Chapter Text
Seung-gil Lee could not stop crying.
Not the pathetic broken sobs that had escaped his chest earlier that evening. These were silent tears, the ones that were only acceptable this late into the night. It was excruciating, watching the minutes pass into hours when he couldn't sleep like this. He hadn't touched his phone since he rolled to his side and this began. His cheeks felt raw from how many times he had wiped them, trying to ignore this suffocating feeling. This wasn’t something he made a habit of. He worked tirelessly to keep himself in check, to think things through instead of reacting with blind emotion. Emotions never got anyone any place they wanted to be.
But scraping his way to the podium at Skate America had caught up to him hours ago. It shifted from bitter shock to suffocation, and now it wouldn’t go away. He had fought to keep the younger competitors at bay, finishing in fourth at the end of the short programs. He took third after the free skate, losing to Kenjirou Minami and Otabek Altin by more than twenty points. But third place wasn’t a win. It was pathetic. It was embarrassing.
He had lost; and not only that, he had lost to Kenjirou Minami, the rookie skater from Japan who can hardly land quads. And yet he had 11.36 points more than Seung-gil, who could land a quadruple Loop with near perfect consistency.
He was losing himself, losing the ability to do the one thing he had ever been proficient in. And then what? How many times could he scrape by before everyone else saw what he already knew? He was only twenty-three but he was already a skater in decline. His career was coming to an end and he had nothing to show for it besides a compilation of failures and a directionless future. It was getting worse. At least last season he didn’t have to look at anyone and know he surpassed them on technicality alone. But now… How was he going to look at Guang-Hong Ji tomorrow knowing his win was just that? Seung-Gil had beaten him, and Ji was graceful and kind in his defeat. But they both know the better skater hadn’t been standing on the podium.
He couldn’t continue lying here. It felt like there was an elephant on his chest. There was a buzzing under his skin, crawling like ants and setting every nerve ablaze. If he lay there much longer it was going to consume him, burn him up from the inside out, until there was nothing left except the shell of a could-have-been skater. Seung-gil grabbed his phone, groaning at the time, 01:11. This was agony, he was making himself sick. He had to move.
He tugged on his joggers and snatched up his South Korea jacket, slipping his phone into his pocket. He laced up his sneakers so tight they hurt before rooting around his bag looking for his earbuds, praying to some higher power that they would have enough to charge to get him through a run. He needed to burn off this energy, to escape the thoughts plaguing him, to wear himself out enough that sleep wouldn’t be a battle.
Seung-gil pushed the earbuds in as he headed to the door. A quick check assured him that he had his room key, and he pushed his wallet back into his pocket as he stepped out, making sure to close the door softly, to move without a sound down the hall. People were sleeping, he didn't want to wake them up. He wasn’t a fan of social interaction on good days, let alone in the early hours of the morning when it took everything in him just to keep his breathing steady. Especially if that person was woken up because he was being loud in the hotel. Down the hall, take the elevator, ground floor. Get out, cross the lobby, push the doors and… the cool night air washed over him. He paused, letting himself adjust to the cold and dark. Music, he needed to start with music.
He unlocked his phone, smiling wanly at the photo of Cho, before opening his music and shuffling one of his playlists. This one was his. Not the stuff they chose for programs, broken down into palatable pieces. No, this was the music he chose for himself. It spoke to him, it was music felt in his soul, something he kept close to his chest. No one knew about it. Even his coach, who he had a deep admiration and respect for, only heard pieces from it. She had never seen the whole collection. A song began and he exhaled slowly, muscles already loosening. It wasn’t his first pick for running music, but it was better than the voice inside his head. So he locked his screen, dropped his phone back into his pocket and took off down the sidewalk.
He just needed to go. The single minded focus of a run helped shut up all of the insecurities. It meant that he could just power through and exhaust himself until he could finally sleep. That’s what this was, a long process to get to his endgame. A decent amount of rest would help tomorrow go smoothly. With that he could just shut everything down. Make his face impassive, and no one would know that his world was crashing down around him.
