Chapter Text
If there is one thing that makes Gojo Satoru feel alive, it’s skating. The wind in his hair, the sound of metal scratching the ice, the flow of his body moving to the music, leaning into his partner who lifts him by his waist and spins him the wrong direction- wait.
Satoru’s ass meets the cold hard ice. He slides a few metres, frustration washing over him.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry” is what he hears but Satoru doesn’t even bother, just holds up his hand, which prompts the song that was blasting over the speakers to stop.
“This isn’t fucking working” Satoru barks. He sighs as he pushes away the hand of the man he was just skating with to stand up on his own accord.
“I’m sorry” the younger figure skater stammers, dark fringe hanging in his face. It was hard not to compare him to Suguru. Although he was tall he didn’t have nearly as wide of a build. Suguru was strong, elegant, and coordinated. He responded to Satoru perfectly when skating, intuitively knowing his movements before even he did… Not like this dumbass of a–
“Save it” Satoru snaps, pushing off to meet Yaga at the boards.
The trainer was standing with his arms crossed, not bothering to watch his student approach. He sighed once Satoru reached him.
“This is impossible. Are you kidding me? Suguru could throw me 2 metres in the air and this idiot-” he makes sure to growl the last part particularly loud “can’t even spin me the right direction. Get me someone good Yaga”
“Well” Yaga starts, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose.
“Since you went through 15 of our best skaters and you declared all of them either incompetent or flat out stupid, and facing the fact that you and Suguru skated more than 10 years together, you won’t get a new partner that is anywhere near as skilled as him. You have to start with new talent even if they’re…truly idiots.” His eyes flicked to the man still standing in the middle of the rink.
Satoru laughed bitterly.
“Let's take a break. Ijichi come over, let’s talk.” Yaga declares, sighing again for good measure.
“And you” he said, gripping Gojos arm.
“Just…go change, I’ve had enough of you for today.”
“Shitty Yaga, dumbass people who have the audacity to call themselves skaters and…ugh that idiot Suguru…”. Satoru grumbles insults after insults while taking off his black Eda skates. His thumb flicks across the blade, revealing the shiny metal under the shaved ice. His blue eyes reflect back at him, and they are dark with exhaustion.
He leans back, too tired to stop the memories from suddenly washing over him.
“I’m quitting.”
“You’re what?”
Satoru could scarcely believe his ears. Maybe what hurt the most was how unaffected Suguru seemed; like he wasn’t bothered at all by the fact that he was throwing away everything he’s—they’ve—worked for.
Suguru shrugged, slinging his skates over his right shoulder and hefting his equipment bag over his left. “You heard me. I quit.”
Satoru ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Like, you’re quitting pairs? Or you’re quitting quitting?”
Suguru was visibly annoyed now. “Quitting figure skating, Satoru. Don’t act obtuse.”
Satoru exploded. “What the fuck, Suguru, you owe me an explanation. Sectionals are in less than two months—you can’t just quit!”
He took a deep breath to temper himself when he saw Suguru’s eyes flash. His partner’s never responded well to anger, and Satoru wasn’t stupid enough to try to yell at him into staying.
Managing a calmer voice, he asked, , “Can you at least tell me why? Is it—is it me? Or something else? Something must have happened for you to just up and quit out of nowhere.”
Suguru finally sighed, dropping his bag onto the bench before running a hand over his face. He looked tired—now that Satoru collected himself somewhat, he could see the dark circles under his friend’s eyes, like he hadn’t slept well in a while.
“Look, it’s nothing to do with you. Really. It’s just—do you remember last June, in Helsinki?”
Satoru cocked his head, not quite following. “Yeah, we placed second there. What about it?”
“Exactly. Don’t you get it? At that championship I gave my everything. I didn’t make a single mistake and never skated better in my whole life and we still. Only. Got. Second!”
“So because we didn’t get first in one competition, you’re quitting?”
Suguru glared at him. “It’s not just the one competition, Satoru, and you know it. We’ve been working together since we were, what? Nine? Do you even know how hard I’m working? I’m putting in so much overtime you’re not even aware of and it’s not giving the results I want. Meanwhile everybody else is doing shit all. I’m done.”
At his wits’ end, Satoru threw up his hands in desperation. “Am I not putting in the work?! I work hard too! Have I ever come short of performing perfectly?”
“No you haven't. I have! That’s exactly the problem here, Satoru.”
He sighed. “Look, I really am sorry—I’ve been sitting on this for a while now but I didn’t want to freak you out.”
Satoru snorted in disbelief. “Well, your timing’s amazing. Thank you so much for waiting ’til the last minute to tell me.”
Suguru just stared at him blankly, jaw flexing from unspoken words, but he might as well have screamed at Satoru, the hurt in his eyes speaking volumes.
But so did Satoru’s. In a staring match of hurt versus betrayal, Satoru was the first one to break.
“Have fun throwing the towel then”, he spat through gritted teeth before turning to walk away. At that, Suguru’s body flinched violently.
“I’ll never give up. Never.”
But now? 15 burned bridges later and however many hours of tryouts later? Now he’s not so sure.
