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Bam shoves one cloth after another. Five shirts in—wait. Are they enough? Whatever. A couple more pairs of pants and shorts. His socks, right inside the pocket deep in his backpack. His necessities, in another pocket. With a pull at the seam, the luggage zips close, sealing Bam's garments and personal needs.
Is that the last one? Bam is certain. It feels like he's still missing something but it also feels complete... on some level.
Nevertheless, the note stamped on the fridge says complete and that is the confirmation that Bam needs.
He brings with him his backpack, luggage full of personal belongings, himself and his camera.
One last look at his apartment. The door locks with a click.
A photography competition.
Bam recalls Yuri telling him to go out there and take photos wherever he wants. I do take trips, he said, but Yuri rebutted with something along the lines of no, you still haven't seen the real world yet.
Bam grips his camera, a grounding habit that reminds him of his work. A camera, his best friend that gives him a sense of freedom and fulfillment. Looking at it, he ponders. Maybe, Yuri is right. Maybe, he still doesn't travel enough, despite the fact that his trips last months.
Even so, Bam has to win this contest, whether for a little fame or the money that comes with it. It's perfect, the timing. Bam needs the boost and the competition is the right lever to pull.
Life has been too dull and ordinary lately.
Bam pauses in his tracks, looks up at the building in front of him, and studies its warm lights as the sun has long bid its farewells from the horizon.
And, what is he waiting for? Off he goes and accommodates himself in the inn, receives his own room, and flops himself on the bed after spending half a day travelling on the road. Bam may have frequent trips, but he will never get used to the exhaustion and fatigue that comes after.
He's drifting off to sleep, mind hazy and battling if he should stay awake for an hour or simply pass out on the bed.
Wait. His eyelids lift from their droop. Isn't his inn known for their hot springs? Especially since the climate of this place is cool?
Bam sits up, his body driving in automatic mode and the only thought coherent in his mind is hot springs and warm water. It'll be good to lessen some of the fatigue and ease his tensed muscles. Hot springs, warm water washing away the exhaustion. Yes, it sounds like a great plan.
Bam asks for the directions towards the hot springs. The front desk staff points somewhere back and deep in the inn. She looks a little weary, probably due to the work today, and the yawn that escapes her lips unconsciously makes Bam remark with an "Everyone deserves a rest after work. Make sure to get enough after your shift, miss."
She blinks first and smiles, then expresses her gratitude for his concern. She assures him with "I will."
Many people say that he’s too kind for his own good, that it will someday be his downfall, but it doesn’t hurt to show kindness and care for someone who deserves it. Nevertheless, Bam is Bam, that is what he believes in.
Bam doesn’t forget to rinse first, feeling up the water as it washes away the fatigue from his skin and Bam exhales. He next settles in the hot spring, another sigh and a release of the tension clutching his body.
The hot spring itself is lavish in its own way. Beautifully aesthetic with the bamboo serving as walls and several small bushes framing the pool itself. Pebbles are thoughtfully decorated around the spring. Bam is grateful to the owner with a few cement pillars within the pool that can serve as privacy—truthfully, a place where Bam can hide—for Bam.
The warm water is nothing but a blessing from the gods, Bam thinks, a small smile lighting up his face. He mentally pats himself on the back for heeding the advice of the others for the hot springs. This is great. Bam can visualize himself simply melting into a puddle out of relaxation.
Another sigh escapes his lips, a rumble of satisfaction reverberating in his throat. He runs over his itinerary, beats himself again to be punctual and preferably early. Maybe he can find a perfect place, area, or anything really to capture his entry for the competition.
Wait, why is he thinking about this? He can almost hear Yuri's scolding. You're overworking yourself, Bam! You're still young, go find some love!
Lovelife, right. Bam sinks himself further into the water, his mouth and nose deep into the surface, and bubbles his thoughts. One girl is enough.
Bam presses himself up against the pillar, away from the sights of others. Although and by some divine intervention, there's only him at the moment, Bam is not going to risk it. Nope. He doesn't want to be seen.
Bam hears the water moving, he notices the water surface rippling in transparent arcs and Bam dimly registers that he is not alone anymore.
It doesn't hurt to peek, does it? He's in the men's hot spring after all.
Careful not to disturb the water, Bam moves a little bit to sneak a glance by the pillar. There's a man with arctic blue hair and—
Wow. That lean back sure is something. Bam gawks at the planes of his back. His broad shoulders are wide, flexed then relaxed, and damn, Bam is curious and wants to touch it, more like feel it. The man starts stretching and, god, Bam watches on as the muscles on his biceps ripple elegantly. Bam swallows. His eyes slide down and Bam has fallen aghast at the possibility of the man's waist being that small. He doesn't hear the shuffle and Bam studies with intense, heated gaze as the man rolled his shoulders—this must be the tourist spot of the town—and inclines his head towards—
—Fuck.