Seung-gil ran faster, forcing the feelings down. This wasn't like him. He was better than letting his emotions get to him like this. He wasn't Yuuri Katsuki or Michele Crispino or Viktor Nikiforov. He didn't allow his feelings to rule his life. I gain no benefit from being nice to you, so why bother? I don't allow the audience's response to effect my performance. What had happened to that person?!? Here he was now, having a breakdown like a beginner. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to focus. He needed to improve. For his country. For his people. For his pride.
He skipped the next song from his watch, the piano heavy music Katsuki broke a world record with only serving to make his stomach twist. The next was a pop song, one he couldn't name off the top of his head but knew all the words to. Better, this was much better. Mind numbing and upbeat. Perfect. Run, all he needed to focus on right now was running.
He had scouted out a path when he arrived here in Everett, Washington. Back when he had felt steady and grounded and confident. It was a smaller town, quieter than what he was used to, but with clear sidewalks and unbroken paving. Couldn’t break his ankle before a skate. He had to make sure the ground was flat before going for a run. He was thorough like that. If he remembered right (and he did, he always did) there was a strip of shops not too far from the hotel. Seung-gil turned the volume up even more, drowning out everything. He couldn’t hear his own breathing or the slap of his shoes. That was good. Just keep running.
The stores were decorated. It was a passive observation at first, but the more he ran, the more he let himself enjoy the gleam of light and color. He liked all of the seasons that he got to spend in the States, especially this time of year. The Americans loved Halloween.
But he wasn’t about to stop to admire anything, giving himself just enough time to catch glimpses of oranges, purples, and greens, of pumpkins, ghosts, ghouls, and goblins.
He shook his head, clearing away his thoughts. He was starting to feel the pain from his run now, his body aching from the pushing he had done earlier in the day. Or that yesterday at this point, wasn't it? In these quiet moments none of that mattered. Nothing did. Not time or medals or death to careers. All that was certain was his legs were aching, his chest was starting to burn as his body began to want more oxygen. But he didn’t slow down. He wasn’t going to stop until he was gasping for air. It was the only way he was going to get to sleep.
It was strange to love this feeling so much. When he was younger he hated it but now it felt like the only thing he deserved. He breathed deeply and felt his brows wrinkle. He inhaled again, and there it was, a sharp acrid smell hitting his nose, the back of his throat, and changing the way his lungs screamed. He wanted to cough, to choke on the scent in the air. What was it? Gasoline? He inhaled again, scowl deepening. It was. Probably someone's car leaking, and he powered through it, moving forward. That was until he felt glass crunch beneath his feet. He slowed to a stop, pausing his music as something cold and unsettling slipped down his spine. Something was wrong.
“Hello?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket to flick on the flashlight. The beam of light caught shattered glass, glittering just for him, unique as headlights on snow. He swallowed hard, narrowing his eyes as he looked around. God, that smell was terrible. It was getting to him, adding to the headache forming behind his eyes.
A tangled mess caught his eye, what he had seen as a bush next to a lamppost in the dark was actually… was actually a motorcycle, twisted and broken and leaking oil. His stomach flipped. This… that was not good. He stepped closer, swallowing back a wave of panic. If the bike was here, where was its rider?
“Is someone here? Hello?” The Halloween decorations weren’t any fun now, purples and oranges flashing over the grisly scene, throwing everything into sharp contrast and sickening shades. He stepped forward again, more glass crunching beneath his feet. Where did it come from? Someone could be seriously hurt. He should call for help. He swallowed thickly as he typed 9-1-1 into his phone.