6 weeks later, and despite Yaga’s best attempts to find Satoru a new partner, presenting newcomers, seasoned professionals, you name it, none of them can match Gojo’s pace. Numerous complaints are voiced about Satoru having too high of standards and pushing people past their limits. Just thinking about it makes Satoru want to rip his hair out. Too perfect, how ridiculous. Everybody expected him to perform to his best ability–he was simply asking for a partner who could also keep up with him. How hard could it be? The situation was turning more hopeless and Yaga’s nerves were getting dangerously thin with each of Satoru’s rejections.
The sound of screaming children outside of his changing room rips Satoru out of his thoughts, the clearly audible excitement in their giggles and shrieks bringing him back to the present.
Satoru packs up, shoving his skates in the designated bag and his water bottle in the training sack. He opens the door to two girls stumbling in their hockey skates towards the indoor rink. It’s rare for Satoru to be here when kids occupy the stadium since their training happens after school hours and Satoru usually never trains this long. But with the partner trials going on, his schedule is off and all over the place.
Wanting to distract himself and not ready to go home yet, Satoru shoulders his bags and walks over to the rink corner, leaning on the boards to watch the kids practise passing pucks at the instruction of their coach.
It’s been a while since Satoru’s seen Shoko. He knew she switched to teaching ice hockey but then again, their training times never matched and even when they did in preseason, she was always sprinting between uni, a part time job and the rink at lightning speed, too fast to catch for a chat. Satoru never understood why she quit, ice skating that is, but thinking about it triggers memories of them together, which includes Suguru and that’s the last thing Satoru wants to think about right now. On top of that, ice hockey was freaking lame. They destroyed the ice in phenomenal fashion, were always rowdy and had no class. The fact Shoko decided to join these losers and then switch to coaching made as much sense to Gojo as a Michelin chef deciding to cook for KFC.
“Okay guys, 5 more minutes and then we’ll finish with a friendly match.” She announces, earning happy cheers from the tiny hockey players.
Shoko sounds the same even all these years. Her voice is stern even though there’s a tiredness underneath it. Her straight posture is even more apparent between all these kids and their terrible hunching, postures absolutely boorish. Yaga would have had a fit if he saw this slouching. Shoko’s skating elegantly between them, still light on her feet. But her face shows exhaustion and if he wasn't 20 metres away Gojo could swear that there’s a crease between her eyebrows from frowning.
“Coach” a young boy halts in front of her, almost stumbling over before finding a solid stance, pointing past Shoko. “Who’s that?”
Satoru let his eyes flicker over the young boy, pink hair sticking out between the metal guard wires of his helmet, jersey clearly too big for him. Satoru raises his hand, giving a quick wave. That's when the girls in the group erupt in squeals.
“He’s so handsome.”
“Is he a hockey player?”
“How old do you think he is? 18? Older?”
But what catches Satoru's attention is Shoko turning around and finding his eyes. Her glance lingers and he’s almost certain there’s surprise flickering across her face. Or is it concern?
“Calm down, gosh, my ears. He’s a figure skater, nobody important.”, Shoko answers, turning back to her group of rascals. At “figure skater” the whole group deflates and Satoru swears he hears one of the girls say “eww”.
Which makes Satoru prickle.
“Hey!” he shouts, the line between being mock offended and actually bruised ego unclear. But the sly smirk Shoko flashes him over her shoulders makes him settle down again, resting his chin on his hand.
Satoru stays to watch the little friendly match. The pink haired kid puts on some additional equipment before standing in the small goal and the two girls Gojo saw before join his team. It’s pure chaos, really, hearing the kids shout, the hockey sticks clashing together and the puck clacking against the ice. But there is some sort of electricity in the air. It feels like they don’t have any other worries in the world other than to absolutely dunk on their opponents. One of the girls scores and victorious screams fill the hall.
“Nice, Maki!” one of the two girls shouts, skating up to another player, hands lifted and shaking her head mockingly. “How does that feel, Loserguro, hmm?”
Satoru chuckles. The fact that Shoko can keep up with these rascals is surely partially thanks to the shit she had to endure with him and Suguru. Back then, the three of them were inseparable, basically living at the Rink, calling it their second home.
She moved on from figure skating but is still surrounded by chaos. And as always she handles it just fine. With a little push of her skates, she dodges the kids who are about to run into her, their eyes focused on only the puck with no spatial awareness whatsoever, so Shoko does the avoiding for them.
The way she glides over the ice is so much calmer than what's happening around her–almost serene. Her arms swing by her side, perfectly matching her backwards crosstep. A small twirl here to change direction and a bunny hop before she catches up with the kids and–
Oh.
Oh.
Satoru slightly lifts his head, his eyes opening wide. He stops himself from coming to a conclusion, wanting to see more and–
There.
A perfect waltz jump.
That's when it clicks. That’s when Satoru's jaw falls open and doesn’t close as he decides that this is the solution to all of his problems.
The kids play for 15 long, excruciating minutes before Shoko announces the end of the game. All of the kids gather and the two teams stand on opposite lines before bowing deeply and shouting their thanks for the match.
When everyone finally leaves, Shoko skates over, meeting the boards hip first and giving Satoru a small jump.
“Sheesh, rough.”
“I'm sorry, Mr. Prince”
His old nickname…funny. Shoko leans back first against the boards, her elbows supporting her weight.
“Nice surprise” she starts.