Bam almost let out a pathetic squeak. He gathers himself against the cement pillar, praying to all deities that he hasn’t been caught. Bam presses his body further, as if he continues the action he would become one with the pillar.
Bam squeezes his eyes shut, willing the image to go away. But, how can he when it’s been unknowingly etched in his mind? The man’s neck and shoulders are a perfect curve. The water rolling down the contoured sculpt of his shoulders down to the small of his back and Bam has his eyes blessed by that slim waist. It’s perfectly proportional and Bam can’t just ge—
Oh, Bam hell no. However, the damage has been done, the dent is already there, and Bam is still a flustered mess. Has he been isolated from human interaction for so long that he gets embarrassed seeing other people's bodies?
"Excuse me?"
What the fuck!
Bam does let out a pathetic squeak. Heart pounding in his ribcage. The hot spring is suddenly too hot for his liking and why doesn't he notice the fog in here? Bam's brain blanks out. Nothing.
Looking straight at those deep, deep, oceanic eyes, Bam feels like drowning. His glacial eyelashes are long and Bam envies him. His jawline is nice and sharp. His eyes trail down to his glossy lips and Bam desires to—
"E-excuse me!" Bam? What were you thinking?
Bam excuses himself, dashes away from whatever divinity that man is, and seeks refuge in his room, uncaring of the dripping mess he has caused on the carpet.
Bam screams in the pillow. What the hell was that? He should've become one with the pillar, merging, or maybe evaporated with the steam from the warm water, or maybe simply melted in the water. Bam always wanted to become one with nature after all.
Ah, Bam rolls onto his back, I can never face that man again.
He would die of embarrassment first.
But, hey, he's quite the looker.
Snap!
Bam's brows are furrowed. A lacking feeling stirs inside him, gnawing and empty. Looking down at the photo, he deems, it's not enough then with a blink, it will never be enough.
Bam looks down at his DSLR camera, concentration and dissatisfaction sewn on the tiniest wrinkle of his face. The shot is good, the angle is good, yet something is not quite right, not quite there that Bam can't decipher.
The morning light pours over the overlooking view where Bam is stationed. He stands right before the sun, its golden rays hit his face in an ephemeral glow and Bam basks in its cooling warmth. He sighs his blues and tucks away his camera.
First stop on his itinerary, done. Bam turns to retreat back to the main town for breakfast. He can simply take more pictures of the next scenery on his list. Bam takes a step, one then two and— oh.
Bam freezes on his tracks as he comes eye to eye with the man from last night in the hot springs.
The man from the hot springs.
Bam mumbles a "Morning," and runs away.
That afternoon, Bam bumps into the same man again. He has been sitting in one of the spots in the fast food restaurants.
The man gives a smirk.
With a flushed red face, Bam flees from the scene.
The next morning they meet again. The same time, the rising sun is shining its early orange light and the cool breeze caressing their skin.
Bam still has his camera. The azure man is in his jogging attire.
And, somehow, the mere thought of Bam's lingering traces of embarrassment has him fleeing for the sake of his dignity.
Sometimes, fate, or whatever universal control there is, has Bam questioning himself. Is he destined to take photography as his profession? Is he fated to be in this countryside town, taking pictures for the competition he roped himself into? Do all the gods and goddesses want Bam to struggle with every single encounter he has with that man ? Right after that embarrassment in the hot springs?
It's not funny anymore. Bam is dying in his own void of failures and (not) forgotten mortifications. Why did he even choose to peek that night?
Still, even if that man, in his dazzlingly perfect figure and face, he still brings shame to Bam, a reminder of Bam's flustered mistakes.
Bam stabs the grilled meat with his fork a little too forceful, earning suspectful gazes. He immediately apologizes.
Even the very memory of that man's flirtatious smirk has Bam gripping on his knife. He loathes how he can vividly remember the quirk of his lips, the corner lifting up in an easy and smooth smile. His sharp lapiz eyes lighting up with a mischievous twinkle.
What can Bam do to wipe that smug look off his face? How dare he take pleasure in catching Bam staring? Bam is not one of his fans. And, Bam is really irked that he can just— oh.
Bam happily bites the tender meat. It tastes heavenly.
If that man plays teases, then Bam should return the favor. After all, it's inappropriate of him not to do so.
Bam sees that same man of blue today, again.
It's a little after lunch, with the sun scorching hot over the park. Bam has sought refuge under the shade of lime leaves, breathing out and flapping his hand. He has been walking around, taking random pictures in hopes of finding the right snapshot, but alas, it's futile.
Then, there comes the man of the heating hour.
Color Bam (a little) surprised the man is also sweating rivulets. Despite the cool climate of the countryside, the mid-afternoon sun is torturous in its own manner. He thanks lady luck as the man doesn't notice him right away.
It gives him more time to appreciate the way the man's neck glistened lightly under the glaring heat of the sunshine. Bam observes the man flapping his shirt and groaning, a mumbled complaint slipping past his luscious lips and Bam unconsciously licks his lips. He has his hair tied up in a low ponytail today. Bam's gaze never fails to catch the tiniest white tie securing the knot. Bam observes the slope of his sharp jaw, the flutter of his arctic lashes, and the cool of his eyes, and huh . Bam concludes that this man would be a great model.