He turned again, shining the light a bit further down the sidewalk. What was he even supposed to say? Hi, I’m Lee Seung-gil, from South Korea!! I think, but do not know, that there is something not great happening here! He was an idiot. He moved towards the motorcycle. How far could this person have gone? He just needed something more, then he could call. Unless they had wandered off. Or this was a mob thing and someone was going to jump out and kill him because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and oh God. They’d totally chop off his feet. He could see it clearly, Lee Seung-gil, the moronic figure skater from South Korea that got mixed up in the wrong business and had his feet shipped to his parents in a box. Burial site: Unknown . His heart was pounding in his ears and his mouth was dry. He could taste gasoline on his tongue. The smell of it was everywhere, it was sinking into everything. He needed to get away from here. He needed his mind to slow down.
Seung-gil turned, getting ready to cross the street and call for someone else - anyone else - to come deal with this from there when more broken glass caught the light, winking up at him from the ground. He cut his eyes in that direction, seeing the shattered window of a store front.
“Oh no.”
He stepped forward, peering into the darkened space. More glass was scattered across the floor, but it was difficult to make much more out. He could see where tables appeared to be thrown off to the side, colored ceramic in shards intermingled with glass. There was a powerful fragrance of various teas, sweet and alluring, a break from the smell of gasoline. Seung-gil squinted, trying to get a better look inside. He shouldn't go in. If he was wrong and this wasn't the scene of a tragic accident he could end up in prison, right? Being charged with breaking and entering or something like that but… what if the missing driver was here and he didn't look? He held up his flashlight higher and his heart stopped as the worn tread of a boot caught his eye. The driver must have gone through the window. He was right, this was bad.
Someone was inside, and they weren’t moving. Consequences didn’t matter now, he had to do something. He found a place on the window he could grab hold of, where all the glass had fallen away, and climbed inside. "Hello?" Glass crunched beneath his feet and it was deafening. There wasn’t any noise from the person on the floor, and his fingers trembled as he pulled up his phone screen to dial the number. He needed to do this, there wasn’t a choice. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to the scene for a moment, shoving down the panic. Face impassive. Back straight. Focus. Take care of this. He hit the call button and it rang through his earbuds.
“9-1-1 what is the location of your emergency?”
"I don't. Um… Everett, Washington? I’m on Colby Avenue, I think. Looks like a tea shop? There's been an accident." He hadn’t been running for what felt like years now, but it was still hard to breathe. The words just came tumbling out of him. There was someone hurt right in front of him.
“Colby Avenue. Do you have a building number?” How was this woman so calm?
“No, but it’s about a mile from the Angel of the Winds Arena. I can't be sure, I was running. I circled back to go back to the hotel. I don't know how long I was running." The closer he got to the person the more he could see. Helmet. Coat. Blood. Twisted legs.
“What is the phone number you are calling from?”
“I don’t- Someone is hurt- how-”
“Sir, please. If the call is disconnected, we need to be able to call you back.”
He bit the inside of his cheek, nails biting into the heel of his hand in an attempt to ground himself. “82 2 577 4106.”
“What’s your name?”
“Lee Seung-gil. L-e-e S-e-u-n-g-g-i-l.” There was so much blood. God.
“Okay, now tell me what’s going on.”
“They need help though.”
“Emergency services are on their way to you, but I need to know what you see. What’s going on?”
“I was going for a run and I… Someone is hurt. I happened to see them lying in the shop. I don’t know what happened, there’s so much blood.” He couldn’t breathe.
“You’re doing great, sweetie. First responders are on the way. Just listen to my voice. Can you tell me about the victim? Are they young or old?”
He didn’t want to get any closer, shining the light towards their face as best he could. His stomach twisted as masculine features registered to him. “He looks twenty-five? Maybe thirty? It's hard to tell.”
“Very good. Is he conscious? Is he breathing?”
He moved the light again, shaking his head. “No. No he isn’t moving.”
“Okay. I need you to check his pulse for me. Just-”
“I cannot touch him.” Seung-gil felt like the world was spinning too fast, scared to take another step for fear of losing his balance. The edges of his vision were black, all he could see was the injured man in front of him.
