Chapter Text
Right now, Seung-gil is channeling serious.
It’s not difficult. He has built a career out of appearing more serious than he needs to be.
“What are your plans for the Olympics, especially since you’re competing in your home country?” the reporter asks, microphone too close to Seung-gil’s face for comfort.
Win, obviously.
Regardless of where a competition is held, Seung-gil wants to win. Every single time. It's how he made it this far.
He rattles off a short but less offensive answer instead, wishing that he didn’t have to care about his media image so much.
(Leroy certainly didn’t have to.)
(But then again, he’d rather do what he’s doing now than sink to Leroy levels of obnoxiousness.)
“Best luck with training! Korea is counting on you!” The reporter is all smiles and cheer. Seung-gil hates it.
The thing is, the reporter is right. He is representing his country, after all. He has to show his people that they have not misplaced their faith. With his skating.
Seung-gil rolls his shoulders. The weight of a nation is on them.
***
He’s not the only hope for his country, of course. Seung-gil has teammates, all of which are preparing for the skate of their lives. They even managed to get in two entries for the men’s singles, not that that should affect Seung-gil’s ambition in any way.
This other entry is the young Kim Min-hwi, or, as Seung-gil has come to know him, the roommate who is out all the time. Seung-gil would be the last to complain about the extra space and privacy.
Min-hwi’s just made his senior debut this season. Seung-gil doubts that he’s here to win, judging by the amount of times he’s seen him chatting to the other young, fit athletes in the cafeteria, but Seung-gil knows better to judge people by their appearances. Plisetsky winning gold in his senior debut year was solid proof of that. Talent, appearance, hard work, sacrifice—every skater gambles with more or less these cards in hand. Perhaps Min-hwi has talent to waste.
Either way, his presence takes at least some of the attention away from Seung-gil. Not a lot, but Seung-gil does not need or want any more attention. He's had enough of it over the years. Too much focus on unrelated things. Was that tension we saw with your rinkmate earlier? Are you aware of how many fans you have? What about your love life? And the comments; not his, but they may as well be, given how many times he has heard them, how many times he’s read them in every language available.
His technical scores are high—
But where is the artistic expression? It’s not enough to choose an odd program and be done with it—
He literally only cares about winning—
But what else can he fight for? There’s no other end goal in sight, apart from the next season’s best, the next remember, Seung-gil, this is for Pyeongchang spilling from Min-so’s lips. He needs to be better, stronger, more accurate, more elegant, more everything.
All for Pyeongchang.
So, no, he is not here to have fun.
It might be difficult, but when he hears Kim Min-hwi slip into their room at three a.m., he decides that no, it’s not difficult at all.
***
One day after practice, he finds Min-so on her phone. Tinny music is coming out of the speakers, the bland, upbeat sort they love to use for warmups. He peeks at the screen curiously. Seung-gil doesn’t recognise the rink at first gance, but he can see enough to tell that it’s from last season, if Giacommetti and Chulanont’s costumes are anything to go by.
“I’ve seen that one already,” he says. "Nothing special."
Min-so eyerolls him. “Of course you have. Now go clean up. Let me do my research.”
Seung-gil doesn’t leave, busying himself with his skate guards. It’s rare that he gets the chance to listen to streams with English commentary, and he spends a good minute trying to discern the accent before giving up. He peeks over Min-so’s shoulder just in time to see Nekola land a Triple Axel and look way too pleased with himself.
“First to the ice is Phichit Chulanont of Thailand,” the commentator says, making an absolute mess of the name. Seung-gil does not know Thai, but he’s pretty sure he’s never heard it pronounced like that. He’s reminded of the way English flattens out every syllable of his name and feels a twinge of sympathy for the tiny figure on the screen, completely oblivious to the slight to his name.
“Well, Chulanont has been doing very well this season! Especially since you really don’t expect to hear “Thailand” and “Figure Skating” in the same sentence—”
“What,” Seung-gil says, perhaps a little too sharply. Min-so jumps a little.
“Go take a shower, Seung-gil.”
Seung-gil frowns and rubs his face with his towel with more vigour than necessary.
Min-so sighs. “This is why I don’t like you to watch videos with commentary.”
“Calling my costume a parrot feather duster is one thing. This is just stupid, writing off a whole country like that. Underestimating people never—” Seung-gil runs a hand through his hair, then frowns at the unfamiliar expression on Min-so’s face.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she says, and turns back to YouTube.