Somehow, the sun hits his face just right. A breathtaking scenery of the man and the park, greater even as his golden pair of heliacal irises meeting the man's pacific eyes. The man smiles—no, smirks at him and it's powerful enough for Bam to be bolted in his space. And, he's walking closer, taking minute strides, a little more and…
Oh shit.
Bam beams. Bright as the fucking (and annoying) flash of his camera when he abruptly takes a candid photo of the man approaching. Danger! Danger! Bam can almost hear whatever is left of his brain cells panicking to get him moving. Danger! Flee! Run away!
"Good afternoon." Allelujah, amen for Bam's capacity to squeak out a greeting. A flash of a smile, teeth glinting (is it too wide?), and off Bam goes.
When vowing to play the man's game, he didn't mean… this.
"This is the end of my career."
Exasperation rolling in waves over his body, Bam scrolls through his twitter, dimly worrying about his entry piece. He can picture the exact grey tombstone of his photo, his certificate, and his money fluttering in the grieving wind as he mourns for whatever is left of his dignity. All because of his mistake and his curiosity on his first night. He really is killed like a cat.
Bam finds himself leaning against the steps of a random building, sighing the whole weight of the world— in this case, his career. How did it come to this? Bam doesn’t remember, can’t recall anything but Yuri’s incessant pushes with the competition.
He might be overreacting his situation and dilemma right now, but this is his passion skinning him alive. The lack of satisfaction hammering him upside down. Just… Just his insecurities coming at him like ants pricking his legs.
In the middle of burying his shameful face into his hands, a person passes him, chattering mindlessly into her phone, and it earns his attention. Craning his head towards the entrance of his building to where the young lady enters, Bam stands up at the revelation that it’s not simply any buildings—it’s a skating rink.
He still has time before dinner. It doesn’t hurt to try, he supposes.
Bam steps into the establishment, greeted by the chime of the glass door opening and welcomed by the burst of cool breeze from the air-conditioner. It’s heaven from the hellish blaze of the sun earlier. He strides towards the reception as smooth as he can, albeit his wandering eyes give him away the fact that he’s not a local in this countryside town.
The whole exchange is a blur. He asked for their rates. The receptionist responded. There was a pair of ice skates in his hand and he’s heading towards one of the rinks.
“The first rink is not available. Please proceed to the second.” He wonders why. Before the second rink is the first rink, doors open and the cold of the ice seeping into the silvers of his skin. He doesn’t hallucinate the lone skating figure. The dominating sound of the skate blades on the ice has Bam halting in his tracks.
Blue, blue, blue, and blue . The rink is wide and expansive for a single skater to reign magnificently through the ice and Bam watches each form of art expressed in curled fingers, stretched limbs, and spinning legs. He thinks this man is flying with his glacial hair fluttering and skin glowing ethereal.
A majestic ice prince , Bam thinks.
Then, he is presented with the flawless mixture of the galaxies, the skies from morning to night, meeting the purest of lapiz of the ocean—worlds encased in a pair of ultramarine irises.
Wow.
The man smiles, “Hello again, Mr. Photographer.”
Fuck.
Bam fumbles with the white lace of his ice skates, finding an excuse from looking at Aguero—the man’s name, he introduced earlier. “So, you’re a skater.”
He’s excessively conscious of the smirk that doesn’t have an end in sight. There’s a million and a hundred thousand implications of a single quirk of his lips. Bam chooses not to delve too much in it. Try to, at least.
“I am,” there’s a tinge of teasing that Bam cannot miss, “Been a while now.”
Leaning against the walls outside the rink, Bam buries his face deep into his knees. The chuckle from Aguero sounds like a death toll at three in the afternoon. “I’m sorry,” the nervous laugh that rumbles from Bam’s throat is the reaper’s blade coming for the single thread of his reputation, “I didn’t mean to look, I was—” he can’t possibly say he’s simply curious , can he?
That’s the trigger, the leverage as Aguero’s grin stretches wide and mocking. “It’s not particularly an invasion of privacy—”
“Oh, god,” Bam wants to melt into a puddle and evaporate into thin air. The realization that he just took a photo without permission, and especially of the man of his mortifications. “I’m so sorry.” He’s going to have his photographer identity revoked.
(Bam doesn’t acknowledge the fact that he is overreacting, he chooses not to.)
Aguero is having a great time with his flustered reactions, adding more salt on the wound, “Those reactions are quite funny. I was wondering when you’ll actually talk to me.”
An engine running out of gas, Bam has lost all words. A breath of resignation slips past his lips.
Then, Khun asks: “Did you like what you see?”
He means the routine, right? All those jumps and spins. Those perfect poses as he skates through the ice. “Did I like what I see?” Bam reiterates, trailing off to a resolve coming together more persistent than ever.