“I know it’s scary, but I need you to check his pulse for me, okay? Right now you’re the only person who can help him, and that’s really important.” Seung-gil nodded, before realizing she couldn’t see him and answering. “Okay, you’re just going to hold his wrist, and try and feel for a pulse. Just put your fingers where the tendons meet the hand, then move them just a little closer to the side the thumb is on. Do you feel anything?"
He knew how to check a pulse, having taken his own countless times, but the woman explaining it to him helped ground him. He gasped at the warmth of his skin, feeling that little flutter of movement that signified life. "Yes! It's faint, but I can feel it. It’s there." Seung-gil swallowed hard. He was touching him. For the first time since he stumbled into this mess the room stopped spinning.
"And what is his breathing like?"
“Similar, shallow but present. It…it seems steady?” This was something out of a nightmare. “There is so much blood.”
“Can you tell me where it’s coming from?”
Seung-gil took another shaking breath, looking the man up and down, trying to see without moving from where he was crouched. There was white, sticking through bloodied jeans and he gagged. "His legs. There's a lot coming from his leg, I can see bones." He forced himself to look away, afraid that if he kept staring he would be sick.
"Okay, keep breathing sweetie. Does it look like it's coming from anywhere else?"
"I um…"
"Do your best to look. Any information you can give me is helpful. The paramedics should arrive within three minutes. Just try and stay calm for me. You're doing so well."
Seung-gil ran his eyes across the man again, closer this time, from the waist up. “He’s wearing a helmet. He has a couple scratches on his face… His leg is messed up but he’s got this big leather coat on so his arms seem fine. There’s no blood on them. He’s familiar?”
“You said he has a helmet on?”
“Yes, it’s still on.” He edged closer to the man, trying to get a better look at his face. “I… I swear he’s familiar.”
“Okay, the paramedics will be there soon. Can you stay with him?”
“Of course.” Seung-gil couldn’t imagine leaving his side. He needed to stay, to make sure he got to the hospital in one piece. That paramedics picked him up and someone was contacted to meet him at the hospital. He wasn’t going to leave this man here to die. He wouldn't leave him alone.
“Can you tell me a little bit about yourself, Lee?” She was just trying to keep him talking now, to keep him on the phone long enough to ensure help got to them.
“I’m a figure skater from South Korea here for…” His voice caught in his throat as the light from his flash caught the rider’s face again. “Oh my God.” His stomach twisted and he gagged again, harder this time. Brown eyes were blinking up at him. God, no… Please.
“Lee… right?” Seung-gil had never heard the man speak before. Once at a press conference, possibly, if he was paying attention. But never in person.
“Altin?” He choked on the name.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was small, it sounded like it hurt as it left his throat.
Seung-gil dropped his phone and it landed screen down. The light from it illuminated the scene as best it could, throwing distorted shadows across the ceiling. “Altin, what… what…” His mind was racing. Had he been awake the whole time? Did he just wake up? Had the light from his phone been enough to wake him? God, he shouldn’t be awake.
“Sir. Can you tell me what's happening?” The woman in his earbuds sounded too far away. All he knew right now was Altin. The blood. The wrecked motorcycle. The bones that - gun to his head - he couldn’t force himself to look at again.
“Lee, you’re skating your exhibition tomorrow, right?” Brown eyes blinked at him, unfocused.
“W-what? I… I don’t... That's today. I don't know.”
“You gotta, man. It looked good in practice. Clean. And I… I’m fucked dude. I’m finished.” Altin’s voice was too even. How was he so calm? He shouldn’t be this calm. He shouldn't be conscious.
Seung-gil slipped their hands together, unsure of anything else to do besides grip the leather wrapped fingers of Otabek Altin. “Don’t. Don't do that. Don’t think about skating right now, you-”
“My career is over. I’ve seen you skate, I've watched you compete for years. You’re good, you have what it takes to win. I’m finished,” his voice shook now. “But you don’t have to be. Keep skating. And win, Lee. For both of us.”