“Yeah. Feels like I haven't seen you in years” Satoru answers, raising a hand to ruffle her dark brown hair. She lets out a huff that could almost pass as a giggle but continues to shove Satoru away from her.
“For you maybe, I saw you last week cussing out that poor blonde guy before he shoved you and said…something along the lines of you being the worst person ever to work with? Do I remember that correctly?”
“Ehh?” Satoru tilts away appalled. “You a stalker now or what?”
“Nah, you’re just too self important to notice anybody else when you’re skating”. They stare at each other for a second, eyes flickering. There's a hidden message in there somewhere that Satoru doesn’t want to acknowledge but Shoko lets it go, turning her head.
“You were pretty impressive out there,” Satoru says, looking at Shoko's profile, his eyes following the curve of her nose till they land on her lips.
“Ha” she snickers, glancing over. “I’m just bossing around a bunch of kids, it’s not that hard”.
Satoru huffs out a laugh.
“Yeah you’re right. But that’s not what I meant. No figure skating for what, 5? 6 years now? But you just randomly do some Waltz Jumps between a bunch of screaming kids? Makes me wonder what else you’ve still got in you.”
Shoko halts, fingers pulling at a strand of hair before she turns her body to Satoru.
“I quit for a reason, Satoru,” she says, wary.
“And I still don’t have a new partner for a reason,” he answers, matching her glare.
Her eyes harden.
“Are you asking me to skate with you? You said it yourself, I haven’t skated in 6 years. Hell Satoru, you don’t even lead.”
“I can learn.”
She bursts into a belly laugh, leaning over to hold her stomach.. He lets her. There’s something telling him that his intuition is right. His gut is telling him this could work.
“You? Learn? Satoru, you kicked out a dozen PROFESSIONAL figure skaters because they couldn't adapt to you. And either way, I quit for good, this whole…” she twirls her finger in the air “shabang is not for me. So no. Not happening.
Satoru pushes himself up, eager to accept this challenge.
“Come on Shoko. Give me one test training. I know you’ve still got it in you!”
Shoko's face falls, the silliness of his request suddenly sinking into something serious, something real
“No. Drop it Satoru” she says, pushing herself back, sliding out onto the ice to put some distance between the two of them and Satoru takes this as his cue to jump over the boards.
His feet meet ice and he takes a second to make sure the non existing profile of his Vans don’t give away, but the ice is rough from the hockey players so he shambles after her.
“I went through everyone. Literally. I don’t wanna say I’m desperate but I really need somebody Shoko” he pleads. “When I saw you on the ice, between those kids, you weren’t just coaching, you were DANCING.”
It's chilly in the stadium but he can barely feel the cold from how hot he’s running, his brain abuzz from the rush of just thinking about having Shoko as a partner. He opens his arms.
“I can see it in the way you stand, in the way you do a crossover, you still have it in you. It's as simple as listening to your body.”
The only acknowledgment that Shoko’s heard his words are both of their breaths, visible as cloud puffs in the cold.
With that, he takes a big step forward, invading her space and grabbing her hand to lift it over her head and twirl her around. Her eyes open wide and her whole body immediately reacts, tilting outwards and executing a perfect pirouette, even exiting in a smooth curve. Satoru exclaims with joy, eyes roaming up and down Shoko's body, but when they land on her face he sees fear.
“Shoko?”
Her chest rises and falls in quick breaths and her eyes dart around aimlessly before staring right into Satoru's soul.
“I’m going home” she concludes, and with that, she practically runs towards the exit.
“Shoko-hey Shoko, wait!”
Satoru pushes off to run after her but his foot slips away–damn Vans–and he has to catch himself before deciding that jumping over the boards and running around the rink curve is quicker. When he reaches Shoko, she’s already pulled off her skates and is frantically shoving her stuff into her bag.
“Come on Shoko. Give me a chance! Didn’t you feel it? How your body automatically executes that spin perfectly?” Satoru gestures with his hands. “I’d even say, there was a spark between us, hmm? Hmm?” he wiggles his eyebrows and bites his lips.
Shoko's head shoots up and she glares daggers at him, but she says nothing, just storms past him towards the exit, leaving Satoru alone at the benches. The doors slam shut and the echo reverberates through the whole stadium, making him feel even more alone in the cold, arms falling to his sides and shoulders sagging in disappointment.
“Shit”
“You what?”
“Just 2 weeks, Yaga. Give me 2 weeks to train alone and not have to test out new partners.”
As Yaga opens his mouth Satoru interrupts him, gripping the older man's shoulders.
“Trust me. I have a plan. If it fails, I’ll swear I’ll work with the first person you choose, no arguing.”
The trainer raises his eyebrow suspiciously, scrutinising Satoru and even after another beat passes he just squints his eyes harder.
“Ultra-strength, pinky promise” Satoru doubles down and that’s when Yaga gives in.
“14 days, not one more Satoru, and after I’m gonna haul your ass and you’re gonna work with Naoya. No talk back”.
“Naoya?! He was the worst of all of the-”
Yaga crosses his arms, which shuts him up immediately. Satoru’s brain goes through 64 different witty comments he could throw out, but in the end he swallows his ego.