Bam beams, “Yes, I did. It’s the most beautiful thing I have seen in my whole life.”
And, Aguero. The swell of pride is a great feeling in Bam’s chest as he finally one-up him. That flirty bastard has his blue eyes wide and eyebrows quirked up with glossy lips parted. He coughs a, “Thanks,” dismissing Bam’s honest claim as a natural occurrence but Aguero is the nonpareil of the century. He stifled a giggle at how the beet red of his ears contradicts his blue aesthetic.
Yes, Bam concludes, standing with a newfound purpose of all this dilemma, He would be a great muse.
Bam knows at least a page of a textbook about skating, or that’s what his vague muscle memory supplies. A childhood in winter wind, frozen lake, and flying snowballs.
Aguero has been patient with him as they run over the basics: how to stand, how to move, and the turn. Now, they’re mindlessly traversing through the ice, with no goal whatsoever. The cold tickling around Bam’s legs is nostalgic, a film reeling when he used to constantly trip and fall on the frozen water.
“You’re pretty good,” Aguero casually remarks. Both of them bump on the edge of the rink.
“Not as good as you,” Bam easily sneaks in a compliment, but Aguero processes it in a stride. “I used to skate as a kid. My family used to go to the province for winter holidays.”
Aguero nods his acknowledgement. The silence from Bam prompts him to speak, “I’m a regular here actually.”
“You’re a local?”
“Yep,” Aguero skates away to the center, stretching and Bam assumes he’s going to start another routine again. Bam says, “You’re a pro-skater.” Unfortunately, Bam doesn’t know much about the skating world, yet after knowing Aguero, he might start watching ice skating videos.
“Perceptive,” Aguero allows himself an amused smile, “But, don’t tell anyone. I’m running away at the moment.”
A popular one, then? Bam juts up an eyebrow. Possible blackmail, but he’s too much of an angel to use it against someone who is as dazzling as Aguero. It should be well-deserved, in the aftermath of the teasing and things he makes Bam feel, but no .
Somehow, Bam wants that fact only for himself to know alone.
(It’s frustrating enough for Bam to not at least know a little about skating, maybe just for the sake of olympics. If that were the case, he could’ve recognized Aguero faster.)
Aguero skids through the ice, a little slower, building momentum, as if something is coming. The waves draining the shores with each glide on the rink, a full tsunami as he starts accelerating. Then, there is a spin, a calm storm, and Bam’s breath is taken away at his jumps, spinning and spinning as if the world revolves only around Aguero. And.. and—
—Bam is at a loss of words, mind blanking and replaced by Aguero’s graceful movements. Look at me, he enchants.
Bam notices Aguero doesn’t actually finish the routine. He’s slowing down, the skating blades scratch on the ice to a halt and Aguero is looking at him all of a sudden. A compliment should be the natural reaction but what comes out of him is: “I have a hike.”
He closes his mouth, wetting his lips in buying time for coherent words. His mind is barely catching up and what the hell am I doing? But— “In two days, and um, if you’re free, you can climb with me?” The summit. I want to see the summit with him.
There's a gratifying grin from Khun, a perfect smile in front of the camera.
"All yours, pretty boy."
Him and his flirts.
The wind whistles past and the trees rustle coolness on their thick-clad clothes. Bam’s breath comes out in foggy pants and his eyes are trained on the top of the mountain. The oxygen is slowly thinning and it’s a feeling that Bam is familiar with.
“Are we almost there?” Aguero wheezes out, his head up high yet his brows are furrowed in dissatisfaction. “It seems like forever.”
“Is it your first time?” Bam asks and Aguero scoffs, playfully. But, Bam is worried it cracked something with what they have. “Well I—”
“No, it’s not my first time,” Aguero inhales the crisp air, “It’s been a while since I last climbed something.”
Bam falls silent. He’s supposed to be nodding or remarking with a light-hearted comment, yet his mind gradually blanks with each step they take to the summit, and the summit is breathtaking. “It’ll be worth it once we reach the top.” Aguero gives him a look, then a soft sigh of “Yeah.”
Both of them have nothing on their minds but the top and together.
When they arrive, the sea is gone, not a body of water but pristine clouds forming a traversing white wave flowing in a slow waltz. Other mountains are barely risen in the ocean of puffy white clouds. The wind engulfs them in a tantalizing manner. The view from the summit promises a miracle from the landform of mountains and Bam feels like Caesar conquering one glory after another. A victory so magnificent materializing on the land he stands upon.
It feels like heaven. When Bam cranes his head to the side, Aguero is there, mesmerized and captivated by the beauty of nature, cerulean eyes wide and amazed and his tied celeste locks fluttering.
“Ugh,” Aguero groans, collapsing on his foot and taking off the heavy backpack off his back. “...Tired.”
Bam feels guilty for informing him of their short break and the expected groan from Aguero wrenches his heart a little. He, as well, wishes to stay here but time doesn't permit them so, never did and never will.
