simply went back on the ice and tried to focus.

In a few hours he’d know who he’d be competing with.

*

Sometime after dinner, Dazai made his way back to the rink.

He assumed Chuuya would be there, and he wasn’t disappointed. Chuuya was already on the ice. Dazai leaned against the wall of the rink and watched him skate. It took him some time to realize Dazai was there, and he skated over.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I wanted to see how you were doing,” Dazai said.

“Fine,” Chuuya said. He glanced over to the seating area, where Fukuzawa was watching them. “The good thing about this is I haven’t had time to overthink.”

“You’re not nervous?” Dazai asked.

Chuuya did seem calm. “I guess I figured out that I shouldn’t look at each competition as the most important competition of my career. Even if they are important, none of them are the last one until I decide to leave.”

“Smart,” Dazai said, grinning. But it did really relieve him to hear Chuuya say that.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Maybe I won’t feel that way tomorrow.”

“I want to see,” Dazai said.

Chuuya frowned at him. “What?”

“What you’re planning,” Dazai said. “I haven’t watched you practice in a long time.”

“You watched me practice last week,” Chuuya said.

“And your programs are the same as they were last week?” Dazai asked.

Chuuya hesitated.

“Would you show me your free program if I asked?”

Chuuya opened and closed his mouth. He glanced over to Fukuzawa, who looked more than ready to watch Chuuya do a runthrough.

“It’s just me,” Dazai added. “Well, and Fukuzawa but as your coach he barely counts”

Chuuya bit his lip. Dazai couldn’t tell if that meant Chuuya hadn’t pulled off whatever he wanted to do, or if he had but wasn’t sure he could do it under pressure.

“Don’t overthink it,” Dazai said. “You have that to your advantage--out of everyone competing tomorrow, you’ve had the least amount of time to overthink.”

“Alright,” Chuuya said. “But if you’re getting a sneak preview out of this I’m taking a kiss for luck.” He leaned forward and kissed Dazai.

Dazai tried to make the kiss deeper, but Chuuya pulled away. “Fukuzawa’s here.”

“Oh yeah.”

Chuuya skated to the middle of the rink. Dazai glanced at Fukuzawa, who was very deliberately not showing any sort of emotion on his face.

Then he looked back at Chuuya.

The free program was in some ways the opposite of Chuuya’s short program. Chuuya’s short program was fast, a reflection of the way his feelings could spiral out of control. It was very easy for Chuuya to perform, almost dangerously so, because Chuuya could actually spiral out of control.

The free program music was softer and slower. It took its time to build. In order for the program to really work, Chuuya had to appear calm. He had to be confident in what he was doing. He had to be graceful. Otherwise it just seemed awkward.

As Chuuya started skating, Dazai saw that he was all of those things.

Despite Chuuya having gotten better over the past year, Dazai hadn’t yet seen him skate with this much control. Chuuya skated as if he wasn’t going to compete at the Olympics tomorrow. His movements were fluid, blending one into the other, matched perfectly to the music, not too fast or too slow. He skated as if it was just him alone with no one to pressure him at all.

He pulled off all three quads, but that was almost an afterthought to Dazai. Chuuya for once seemed completely at ease. This was the perfect balance of Chuuya enjoying the emotion of skating and Chuuya having confidence in his capabilities. It was Chuuya at his best, and Dazai wondered if Chuuya realized it.

Then it was over, and Chuuya grinned at Dazai from the center of the ice, breathing hard. Dazai knew in that moment that Chuuya did realize it. For once, Chuuya knew exactly how far he’d come.

For once, Chuuya was truly proud of himself.

It didn’t matter what happened tomorrow. Chuuya had reached a turning point, and Dazai had faith that he would keep moving forward.

If they could both be satisfied with what they’d done, then that was all that mattered.