“No talk back, got it”
It might seem like a shot in the dark, but he simply can’t ignore the feeling that bubbled up in him yesterday, seeing Shoko and twisting her around. He’ll take this seriously.
From that day, Satoru cuts his time on the ice by half, spending as much time as he can in the gym. He starts lifting, throwing weights and developing lots of upper body strength. In turn, his single sessions start changing. He starts getting more top heavy and has to adjust his angles, though his determination and talent make that change not too much of a problem. He asks his dance teacher Utahime to let him lead during pair dance lessons and she accepts, even if it’s with a questioning look on her face. Satoru thrives under the scrutiny of this new challenge, eager to prove himself. Even Yaga catches on, changing Satoru's diet and joining him in the gym, something he hasn’t done in 3 years.
“I’m kind of an asshole aren’t I?” Satoru asks on day 9, stretching after a particularly hard workout. Yaga is pushing his back downward until his nose meets the padded blue gym floor between his legs, arms stretched out to meet his toes.
“You only now figured this out?” Yaga comments, deadpan.
“Hey, a guy is trying to talk about his feelings here.”
Satoru lifts back up and glances over his shoulder, mouth pulled into a pout.
Yaga’s face distorts into a grimace of his own but decides to entertain the kid.
“What makes you think so?”
“Well, I’m not even sure if she’s going to say yes. I’m just hoping I can change her mind. That’s kind of an asshole move, no? Especially after the reaction she had when I asked her…”
Satoru mumbles the last part, his fingers pulling at the skin around his nails, eyes on the floor. There is a moment of silence, which he’s used to from Yaga, the older man always weighing his words like a wise monk or something. But after yet another beat of nothing Satoru turns his head. He is immediately met with Yaga pushing his upper body as close to the ground as possible.
“EUGH, HEY!”
“What you’re feeling now, that’s guilt kid. I want you to bask in it.”
“Ow ow ow, okay, I get it, let me go” Satoru groans, hands slapping the ground as if to signal he’s given up. Yaga shows mercy and lets him go, holding out a hand to help Satoru stand.
“I admit it’s a fucking stupid idea of you to just hope Shoko comes around and magically wants to pair up with you. Not gonna lie, I’m hoping these next few days go by quickly so I can put you back on your regular regime.”
The ice skater looks at his coach, but when the older man still doesn’t speak, he shoves him.
“But????”
“But… I gotta say kid, I haven’t seen you this hungry since you took your first steps on the ice.”
The corners of Yaga’s mouth twitch upwards, but it doesn't last long as he grabs Satoru's head to shove him down to “wipe that stupid grin off” his face.
Day 12 arrives and Shoko still hasn’t shown her face at the rink. When she didn’t show up for ice hockey practice, Satoru wanted to puke into the nearest corner. But the following day he trained harder than any of the previous days. His muscles are aching from overuse and his body is exhausted from the lack of rest. But he had made himself keep going.
It’s all he can think about on the ice and it’s messing with his coordination. He’s still getting used to the change in his centre of gravity because of weight training and Shoko’s face flashing in his head doesn’t help. Their conversation keeps replaying in his brain, over and over again, as does the way she was gliding so effortlessly on the ice, the way her body flowed perfectly in that spin–the fear in her eyes after.
Maybe he should just accept her decision, listen to what she said. Shoko was usually right anyway–Satoru didn’t lead. In all his years of skating he was the one being thrown and executing complicated spins. He did kick out a dozen professional ice skaters because they just purely lacked talent in his mind. And he was a self important prick that didn't take the time to look at his surroundings–
Satoru kicks his toepick into the ice to stop abruptly. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, so he tries to catch his breath, to quell the panic rising his throat. He lifts his gaze from his feet and frantically looks around to try and ground himself.
And that’s when he sees her. Shoko had just come into the stadium, scooching into the upper levels of the ranks, big book and a laptop clamped under her arm and a tumbler in her other hand. As she sits down, her head lifts to look down onto the ice. She immediately sees Gojo staring at her. She halts in her movements and it’s as if time has stopped. She’s here. She didn’t lie. He thought she had just made it up about seeing him train but she was right, he just never looked around to notice. She’s here!
A silent laugh escapes Gojo’s chest as relief washes over him. He waits a moment more, to see if Shoko will flee the ranks, but she stays and Gojo takes this as his push off point. Suddenly his mind is blank with no anxious thoughts distracting him. Dopamine floods his body, no more stomach aches because of his worries. And he feels free in a way he hasn’t in the last 6 weeks.
His body moves automatically as he starts to circle around the rink, feet crossing over each other in smooth motions. Satoru closes his eyes, feeling the airflow between his fingers, the blades gliding over the ice. He lets his body fall, moving on complete autopilot before smoothly turning into a triple lutz. His leg flares out, the other catching his weight, and his arms follow in elegant motion. The ice is singing to him and his body is listening, all his struggles up to this point forgotten.
His training goes on for another 30 minutes. With Shoko present, he can let go and give into the feeling. It’s just him, and her, and the ice.
At some point it’s time for the ice machine to enter the rink and the stadium to close down.
“Hey Toji” Satoru shouts, recognizing the man manoeuvring the big machine.
“Get the fuck off my ice” the janitor barks, wrist lazily hanging off the steering wheel and the other arm draped over the seat.