Bam takes out his DSLR camera, black and sleek, glinting prime in the occasional rays of the sun. Each moment that passes is a living memory of life and Bam’s whole passion is capturing them, letting their magic last in a single photo.
He takes everything that is beautiful, everything that is otherworldly, that is dignified, flawless, and blue.
Aguero is the most beautiful he has ever seen. His navy eyes flutter at him in mystical wonder. His hair, a celeste dancing in the wind before him.
Then, he says, “Can I ask something?”
Bam lowers his camera, checking each picture, “Sure.”
“Why did you come here?”
Their eyes meet, not through the viewfinder and the lens, but eye to eye, as if the setting sun is touching the ocean horizons.
“There’s a photography competition,” Bam begins to tuck away his camera, “I was told the sights here are great.”
Bam stares up at Aguero, a smile wide and pure.
“They are right.”
Bam earns another trophy as he sees the flush of Aguero’s cheeks, looking away from him. He’s a tease in naivete’s disguise. “Good for you,” Aguero shrugs his backpack on his shoulders, “lucky you.”
“Um, hey, can you—” Bam inhales, takes a deep breath, leaping towards the chance, planning to jump from one summit to another, for a possible serendipity in this countryside town. “Can you be my model for this competition? You don’t have to do anything, just be yourself.”
“I can do that.” Aguero glances over his shoulder, then he swivels to face Bam. The three p.m. sunshine hits his figure perfectly: his enchanting eyes, his bewitching grin, the appealing contours of his jaw and cheeks. “I’m all yours.”
The following days are a tad bit brighter for Bam. The constant teasing and fleeing from the man in the springs has turned into enjoyable conversations and Bam finds himself always paying a visit on the first rink where Aguero always is.
Aguero has roped him into skating more often than he'd like, going as far as paying for Bam’s own renting skates and even ending up buying him a pair to keep.
"You—!" Bam was speechless, holding a pair of expensive skates, from the looks of it. No, all ice skates are expensive. As much as Bam wanted to decline the gift, he couldn't possibly turn down something from Aguero. "Are you sure I can have this?"
"Pssh," Aguero waved, "I have more. I can always buy a new pair if I need it."
Rich. Bam had thought.
And, Aguero is a manipulative bastard who gave the pair of skates to Bam and is now holding it over Bam’s head, along the lines of, don't let those blades rust and be grateful it came from me.
He asked who Aguero was, because he couldn't possibly make someone his model without knowing who they are. Aguero answered it's a secret. Bam respected that, he acknowledged it as far as not looking him up on the internet. Bam would have come to know him soon. He did state he was being rebellious and running away .
It's not a bad thing, really. Bam is distracted from the unnecessary pressure of the competition, from the unknowing desperation to find purpose in everything, and of his own insecurities. Aguero is amazing in keeping everything negative away.
Today, it's the same: Bam in his skates, barely keeping up and a time ticking bomb of embarrassment in front of Aguero.
"I think I'm starting to regret that I dropped skating as my hobby," Bam blurts, his stance stubbornly unwavering and he can hear clapping on the other side of the rink.
"Well, that is still a good foundation," Aguero circles him, a proud smirk, "And you're learning from the best."
As if Bam has the courage to even attempt an axel, a toe-loop, or even a salchow. "Right."
"Now, now, don't be too discouraged." Aguero stops in front of him, "You have your pretty face as a big essential asset."
"Ha," Bam lets his smile stretch wide, "I bet you have a fanbase. I won't be surprised at this point." The grimace he earns from Aguero proves him right.
The next words are supposed to be a joke: "Besides, you're my type," another attempt to tease Aguero, a payback for his fair share of flirting.
But, Aguero's expression makes Bam flush.
He breaks eye contact immediately. The silence that lingers in the rink is dominating, an awkward hole they unwillingly dug themselves in. It’s another episode of Bam desiring to become a puddle and surely another session to form a contract and become one with the ice beneath him. Anything to get out of this awkward situation that seems to cause shame.
“A-anyway,” Aguero’s voice is throaty, a little finger behind from recovering and Bam is barely processing anything, “I have a question.”
Question? Bam nods. Question about my entire existence, which is basically the epitome of flustered mess?
“You asked me to be your model, but when are you going to take pictures?”
Isn’t the one in the park enough? Bam’s mind supplies for him, but he mentally flails the thought out. “Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow?” Why did that come out as hesitant? Aguero might think Bam is forgetting about the agreement. His brain scrambles for the next statement, “I’m not sure.”
Bam sighs, “I’ve been taking pictures since the first day I’m here and there’s something wrong with them.”
“Wrong?” Bam thinks he can’t bear the weight of Aguero’s stare, so he skates, speed slow and casual. “Yeah, something is lacking, incomplete. Something big is missing, and I can’t tell what it is. It might be the pressure because it’s been a while since I joined a competition, or maybe it might be my insecurities with my work acting up. It’s just—”
There’s a tight squeeze on his hand, warm on his cool skin, cozy in light of his pent-up inner conflict.