***
Phichit+chu: Korea is so beautiful, I’m so glad to be here again! turbulence is still hella scary though(╥﹏╥) super jealous of @seunggillee rn! #WinterOlympics #PyeongchangOlympics #let’sgetdowntobusinesslmao
***
Seung-gil opens the door to one of the many exercise rooms in the village and sighs in relief to see that it's empty. It's not like running when other people are there will cause him to combust, but it does cost him an extra layer of effort to block out distractions.
He picks a treadmill and has just finished setting the timer when he hears someone enter the room.
So much for peace and quiet.
At least it only sounds like one person. Seung-gil stares at the monitor and prays that whoever it is doesn't talk to him.
"Seung-gil!"
He tries not to jump, because he recognises that voice. He turns, and of course it has to be Phichit Chulanont, complete in a black tracksuit, earbuds, and a towel slung round his neck. He has a plastic bottle with hamsters printed on it. It looks new, or at least Seung-gil hasn't seen it before. "Um. Hi."
Phichit flashes him a dazzling smile and Seung-gil nods back. He turns, not quite sure what to do with himself.
"Ah, wait, before you start," Phichit's hand appears on the handlebars. Seung-gil looks at him reluctantly and is met with dark brown eyes, wide and hopeful.
"Do you want to have dinner together after?"
Does he what?
Seung-gil is so taken aback by the question that he nods.
Well, actually, it's more like he jerked his head awkwardly in an ambiguous direction.
Damn it.
"Great! What's your room number? I'll meet you at five and we can go together!" It’s honestly nothing to make a fuss about, Seung-gil thinks, but Phichit is buzzing with excitement.
Seung-gil tells him and immediately presses start before he can overthink anything or throw himself at a window. Or perhaps out of one.
He throws himself into the rhythm, gradually picking up pace, but his mind keeps drifting to focus on the sound of Phichit beside him, footsteps light and quick. Phichit's got his earbuds in, probably playing something poppy and motivational. Seung-gil doesn't bother straining his ears to try to listen.
He wouldn't be surprised if it was that soundtrack of that movie Chulanont seems to like so much. Seung-gil wouldn’t put it past him.
The thing is, it isn't the first time Chulanont has made an offer like this. Perhaps not always as offbeat as asking to eat together, but for as long as Seung-gil can remember—ever since he started skating internationally—Phichit Chulanont has made an effort to talk to him, to message him on Instagram, to invite him out with the other skaters. Phichit has close friends that he could be spending all his time with, but for some reason he bothers with Seung-gil as well.
And Seung-gil knows well that it's nothing personal. Phichit Chulanont is a friendly person. He's nice to everyone, even, in Seung-gil's opinion, to people who don't deserve it. He's even nice to Seung-gil, which just goes to show. Seung-gil may not understand why, but Phichit Chulanont being friendly has become something of a guarantee at this point. A constant, maybe. He supposes he should expect it by now, but he's always caught off guard whenever it happens, whenever Phichit smiles because of him.
And as much as Seung-gil doesn't like to base his emotions on things he has no control of, he doesn't mind their interactions. Not too much. At least it fills his socialising quota. At least it’s tolerable. At least…
A few more seconds and their steps synchronize, and he decides to worry about it later.
***
Phichit is telling the story of how the man next to him on the plane had managed to ask for seven glasses of red wine on a five-hour flight. Seung-gil is probably nodding in all the wrong places, but Phichit doesn't seem to mind, going for a full on impersonation of a disgruntled air stewardess.
Seung-gil wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't met Phichit earlier, but now he can see that Phichit's hair is slightly fluffy. From his post-workout shower, probably.
For a split second, he considers reaching out and ruffling it.
And almost chokes on his water.
"You okay, Seung-gil?"
"Fine," he mutters into his cup. Phichit smirks and gets back to eating.
How is he always so cheerful? Seung-gil wants to ask him, right now, damn the cafeteria, damn all the athletes around them. It's the Olympics, so why is Phichit acting like it's any old competition?
Maybe that is what it's like for him. Not skating for the host country. To be able to treat every competition equally, with new eyes, always fresh, always exciting.
Seung-gil can't do that. He can't even think of doing it, because then these past few years will have been all for nought.
How do you do it? Don't you ever get angry? How can you post Instagram stories every day as if people aren't underestimating you at every turn?
Seung-gil pinches himself under the table. If he's going to be thinking about asking Phichit Chulanont questions, it should be about his step sequences, not his hopes and dreams. Spontaneous thoughts like that don't get you anyway.
"Is it nice," he asks, awkwardly pointing at Phichit's bowl so he doesn't end up saying something even stupider.