“Yeah fuck you too” Satoru mutters, sliding to the middle of the rink to grab his water bottle before continuing in a smooth curve to the exit. While taking a sip, his eyes flick up to the ranks to discover that Shoko isn’t there anymore.
“I guess it’s not as easy as me running to her and begging her to be my partner” he puffs out.
“You have something to say, huh?!” Toji snarks as he stops the ice machine right before entering the rink.
“Nope, nothing” Satoru says, holding up his hands defensively. Then he turns away from the janitor and pulls the ugliest grimace that his beautiful face allows, mimicking Toji’s snarl.
With that, the beeping begins and Satoru starts packing up. A quick glance at his phone shows him that if he runs, he can catch the next train home, so he hurls ass, taking two steps at a time to get out of the stadium.
While jogging, his mind starts planning how to approach Shoko again now that she’s back and doesn't completely hate him. Or, at least she didn't flip him off when she saw him…come to think, she could have studied anywhere else but decided to sit in the inside hall (which is not where the ice hockey team usually plays) during HIS training time. He's one step closer to getting a new partner. But still, he knows that he has to wait for the right moment, even though it’s eating him alive. Experience has now taught him that any attempt to broach this conversation before she wants to will just end in disaster, especially after their little moment the other day.
It's only a short run to the station, down a small hill and around the corner of a shrine but it's enough time for Gojo to scheme on the next part of his plan. Something that will get the kids involved, he thinks, especially that gutsy ginger girl, she’s gonna be useful…oh, and possibly some blackmail! But mostly, Phase 2 of “Get Shoko to Be His Partner” will involve working his irresistible charm on her, of course. It is only when he stumbles to the train station gates and his hands search for his keys that his thoughts come to a screeching halt.
“Ah shit”
He forgot his Suica card, hell his whole keychain, at the ice rink.
“Come ooonnnn” he exclaims, looking around trying to see if anybody is around. There isn't, so he shoulders the sack on his back a bit tighter, takes a step back and jumps the gate. Right as he lands he hears the jingle start playing over the speakers, announcing the train’s arrival, and so Satoru leans full tilt to sprint to his plattform. The next thing he knows is his face is violently kissing the train station floor.
“What the,” he immediately pushes himself up to see a granny pulling back the walking stick she used to trip him over.
“What the hell, what was that for?!”he screams, jumping to his feet to gain higher ground. She doesn't falter however, merely pointing her stick towards the gates behind him.
“What? Because-ugh, just tell me to go ba-you could have injured AN OLYMPIC ATHLE-”
The granny whacks her stick against his shin and Satoru shouts in pain, pulling his leg up and jumping on one foot.
“Are you crazy, listen to what I’m saying!” But that only leads to the obachan menacingly raising her stick again.
“Okay okay, I’m going, stop!” Satoru yells, raising his hands in defeat.
“Stupid old hag” he mumbles grumpily, his pissy mood written all over his face. He turns around to climb back over the gate.
The quick 5 minute jog down to the station is a 15 minute walk uphill to get back. Even worse, the stadium is locked when he arrives so he has to climb over the chain link fence to get in. They keep the window to the ice hockey players locker room open since the stink of sweat is hard to get out of the walls if it's left unventilated for even a day. Satoru uses the opportunity to crawl through, barely fitting his shoulders. When he lands head first, he’s hit in the face with the stank he thought would have aired out by now.
“Just gotta get my keys and then I'm outta here” he grumbles. When he exits the locker room to the upper floor of the stadium where the ticket kiosk and skate rentals are, he can’t help but think that it’s kinda cool being in an empty stadium at night, all ghostly and stuff.
But contrary to what he expects, it’s not completely silent. There's a faint sound of ice scratching. Confused, Satoru walks to the stairs leading down to the rink.
Down on the ice is Shoko. She's wearing white figure skating shoes and is completely absorbed in the routine she's doing. No music, just her, eyes closed, concentrating on changing direction and switching her feet, the steps that lead into an Axel Jump. Satoru remembers vividly when Shoko managed her first Double Axel back when she was 11. That was only a few years before she quit. Satoru's fingertips prickle at the chance to see her perform it again.
His eyes follow her leg, swinging out for momentum before she kicks out to lift off. It only takes a split second but Satoru's jaw immediately hits the floor.
Shoko just landed a perfect triple Lutz-Double Loop.
When did she learn that?
Her little routine continues. It’s the one they learned in training camp, when they went to Sendai and met Tsukumo Yuki. It was dope, meeting an Olympic gold medalist just weeks after the competitions, but for Shoko those few days had made her see the sport completely differently. Satoru didn’t quite understand at the time, being so full of himself even at age 9. For him, skating has always been about the adrenaline and speed and power, the drive for perfection, and the thrill of being the best. But for Shoko, it’s this right here, this moment she has just for herself.
She ends the routine with a combination spin, starting with Camel Position, gracefully lifting her slim arms. They flick into the air, before drifting down to catch her foot, and then she’s arching her back, creating a beautiful, almost perfect circle with her body as she spins in place. Satoru’s seen hundreds, no, thousands of skaters do spins, not to mention all the times he’s done them himself, but he can't look away–he’s been taken hostage by Shoko and her movements.