“There’s something I like about figure skating in pairs,” Aguero starts to lead him, with a pull that Bam lets himself be dragged along, “it’s because you're both facing the whole world. You have each other’s back.”
Aguero's hand on his waist sears through his clothes, a spark of electricity freezing him in place. The scratch of the blades on the ice resounds as Bam glides along, just like what Aguero has taught him the past days.
“It has its ups-and-downs. My partner was a pain in the ass. But—” The rink is cold yet the blue fire in his eyes melts the remains of Bam’s fleeting fears. It sparks a conflagration of feelings in him. “—it’s great. Comforting even when the pressure was too much.”
“I don’t know much about photography, but look—” Aguero breaks away and performs a quick spin. Bam recognizes that they had been skating. “—I’m your model now. Well, for now . It means you’re not alone.”
“I think you’re the type to shoulder everything by yourself.” There’s a tinge of bittersweet as Aguero smiles, “It’s nice to have someone with you, I mean, even if they’re strangers.”
The cold seeps in their clothes. It’s not biting, but instead a reassuring chill.
“Yeah,” Bam breathes, “yeah. you’re right,” then, he smiles, “thanks.”
“Yeah,” Aguero smiles, warm and genuine and heart-stuttering. “That comes with a cost.”
“What?”
Aguero exhales, “Before you leave—” he stretches his hand out, “—How about learning a spin or two and perform a basic routine with me?”
“What?” Bam blinks, twice. Heliacal eyes wide and lips parted. It’s impossible. It’s impossible. Bam is not a good skater, he isn’t a skater. He’s here because Aguero told him to, Aguero asked him to. He said yes and ever since, this countryside town has become more profound.
“I don’t want to repeat myself.” There it is again. Aguero’s pull. This stranger he has come to know for the past couple of weeks and Bam has become a magnet as he takes Aguero’s hand.
It’s a challenge, and underneath, something more.
Bam shows up not with his skates, but with his camera.
As if Aguero has been waiting for him all morning, he perks up at the sight of Bam entering the rink, not on the ice much to Aguero’s chagrin. Yet, his eyes, sharp and observant, studies the black Canon camera case dangling from Bam’s shoulders.
“What?” There’s an embarrassed huff that follows after, “You boosted my morale yesterday and…” What’s with him today that he’s stuttering? And Aguero is merely standing there, leaning, all perfect and handsome.
“...Thanks,” Bam murmurs, clinging on the ebony strap of the bag. The red of his ears pulls a sly smirk from Aguero.
He chimes, “Like I said, it’s not free.”
“I know!”
Bam starts to set his camera, opening on the lens, waiting for the software to start, and his smile is strained with the prickling and somewhat intense staring from Aguero. He is half-tempted to feel his nape for two deep burrowed holes. There’s nothing wrong with organizing his camera. It’s a familiar action that is etched deep in his bones, a muscle memory that will never go away. There should be nothing wrong or unusual, yet why is Aguero staring at him as if he is a frog to be dissected?
Bam breathes out his hyper-aware senses of Aguero’s gaze and turns around. He is still leaning by the divider separating them, a couple of meters that feels like miles.
Bam forces his vocal chords to function, “Aren’t you going to skate?”
Aguero hums, his grin never fades away. “I found a new hobby.” Bam narrows his eyes, “And what is it?” Perhaps this might be one of the many things he will come to regret once his hair turns white.
“Staring at you.”
Such shamelessness he possesses. Bam can only complain to god why he didn’t distribute such confidence fairly.
“...Thanks?” What a lame response, Bam internally grips his hair.
“Weren’t you practicing a routine before I came along? You can go and work on that while I watch here.” He then waves Aguero away, “Like I said, be yourself.” He lifts his camera to check the quality of the lens, “Besides, you do everything perfectly. It’s not as if I have to direct you or something.”
“Why, thank you.” The unfazed and chest-aching smile he sends has Bam unconsciously taking a picture. “Started already? Let me see.”
“Later.” That quick shot is a trial, and Bam will abuse such excuses as much as he wants.
Aguero pinches his eyebrows, and— what the fuck, is that a pout? How is he that cute? —off he goes to the rink, warming up with a few spins and jumping lightly, feeling the welcoming arms of the chills of ice.
Bam watches the scene unfold before him. He imagines Aguero standing tall and proud underneath the glow of the light, beautiful, flawless, ready to take the whole world like a storm. He imagines the world stopping for him, their breath taken away. Bam finds himself asking how can he know someone who is as astounding as Aguero? Let alone let him be introduced to this sensational man’s life?
Pictures! Right, pictures! Bam opens his camera, stabilizing and concentrating on the quadrilateral screen. Aguero moves through the ice like it’s all he has ever known, as if he was born for it, as if he exists to be with the ice, as if he is in another universe and he rightfully belongs there and Bam wants to be there too.