“I-" Seung-gil's voice caught in his throat.
“Shit. Fuck. Sorry man. That’s a lot of pressure. You don’t deserve that, it’s just…. Fuck, this was my season. I was going to be something and now…” He turned his head, trying to look down at his legs, gaze catching on the puddle of blood. "Now my foot is facing the wrong direction. I don't think even Nikiforov could skate like that."
Sueng-gil tried to take a deep breath, choking on overwhelming scents surrounding them. "Stop… stop worrying about skating, Altin. You're going to be fine." Maybe it was the sobs that were desperately trying to escape his throat but he couldn't take a deep breath. Stay calm, you have to stay calm. Just get something right for once in your life. Stay calm so he stays calm.
“Maybe…” He blinked at his leg again, before frowning. “Fuck, I can’t feel that. I should be able to. Why can’t I feel that? I should be able to feel that, right?" Otabek looked back up at him.
Seung-gil shook his head, squeezing his fingers. "I don't know. I… I can't tell how bad your injuries are. Your body is in shock. I broke my arm once as a kid and felt nothing. Our bodies are insane." He could hear the sirens now. The woman in his earbuds might have been speaking but he couldn’t hear her words, all he knew was Otabek Altin squeezing his hand so tight he thought his own bones might snap and the wide, terrified eyes that moved back down to look at a mangled limb. "Otabek, it's going to be okay. Paramedics are nearly here. And I'll make sure your coach knows what happened."
His grip tightened and Seung-gil gasped at the pain that shot up his arm. God. "Will you stay with me?" It was so quiet, but the words were there all the same, hanging heavy in the air.
“I’ll be here. Where else am I gonna go, man?”
Otabek nodded, face pale. The harsh shadows made the dark circles under his eyes look like bruises that would never go away. “Good. That’s good. Thank you. ”
Seung-gil brushed his thumb across his knuckles, prayed it was soothing. "I'm not going to leave you alone. I swear."
"What if they won't let you in the ambulance?"
"Don't worry about that, Otabek." Seung-gil swallowed hard. "You're okay. I think they're just outside now."
"Oh that's nice... Hey… how did you find me?"
“I was on a run, if you can believe it.” It couldn't have been more than five minutes since he had been running away from everything, but it felt like ages ago.
“Oh, neat. You do look sweaty.”
"Rude." Seung-gil squeezed his forearm with his free hand, catching his gaze and holding it. He was scared if he blinked, if he looked away for even a second Otabek would disappear.
"Skate tomorrow, Seung-gil. Promise me?"
Seung-gil swallowed, nodding once. "Y-yeah, yeah okay. I promise. I'll skate my exhibition. We'll tell the judges you caught the flu, that's why you won’t be there."
“That won’t work. I never get sick.”
“Well we’re lying so I think it will be fine.” Seung-gil let out a strained laugh, more of an exhale than anything else. “Look, the paramedics are about to come in. I’m going to have to move.”
“I understand.” Otabek let out a shaking breath. “You’ll be great in the exhibition tomorrow. And the NHK Trophy, Lee.”
"I told you to stop worrying about skating. I have to move but I'll stay close by." Sueng-gil shifted to stand, but Otabek clutched his hand even tighter. He couldn't have gotten his hand free even if he tried.
"Promise?" Otabek's eyes were wide. He looked terrified.
"Mm. They're going to help you." Seung-gil stood again and Otabek slowly released his hand.
“He’s awake?” One paramedic pulled Seung-gil aside, and the rest surrounded Otabek.
“Yes. He wants to know if he can skate.” The words were hard to form as he looked at the paramedic.
"Skate?" The man stared at him, eyebrows knit and concern etched across his features.