Shoko lifts her leg above her head into the Biellmann Spin to finish. Her energy is electrifying, and Satoru can feel her joy, her freedom in the expression she’s found through dance.
She eventually slows down, foot meeting the ice again and Satoru lifts his hands, ready to clap, smirking because he’s ready to scare the shit out of her, but he stops when he sees her pushing off for another jump. His eyebrows knit together. After that routine, attempting another jump– especially with so little momentum–is frankly absurd and outright dangerous,
She’s gonna hurt herself.
Shoko’s arms fan out and then pull in rapidly as she twists her body.
Satoru's stretches out his hand, as if he can somehow stop her, and he shouts–
“Don’t!”
It’s too late. Shoko’s already lifted off but her head arches in his direction and their eyes meet before her body twists away. He doesn’t know what she’s attempting just now, but he refuses to acknowledge that this half assed jump could lead to anything. It doesn’t matter anyway, because she tries to abort the jump. The screech her blades make when her skates hit the ice raise the hairs on the back of Satoru's neck. He watches Shoko’s knees immediately give in. Her hands flare out to catch herself and her bottom impacts with a hard thud. For a split second it seems like she’s going to pick herself up as if nothing happened, as if this was a competition…but her whole body sags, coming to a halt and she stays motionless on the cold ice.
Satoru hasn't noticed, but he’s been in motion the moment he shouted, flying down the stairs as if his body could do the impossible task of catching her. But who is he trying to kid, he’s a figure skater not a sorcerer. As he sprints onto the ice where Shoko starts pushing herself up, head low, hair hanging in her face. Satoru drops to his knees the last few metres and slides to her, hands outstretched and ready to support her.
“Shoko. You okay?”
His voice is serious and his fingers are firm and stiff on her back as she pushes herself to sit up straight.
“What, you a stalker now?”
Shoko looks up at him, deadpan expression meeting him straight on.
At that he laughs, tension releasing from his body. He leans back to sit on his heels, not quite sure what to say. He had this whole plan on how to approach her, but he didn’t expect to see her this quickly again.
“God I can’t believe you saw that, ugh this is so embarrassing” Shoko mutters, running her hand over her face. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“A granny beat me up”
“A granny what? That doesn't make any sense.” Her laughter fills his ears and it’s so addicting. Satoru’s pout involuntarily turns into a smile before it becomes a toothy grin.
“What are you doing here? The rink is closed,” he finally asks.
“I bribe Toji to let me stay after hours,” she hugs her knees and lays her chin on them.
“He have a crush on you or something? This whole thing must have been going on for a while, seeing that you just hit that Triple Lutz perfectly”
“Eww no… and actually I stopped coming after hours when I enrolled in medical school. There wasn't any time anymore.”
“So what changed?”
“A stupid idiot twirled me around.”
“Oh.”
“Pfft” Shoko snorts, her lips pulling into a smile. “You look so guilty.”
“Yeah, well, you looked like you absolutely hated it,” Satoru says as he matches her position, pulling up his knees and wrapping his arms around them, even though his feet keep slipping away. He doesn’t have the advantage of a razor sharp blade that can dig into the ice. Considering that he’s now had to run out onto the ice twice in the past 14 days, maybe investing in some sneakers with spikes on them wouldn’t be a bad idea.
He looks over to see Shoko studying him, a bit amused but also apologetic.
“I felt so light when you spun me. It scared me, that joy I felt,” she says, looking away from him, eyes directed towards the benches, looking at something Gojo can’t see. “It scared me.”
“When I quit skating, I became so heavy. Don’t get me wrong, I was so relieved, I couldn’t stand being around our coaches anymore. Skating under the constant scrutiny was suffocating. I hated it. All the touching and measuring and emotional dependency and the comments? I felt like I was choking.”
Satoru’s mind is racing–he had no idea.
“I always thought you and Suguru had the same experience I did” he offers hesitantly. It’s not an apology, but it’s his way of extending a sort of peace offering, an attempt to let her know that he’s heard her. “We’ve always trained together, had the same coaches, everything.”
“Yeah well, I turned 13 and grew boobs” Shoko says in that matter-of-fact way of hers.
She blinks, eyes focusing again before she looks at him, tilting her head.
Now it’s his turn to look away, not because he’s thinking about her boobs, no not at all. His thoughts go to Suguru, a new understanding dawning about why he made his decision, and how utterly heartbreaking it must have been for him when Satoru reacted the way he did.
He hadn’t understood what it meant to struggle as an ice skater. Satoru had always gotten everything on a silver platter: his family sponsoring the rink as soon as he decided to pursue ice skating made him an instant favourite with the coaches and his talent ensured he never had to put more effort into training than strictly necessary. The only reason he’d stayed this entire time, despite never coming first, was the pure bliss of skating. He’d never had to put up with any bureaucracy, the politics, the staff or jury bullshit ever. Not the way Suguru and Shoko had. It had completely gone over his head all these years and it made him feel like the biggest asshole on earth.
“On Monday Yaga will officially put me together with Naoya. I’ll be skating with him from then on,” he says somberly, deciding at that moment to not to force Shoko through any more hardship than she’s already endured, to make her relive anything that would make her hate skating.
“I see,” she commented, no joy in her voice.