Wait, pictures! Pictures! Bam fiddles with his shutter button and there’s a smile on his lips that manifests this feeling when Aguero moves to the center of the rink. He spins and Bam is drawn to his axis. Was it a combo spin? Aguero spins fast, in rhythm with the accelerated beats of his heart. He ends it there with a soft pirouette and he’s gliding across the ice again. There’s no music, only the sound of the blades scratching, Bam’s own breathing, and the camera’s muted clicking. There’s no one else, only the two of them.
There’s no one, and Bam remembers there’s something I like about figure skating in pairs and it’s because you're both facing the whole world and you have each other’s backs .
Then, he thinks, I wish I can figure skate with you and We can both face the whole world and I have you .
The blades’ scratching stops. There’s panting. There’s silence and it has a sense of finality in it, an endgame, a somewhat checkmate. Their eyes meet—mesmerizing blue—and Bam clicks a picture then greets him with an easy-going smile and a proud compliment. Then, Aguero is removing his shirt and what.
Aguero exhales a half-yell into the high ceiling of the first rink. He turns to Bam, grinning, “So, how was it?”
But, Bam. His eyes train on the gleaming smile of Aguero and his broad shoulders. Aguero is still panting and Bam studies the delicate way Aguero’s exposed chest is rising and falling, seemingly finding himself to fall in the same pattern of catching his breath. His gaze dangerously trails low, mouth going dry . He still cannot believe the shoulder-waist-hip ratio of this man. Given that he is working out for the sake of his skating career, it is still something worth nothing.
Bam clears his throat, “It’s great. A new routine for the next tournament?” He doesn’t give Aguero a chance to speak as he adds, “Why did you remove your shirt?”
“Didn’t you say that I should be myself?” Certainly, the curl of his lips says otherwise. This is definitely not Aguero’s style, removing the shirt to expose his toned body for all to see. “You told me so.” Certainly, this is like Aguero, teasing the hell out of Bam. He must have taken seriously what Bam told him yesterday. That you’re my type will become Bam’s nightmares and Aguero’s dreams
“Plus,” Aguero skates towards Bam. Danger! His mind alarms him. “You do know how hot it could be here sometimes during lunch.”
Lunch! “Lunch!” Bam exclaims, “Yeah, lunch, it is hot and I’m hungry,” he smiles, strained from his looming embarrassment.
“Wear your shirt!” Bam scrambles outside for lunch, yeah lunch. “I’ll go get lunch.”
He leaves the rink, fleeing the possible cause of his death. He races down each flight of stairs to the next building. Oh no, he forgot to ask what Aguero wanted.
Bam looks down at his converse shoes, “Oh god.” Aguero would want food that is low on carbohydrates? Um, maybe vegetables would work for him? Wasn’t he in a fast food restaurant last time? Is it okay for him to have a cheat day today? What if it gets in the way of his skating?
Fuck it. Bam taps his shoes on the tiled floor of a chinese restaurant. He should be grateful that I’m buying lunch for him.
Aguero has no business looking so damn fine with that well-built body of his. This is unfair for Bam. Aguero is literally doing nothing to make Bam flustered in all shades of red.
What's more, Aguero is amazing and it makes Bam breathless.
This is unfair. Bam covers his face, the memory, the vivid image of Aguero’s muscular back burned in his mind. Truly unfair.
“Sir?” the person behind him taps his shoulder, “You’re next.”
“S-sorry!”
When Bam returns, his steps are light and cautious, determined not to catch Aguero’s attention right away. He had been grumbling under his breath. Aguero is there, his arms propped up and outside the skating surface. His azure eyes lidded and the look he gives to the ice is distant, as if he’s seeing something more, something that Bam cannot see.
Bam takes a picture.
“Aguero!” Bam jogs to him, bags in hand. “I took the liberty to order what I think you might like.”
“Thanks.”
Dazzlingly beautiful and extraordinary.
"You take way too many candid photos of me."
"But you still like them."
Bam makes a spin, hands still intertwined with Aguero as they glide through the ice.
“That would be correct.” Aguero’s hand is gently placed on his waist, their speed a little faster for a turn, “Are you sure of the photo you submitted?”
“Yup. With a touch of editing, it looks fine.”
“What do you mean ‘fine’?” Aguero exclaims, emphasizing with a firm squeeze on his arm and Bam is grinning like he already won the competition. “It was amazing!”
The pure candor in Aguero’s voice has Bam looking away. It’s blinding, a little too much for his heart. His lips lock him of any words as if it’s an involuntary action not to sputter anything that could pile more onto his mountain of mortifications.
This is it. A spin that Bam has been working for the past week, a simple move that he took a chance on when Aguero asked him to learn. The feeling is tantalizing, intoxicatingly dizzying. Aguero’s hold is firm, comforting, and searing as they spin and it’s another galaxy of their own. It’s still sloppy, but Bam thinks it’s enough, perfect even, as he stares and stares and he’s drowning in the depths of Aguero’s blue.