Seung-gil nodded once. "Yes. We're competitors. We just finished up Skate America. He's got to be able to skate. It's our whole life." It was catching up to him. Where he was. What was happening. What he found. Who he found. “Oh my God is his career over? It’s everything we’ve done our whole lives. His career can't be over.” He gasped for air, reality crashing into him like a tidal wave, trying to drag him off his feet and drown him.
“Sir-”
“Everything we work for, it can just be taken away in a split second? No… Oh God, what is he supposed to do now? What are we going to tell everyone?! I can’t… I can’t breathe.”
“It’s okay. It’s alright. Sit down. You’re in shock.” He didn’t even realize he had been guided to the ambulance until he was seated, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Just focus on your breathing for now. You can figure everything out as it comes up, but we need to focus here. Okay? Just listen to the sound of my voice. It seems like you know him pretty well. Are you two friends?”
“No. I never spoke to him before today. He's my competitor. That’s how I know him, because he’s my competitor. We skate against each other. He beat me by an embarrassing point margin yesterday.”
“I see. Okay.” The man sat beside him. "Do you know much about him? Possible allergies? Anything we need to know about him?" Seung-gil shook his head. "Alright. That's okay. Do you know anyone who might have that information? Someone we can contact?"
"His coach. Veronika Kemelov. I only know that because I considered changing coaches last season." His thoughts were swarming inside his brain, and his mouth didn't care about relevancy - spitting them all out as soon as he spoke.
"Okay, good! Can you contact her?"
"I don't have a way to." He pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders. "But… My Coach knows her. Maybe she can?" The man nodded. Seung-gil reached for his phone and found his pockets empty. “I… I think I dropped my phone?”
“Is this it?”
He looked over, recognizing the husky themed case he picked out last year. “Ah. Yes. Thank you.” He unlocked it with a shaking hand, scrolling through his contacts for his coach. He was hopeful she would answer. She liked to put her phone on silent at night, especially after competitions. He pressed it to his ear, waiting for it to ring
“Seung-gil? What is it?.” Her voice was groggy.
“Oh, good morning, Coach. I’m sorry to wake you. Just a quick question, do you have Veronika Kemelov’s number and if so could you send it to me? Please. It's important.”
“Seung-gil, what? What is going on?” She sounded more alert now, her voice still firm but edged with something else. Frustration? Worry? She sounded far away. It was starting to annoy him, why was it so difficult to hear her?
“It’s nothing major, the paramedics just want to know if Otabek has any allergies. Right?” he glanced at the man beside, who gave him a nod.
"What?" He pressed the volume button to raise the call volume but it didn't seem to help, she still sounded far away. "Seung-gil? What is going on?"
"The paramedics want to know if Otabek Altin has any allergies. And I figure if anyone will know it will be his coach. I don't know if he's friends with any of the other skaters, ma'am. And we have no way to potentially contact his family."
"Paramedics? Are you hurt?! Where are you?!"
“No, no I’m fine it’s just Otabek got in an accident and now his leg’s all twisted. Can you skate with a backwards foot?” What a funny question, but why was it funny? He shouldn’t be laughing. Now my foot is facing the wrong direction. I don't think even Nikiforov could skate like that. What a mental image.
“I’m gonna take over the call from here, son.” The phone was pried from his fingers, gently but still firm, and the medic started speaking but not to him. Seung-gil frowned. He liked hearing Min-so speak, her voice was familiar even though it had been distant. He heard her voice more than his own mother's. Why would the man take that away from him? "Alright.” The man was addressing him again. “We're going to transport both of you to the hospital." Seung-gil nodded, because what else was there to do, really?
Everything passed in a blur, the drive to the hospital and the voices that came from every direction. He got sick to his stomach at some point, tried to listen as someone rubbed between his shoulders and spoke to him but none of it made sense. It was like they were speaking a foreign language. Had he forgotten English? Could you just forget an entire language? Was he that detached from his body? The world started to spin again even though he sat still and he retched once more.