They sit there, Satoru's ass getting dangerously close to freezing off, but he doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Their hips are touching and the heat spreads through every fibre of his body. It’s devastating, the feeling of giving up, especially with the foolproof plan he hatched out earlier just falling dead in the water. But he’s glad it happened like this. Glad Shoko told him about why she quit. Glad he got to see her dance. It was worth it.
The way her body moved out there on the ice is now burnt into his memory, and he’s jealous that he’ll never get to experience that together with her. But maybe, just maybe…
“Would you dance with me just once? Just for old times sake?”
Satoru's voice is clear, his eyes focused on the little red hatch of the rink door. He feels her body twisting, her stare boring into his profile. He doesn’t dare look at her, knowing that getting a “no” straight to his face would hurt his ego too much.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
His head shoots around. Hot chocolate brown meets cold glacier blue.
She nods.
It doesn’t take long for Satoru to put on his skates, but every time he glances up he sees Shoko nervously pushing back and forth on the ice. It’s ironic really, that a girl who just completed an Olympic routine is nervous. The corner of his mouth tugs upwards and he shakes his head a bit but ultimately decides to keep the teasing for after their dance.
Shoko watches him warily from the centre of the rink when he pushes off, blades meeting frozen floor as he skates to meet her.
There is a serious tension in the air that makes Satoru cringe.
“Ah what do I do, I don’t know how to lead” Satoru starts mock acting, shoulders pulled to his ears to feign coyness.
“Liar, saw you doing lead oriented training at the gym,” Shoko scoffs, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Ah! Stalker. Pervert!” he exclaims, but then quickly dodges a blade to the shin. What's up with everybody going for his shins???
“Let's just get this over with” Shoko exhales, grabbing his hand from his sides and putting it on her waist. She's wearing an oversized hoodie so Satoru feels more fabric than actual Shoko. It's her hand, the one that folds into his, that sends shivers down his spine. It’s small and delicate, not made for ice hockey at all. It’s made to fit perfectly into his. Made to dance with him.
“Earth to Mr. Prince” he hears her saying and he realises he’s been staring at their interlocked hands for just a moment too long.
“Sorry” he grins.
Their eyes meet.
And a silent conversation begins.
A discussion about the beginning of the routine, the style of the push off, the rhythm they are going to embody.
They start moving on the same beat, with the same leg, in the same direction.
It’s when Satoru initiates his first backwards crossover and Shoko matches him, when he leans into the first curve and she anticipates that he’s going to turn her, when her back meets his chest and their fingers are still interlaced together, that’s when he knows they’re on the same page.
They had both silently decided to dance one of the first partner routines they learnt when they were young. All three of them–Satoru, Suguru and Shoko–complained about having to learn a pairs routine, since solo skating was the much cooler option. But their coach back then, Gakuganji, wouldn’t have it. He’d made Satoru and Suguru team up, which is how they became a team, their synergy so strong they nailed the routine on their first go. It hadn’t been anything too difficult–no throws, just small lifts, since they were only nine– but it was enough to convince the whole skating club that Suguru and Satoru were destined to compete in pairs, regardless of how they felt about it.
Shoko continued her solo training. Come to think of it, she was put together with Gakuganji for that pairs routine training. Satoru's memories of that time are so distorted by the fireworks of his career’s start, it never crossed his mind what Shoko did back then. Learning pairs with an old geezer, as a nine year old girl having to allow him to have his hands…
Satoru squeezes down on Shoko fingers, anger bubbling up in him. She gives him a squeeze back and he snaps out of it, meeting her eyes. He makes a conscious effort to not move his hand even an inch from where she’d placed it on her hip.
She doesn't look uncomfortable, here with him, spinning over the ice. Her eyes flicker down from time to time to make sure her feet are in line, no doubt after not having been on the ice with a partner in so many years. So instead of worrying about her past, Satoru decides to give her the dance she deserves.
As they start their second lap, Satoru pulls her closer to wrap his fingers around her ribs while hers close around his wrists. Shoko pushes off lightly and in a smooth motion he lifts her. It is not a big jump, but it’s enough of a lift to allow her to execute a Jéte Leap. They build up more speed and Satoru's white fringe starts to fan out of his face, Shoko's own brown hair starts flowing away from her cheeks. He sets her down and their hands find each other again, this time with Shoko skating backwards and Satoru following. With a tug, they close in on each other, faces stopping right as their noses are about to touch as they pull each other into a tight spin. Shoko's body emanates so much heat Satoru can't even feel the cold air pulling at his skin. It’s dizzying, really, and not just because they are spinning round and around each other. Three, four, five rotations until they let go of the tension in their arms to separate from each other.
Satoru releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. This is incredible, she didn't give him a signal, or try to nod her head, she just knew when to finish the rotation. Shoko was listening to Satoru's movements as he listened to hers. Side by side, they cross the rink diagonally, gathering momentum, and Gojo can’t believe it when Shoko starts to distance herself from him, outskating him. She looks like she wants to go higher, faster, further and it’s contagious.