Phichit wipes his mouth and grins, and Seung-gil realises that maybe he's not being spontaneous after all. He's always wanted to ask. The questions have always been there, just on the back burner. Hiding.
Which is perhaps why he says yes when Phichit asks him if he wants to eat together again the next day.
***
Phichit: I can't wait for the opening ceremony tomorrow!!!
Phichit: My room is the third on the left btw
Phichit: 20180207049.jpg
Phichit: yes, that is a photo of a shark on the door
Phichit: idk why
Phichit: but promise you'll save me if it decides to break in and eat me?
...
Sure.
***
Phichit draws a deep breath and opens his eyes to the blinding lights of the stadium. DNA by BTS fills his ears, and Phichit would kill for an Olympic-level sound system to crank up this song every day.
He shivers, even in his thick coat, and he can’t imagine how cold it must be for the audience. They have to sit still for hours. But the cold doesn't dampen the anticipation in the stadium; the crowd is practically swelling with it. He waves at the stands, an anonymous mass drenched in multi coloured lights. It’s strange, not being to make out faces in the crowd, but he takes all of it in, basking in everyone's excitement.
And it might just be Phichit’s imagination, but the roaring seems to grow louder as he turns his phone to fit everyone in. He wants to wave, like he does at competitions, but both his hands are taken, so he waves the flag as hard as he can.
He’s not exactly sure why he’s been chosen as Thailand’s flag-bearer, rather than any of the skiers with their skiing magic, but he feels proud regardless. It feels great. It feels like he’s part of something bigger. It’s not just his show. It’s everyone's show, every athlete from every country, every skater with their eyes on gold.
And here he is, in the thick of it all, waving his country’s flag.
It’s like he’s living a dream.
(The watch count of his current livestream doesn’t hurt, either.)
***
Seung-gil keeps his head high out of a dull sense of duty.
He’s hidden himself between a snowboarder and a skier, and he’s relieved to have the slight comfort that while he will be caught on cameras, at least he will not be anywhere near the focus. Team Korea is big this year. Seung-gil can justify wanting to be another face in the crowd.
His teammates are jumping, waving, cheering, pulling faces at their phones. Seung-gil’s ears are ringing just from sheer proximity to all the shouting. He wonders how their throats aren’t sore already.
His phone buzzes in his pocket—probably Phichit Chulanont posting yet another selfie from the stands. Not for the first time Seung-gil considers why he ever bothered turning on notifications for him. There's never a day when he doesn't post anyway.
And Phichit is flag-bearer for Thailand this time, isn't he? He deserves to be excited.
Seung-gil knows he should be more enthusiastic. More like Phichit, even. It should be an honour to walk with his teammates, compete for his country, but everything is just—too much.
The song playing is from a girl group that he doesn't particularly mind, so he focuses on it until it’s cut off abruptly as soon as they reach the seat stands. The team dissolves as they find their seats. Seung-gil looks around to see if he can catch a spot of bright blue team jackets, but there’s no time, and he resigns himself to spacing out to the view of President Moon’s head for the next 10 minutes.
***
Seung-gil has just finished a run through and is drinking water with the enthusiasm of a near dead goldfish when Min-so says, apropos of nothing, "So I was talking to Celestino the other day."
There is a dull thud as Seung-gil bumps into the barrier and spills water all over his face.
He frowns at Min-so for distracting him, frowns at the barrier for existing, then wipes his mouth with as much dignity he can muster.
"You did what."
"Talked. To Coach Cialdini."
"I got that part. I meant why?"
"Coaches talk, Seung-gil, we're humans too. You needn't get so worked up."
"I'm not, it's just you're bringing it up now, so it must be important—"
Min-so sighs. "It was merely that he had observed you and Phichit Chulanont getting along rather well recently, that's all."
An unfamiliar twinge of fear runs through Seung-gil. "We're not—I mean, we don't. We've been eating together. That's it."
Min-so scoffs. "Okay."
"What are you, our parents?" he snaps.
"Coaches worry about their students," Min-so says, unfazed. "And I worry about you, of course. I know I don't ask about your personal life that often—"
"Because you don't need to," Seung-gil mutters.
"—but I thought it was good that you were making friends."
"He's not my—" Seung-gil begins, but it catches in his throat.
Min-so smirks.
"So I have a friend." Seung-gil says, ignoring the slight thrill the word sent through him. "Can we move on now?"
"Just to make sure," she calls after him as he almost runs to his starting point, "This doesn't mean you can act like Kim Min-hwi. I'd rather we have no use for any of those condoms."
It takes all of Seung-gil's strength not to throw himself out of the rink in embarrassment. It would look pretty bad in the press.