His hands are warm, like a promise of solace in a stranger, a tethering reminder that everything’s alright. They skate through the ice and it’s the most freeing feeling Bam has ever felt.
“Before you leave,” they gradually pause (because Bam doesn’t want to stop), “Can I have a copy?”
“It’s required for me to give copies,” Bam assures him, “so, don’t worry.”
The atmosphere turns bittersweet. A sugary kind of air with a taste of farewell at dusk.
“Come back tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
Bam wakes up to the incessant noise of his phone ringing.
The sun is barely up, pouring light gold through the linings of the drawn curtains. He's still in his clothes from last night. Bad idea , as he dimly recalls he passed out right after returning from his month-long trip.
He still wants to sleep, but there can only be one person who would be unholy awake in the too-early hours of the morning.
"Bam!" Yuri's voice is as lively as ever, and Bam grunts as he rises from the bed. "You never told me you left and met a celebrity!"
"Celebrity—" Bam hisses as he bumps into the doorframe, "I didn't meet a celebrity, Ms. Yuri."
"Liar," there's a disbelief in her tone, "The results are out and even if you didn't win—" Oh . "—Yours skyrocketed on twitter!"
Isn't that normal with some of his photos? Some will blow up, some won't and what makes this different?
"Oh Jahad…" Yuri sounds like she's about to give up on him, "You never mentioned Khun Aguero Agnis posing for you."
"What do yo—Fuck!" Bam stumbles onto the wooden floor of his apartment, tears stinging his eyes as he cradles his pinky toe. This is the worst pain imaginable. "Khun Aguero Agnis?"
Bam halts. The clock stops ticking and he can hear the birds chirping and the trees rustling at the momentary silence of his realization.
Skater. Pro—skater. Aguero. And you're learning from the best.
Blue, blue!
"Oh my god…" Bam composes himself in his kitchen stool. His nerves are burning alive and decimating the remnants of his sleep.
Bam hangs up the call—sorry, Yuri—and dials a number he engraved into his soul.
The tone picks up after the third ring and—"Aguero!" Wait, that's embarrassing, "Mr. Khun!"
"Bam?"
"You—" Bam's heart is beating fast, quick, "You told me you were a skater but I didn't expect a world champion!"
Khun Aguero Agnis. Yes, Bam recalls him, not much but he knows he has been representing Korea for the Olympics. He remembers watching a video of his routine in pairs then getting confused when he saw the next clip was in Men's Singles. He remembers Ehwa saying that he's too cocky but I'll forgive him since he always wins.
THE Khun Aguero Agnis! Bam cannot believe he just asked him to model for him for the competition. His own audacity! Hwaryun is right that his cluelessness and dense mind will be his downfall.
Oh no. The hot springs, the accidental picture in the park. Aguero's effective teases. His well-built body. His heart-staggering smiles. His enchanting eyes.
"Your reaction is more entertaining than I expected." Khun laughs. His goddamn laugh. "You can still call me Aguero."
"Mr. Khun!" Bam shots up, the chair screeching, "I couldn't possibly—"
"Aguero, please?"
"Aguero," Bam exhales. "Alright, Aguero." Somehow, that is what Bam needed to calm down, the adrenaline in his veins gradually fading. Bam is supposed to be asleep, but any trace of drowsiness has disappeared completely.
A silence—bless the deities, it's not uncomfortable—blankets over them. It stretches into a full minute before Aguero speaks again. "Surprise?"
Bam chuckles, "Surprise. It's my morning alarm."
"Good morning."
"Good morning." Bam doesn't know what to feel at this point. He's a mix of surprise, giddy, excited, worried, and disbelief. It's not like Bam wants to put Aguero on an altar and worship him, but someone as great as him? Bam is a pebble on the road and Aguero is the prince in a parade.
"Wait," Bam starts making his coffee, "I posted the picture and now everyone knows where you are. Didn’t you say you were running away?"
Aguero assures him that it's an impulsive vacation he so much needed and a rebellious phase because he wanted to get away from everything. Bam understands and respects what Aguero wants like when he asked to not look him up on the internet.
"I have an offer." Bam smiles. The sensation of Aguero smiling is contagious. "I want you to be my photographer."
Bam almost drops the kettle. The droplets of smoking hot water sprinkling over his hand.
"I—" Bam coughs, "Is there even a position like that?"
"I make my own rules, Bam." Ah, the smugness, the overflowing confidence Bam can only long for.
I want you to be my photographer. Is that even possible? Someone as great as Khun Aguero Agnis is willing to be with him? Bam can only do so much. A month. They have only known each other a month and their unordinary meeting and ordinary relationship are what makes them, them.
"I can wait for an answer—"
"No!" wrong! "I mean, yes! Yes!" The moments alone in the rink. His own amazement as he watches Aguero make the world breathless. The smile he gives him. His eyes are always searching for him.
"Okay." Aguero breathes and he sounds breathless, "Okay, then I'll show you the top of the world, Bam."
The top. Together.