They both push–right foot, left foot, right–before using a Mazurka to transition to the next element. Satoru's eyes close with satisfaction at the sound of two sets of skates perfectly hitting the ice at the same exact time. A hot rush crawls over his body, Shoko's cold hand grabbing his own, cooling him down just a little bit. His hand twists Shoko into a pirouette, and it should be a simple single spin, but Shoko pulls her fingers out of his grasp and kicks her spikes into the ice for a Double Lutz. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her face relaxed, euphoric even, as if she didn't just spontaneously elevate the routine to a whole new level. She lands perfectly backwards on her right foot, arms fanning out like a swan spreading its wings. When her eyes open she sees Satoru staring at her in pure awe.
Shoko’s just performed a competition worthy element.
The adrenaline he feels is tingling through every part of his body. He wants to laugh, to scream, to hug her until he crushes her and because Satoru has the self control of a preschooler, he tilts forwards, pushes off with a bunny hop and uses his arms to gain momentum so he can sprint after her. He swipes her up into his arms, spinning her around, grin pressing into her neck.
He lets her down as slowly and gently as he can, enjoying the closeness of their bodies, her hands on his chest, her heavy breathing in his ear. He searches her face for any discomfort but only finds delight.
He sees this as his chance.
“Trust me?” He huffs out, breathless.
Her eyes dart around his face before she nods, cheeks red and breath visible in the cold.
Satoru dips his head, kicking into a new gear, trusting Shoko to keep up. This has nothing to do with what they learned in their childhood. This is Satoru feeling the ice and Shoko's presence, taking it all in and converting it into energy and emotion, pouring it back out into his ice skating. There is no music but Satoru's body flows in a rhythm they both understand, and she copies him, an arm’s length apart. Together they tilt their bodies, reaching for the ground and flicking up their fingers, crossing their legs for a simple plie. A quick change of edge leads into a standing spin, where their arms pull in and settle above their heads to reach the apex of momentum.
Satoru fans out his arms, spreading his wings to exit the spin on a backwards outer edge, and as he lets his body fall into the next curve, he reaches out to Shoko. He doesn’t open his eyes when their fingers interlace, both of them choosing to just indulge in the moment and the lightness in their chests. Satoru spins Shoko back around to face her back and lean into her side. His cheek rests at her ear and he tilts them both forward. Their legs fan out and their arms follow, the back of Satoru's fingers running along Shoko's arm, making her skin prickle in goosebumps.
“Lean on me” he breathes into her ear. Her head tilts back, resting on his chest and his hands find her hips.
The feeling is indescribable, it’s such a rush he can barely describe it, but it will be burnt into Satoru's memory until the day he dies. He bends his knees and grips her hips impossibly tight. Her hands reach for his wrists and as soon as they touch, he lifts her towards the cladded ceiling of the stadium. She’s light, so incredibly light, and Satoru's muscles will later feel the strain of the speed he threw her, but at that moment, he feels nothing but the utter awe of seeing Shoko in flight, twisting around herself, arms hugging her torso and hair fanning out like an angel’s. On the ground, Satoru is reaching for her, wanting to feel her, to touch her–to catch her.
It’s bliss when he sees her land perfectly on one foot, arms stretched out for him to pull her close. They meet. Body pressing against body and he feels her arms glide around his neck. Their chests rise and lower quickly, violently, sweat running down their necks, but they don't separate.
“Wow” Shoko puffs out. Her face is speaking volumes about her astoundment, shock and ecstasy, eyes looking straight at Satoru's chest.
“I’ve never jumped that high”, she exclaims, looking up at him, almost like a little girl in her awestruck glee.
“And I’ve never thrown someone ”, Satoru joins in, face hurting from the big smile he can’t seem to shake.
Exhaustion kicks in and he leans his head down, forehead meeting forehead.
“That was incredible”
Shoko hums back with a small “mhm,” her breathing slowing down as she gets it under control.
Satoru lets go first, slowly releasing her before swiping the sleeve of his zip-up across his temple. He catches sight of the digital clock over at the tribunes and starts–he hasn’t noticed that 1.5 hours have passed.
One and a half hours.
“FUCK! I need to go, I’ll miss the last train!” he shouts, almost faceplanting in his haste to exit the rink.
“At 10 pm?” Shoko asks, slowly following him, exiting the ice with a small hop.
Lifting his feet to take off his skates he looks up with a smirk–“do you even know where I live, city girl?”–before stuffing them into his bag as quickly as possible.
“Oh right, the estate in the middle of nowhere” Shoko comments. Her arms are dangling at her sides, fingers only just peeking out from her sleeves.
“This was amazing, I don’t think I’ve had so much fun in a while, man we really gel well, that jump, holy shi- ah wrong foot. And the Lutz?! You–where’s my blade covers–anyway, genuinely, thank you. This’ll help me survive training with Naoya, can’t believe Yaga thinks he’s a good match, I’ll rip my hair out.”
Gojo’s rambling stops as he squeezes Shoko's shoulders real quick, but the clock behind her warns him how late he is so the moment doesn't last. He turns on his heel and sprints towards the exit.
“Satoru, your keys!”
“Ack!” The airhead whips around, frantically looking around the rink, spots them, runs and grabs them before finally hauling ass to get home.
“Could have just asked your family to send someone to pick you up!” he hears Shoko shout as he rips open the main doors on the upper levels.
“Hell no, they’re a bunch of buttholes” Satoru yells over his shoulder with the toothiest smirk ever before the doors slam shut.