He only came back to himself when someone handed him something warm. “Coffee. To help settle the nerves.” He blinked, wrapping his hands around it. He was cold and it cut deep to his bone. The warmth was welcome, he craved it. When did he get inside? Was it normal to just space out like this? He felt awful. His mouth tasted terrible, his throat burned and his head was pounding. Should he be worried? Who handed him this cup? “Your coach is just talking to the doctor but you should be cleared to leave soon. You’re in a bit of a shock, but you’ll be alright after you get some rest, okay?” At least he understood her, that had to be a good sign.
He looked up at the nurse, nodding. "Yes. Thank you." Her eyes were kind and her blond hair was cut short. Her scrubs were a soft shade of green that he had always been partial to. It was nice to be aware of his surroundings again. "My coach. Is she helping to deal with Otabek?"
“His coach is here now honey, yours is just making sure that everything is all cleared up and squared away so that you can get out of here as quickly and as smoothly as possible.”
“Ah. Okay.” He took a sip of the coffee, cringing just a little at how bitter it was. He had never liked it, but she assured him it would help with his nerves so he was going to drink it. He wrapped his hands a bit tighter around the cup. He didn’t want to squeeze too hard or it might collapse but the warmth was nice. He wanted to crawl inside it. He hadn’t realized how cold it was when he had been outside, not before he took a proper drink and warmth blossomed in his chest.
Seung-gil sat in silence, sipping from his cup as he waited for Min-so to come and get him. It was odd, he could have waited here forever. He didn’t want to leave. At least not until he was sure that Otabek was okay. Why hadn’t the nurse at least said whether he was okay or not? Seung-gil swallowed hard. He felt sluggish, watched as people passed by him but he couldn’t be bothered to look up and watch them pass. He focused on the line of steam that escaped the opening on the lid of his coffee. How much longer was he going to be here? How much longer did he want to be here? He didn't want to leave. Sounds came from every direction and he felt really, very strange.
“Seung-gil. Are you ready?” He blinked up at Min-so. Her brow line was creased as she looked at him. Her hair was thrown in a messy bun and a distant part of himself felt terrible that he had dragged her out of bed.
“Coach.” It was a rush of relief to see her. "I… we have to leave now?” She sat beside him, setting her hand on his forearm. “I don’t think I’m ready to leave yet. I want… is Otabek going to be able to skate tomorrow?” Today, his brain supplied. The exhibition is today.
“No, he is not.” Her voice was soft. It made his chest tight. She rarely let herself sound so soft. “He’s going to need rest for some time before he can even think about skating again. Just like you’re going to need a lot of sleep if you want to skate your exhibition. Understand?”
He snapped his head up to meet her gaze. “I have to, ma’am. I have to. The doctor said I can, right?!”
“Yes, Seung-gil. You may. But only if you rest.”
“I have to.”
Min-so blinked at him as if she didn't understand why he was so insistent, but nodded regardless. He wasn’t aware enough to even begin to try and unpack her expression, not really. She was difficult to read on a good day. “Then we need to get going. Because as much as I’d like for the exhibition to be tomorrow,” she glanced down at her phone, the light highlighting the dark circles under her eyes, “the exhibition is tonight.”
Seung-gil nodded, finally trusting his legs enough to try to stand. He felt off balance, like he shouldn’t be moving, even as he tried to gather himself. “Did you call an Uber or something, to get us back?”
She nodded. “Yes, and it will be here soon.”
“Will…” He swallowed hard, unsure of how to phrase his question, if it was even smart to be asking. “Will someone keep you updated about Otabek?”
She pocketed her phone, but nodded once. “Kemelov assured me she will keep us informed on anything we need to know. But until the exhibition is over I want you to do your best to forget about all of this. Do you understand me, Seung-gil?”
“Yes ma’am.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to the memories, shoving them down where they belonged. Face impassive. Back straight. Focus. "I understand."