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It’s a cold night out in Pyeongchang. Wintery, blustery, the kind of chill that seeps into Shotaro’s bones. Snow is falling, whipped around by the wind, dusting his coat with white. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, already missing the warmth of indoors, his bed.
He finds the car easily, a black sedan parked just around the corner, and hurries to it. He raps on the passenger’s window and then tries the door, finding it unlocked. He slips in, shaking off the snow that’s already piled on his shoulders.
“Why’d you leave the door open?” Shotaro asks, settling into the seat. “Anyone could come in. There are bad people out there in the world.”
Eunseok snorts, raps his fingers against the wheel. “You’re the worst of them all. Does your husband know you’re gone?”
It was warm. Warm inside when he slipped out from underneath Sungchan’s heavy arm, letting it fall limp on the bed below, when he grabbed the coat that was hanging on a chair on his way out. He kept his steps quiet, light as he stepped around their hotel room. Sungchan always complained that he slept badly the night before competitions.
“Does he ever?”
Eunseok barks, an astonished sound. “Wow, you really are the worst.”
Even so, he’s leaning ever closer, hand on the back of Shotaro’s seat. He’s so transparent. Has always been, ever since the very first time they met.
“I didn’t come here for this,” Shotaro says, leaning back. Putting some space between them, the silence stretching out. “He just needs to be suspicious, that’s it.”
“You’re a liar.” Eunseok’s gaze bores into his. “You could’ve just taken a walk in the lobby if that was your goal. You came when I called.”
Shotaro turns to the side and exhales. Watches as his breath makes the window fog up, misting over.
This is the crux of the matter at hand, isn’t it? He knows Sungchan hasn’t spoken to Eunseok in years, all the years that they’ve been married. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why, to look at the way Shotaro’s carved out a place next to Sungchan on the podium, in his life. Shotaro wonders which one of them it is that misses Eunseok more.
Shotaro first met them in Sapporo, during the Winter Games. He’d just finished a warmup, lowering his goggles and picking up his board, when he heard his name whispered from somewhere behind him, faint. He squinted, puzzling over if he was just starting to go a little crazy, then he heard it again.
“Shotaro! Osaki Shotaro!” The voices repeated, and Shotaro turned to see two boys waving him over. They looked to be around the same age as him, and when Shotaro walked over he could see that they were of a similar height as well. On their arms were the bands for Team Korea, and they were both carrying boards with them.
“Me?” Shotaro asked, pointing to himself, and the boys nodded. “You know me?”
“Big fan!” One of them said, the taller one with the pretty face. He held out his gloved hand for Shotaro to shake, and his grip was firm. “Jung Sungchan. Korea.”
“We’re Korean snowboarders. We will be competing in the same event. I am Eunseok,” the other one said in passable Japanese, extending his hand as well. “We will see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll see you two tomorrow then,” Shotaro said, and with all of the self-confidence of the defending champion and the favorite to win, added, “Good luck.”
Sungchan’s never been good at sharing. A spoiled child, doted on until he was rotten with love from the inside out. It’s not a terrible thing. It makes Sungchan needy and whiny and desperate sometimes, clawing at Shotaro like he can milk every bit of affection Shotaro has to give. It also makes Sungchan—
Well, a little crazy.
Sungchan’s up next on the slopes, defending champion of the men’s slalom. He’d barely spoken to Shotaro this morning, untangling himself from Shotaro’s legs wrapped around him and getting ready on his own. Shotaro had watched him in silence, blinking at him from the pillows, and when Sungchan was geared up and ready to head out he came back. Stood over Shotaro, knelt down so that they were level.
“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” Sungchan had asked, and he put his chin onto Shotaro’s outstretched hand. Shotaro had stroked his cheekbone, thumb against soft skin, and rolled over so that he could see Sungchan better, so he could kiss him better.
“I know,” Shotaro had whispered, a breath against his lips. “So go out and win it all for me.”
Sungchan’s a marvel on the course, moving as one with his board, flying through the air. Shotaro’s never doubted him, not for a second. He’s the best in the nation, in this entire damn competition, and he knows it. He shaves a full second off his previous record, and when he sees his time he rips off his goggles, running over to where Shotaro has been watching, pressed up against the barricade. Press and spectators alike be damned, Shotaro leans up as Sungchan reaches down. It makes an old wound ache, deep in his joints. He ignores it, just as he’s done for the past decade.
Sungchan kisses like a storm, grabbing Shotaro and nearly hauling him over the barricade, instead settling for holding him up on his tiptoes. His lips are dry and chapped from the wind and he tastes like the double shot of espresso he had with breakfast this morning. And underneath it all is an undercurrent of something darker. Something ugly and possessive rearing its head, making Sungchan act up in front of all of these cameras.
“I did it,” Sungchan murmurs, quiet. “Did you see?”
“I did, baby,” Shotaro replies. “You won. You’re the best.”
After all, Sungchan gets competitive when he’s jealous. It’s always brought out the best in him.
Shotaro moved to Korea for Eunseok. Ostensibly for snowboarding, but he’s always had better snow in Niigata than in Pyeongchang. So it was for Eunseok, who was the first to reach out to him after the Asian Games, to ask for his contact information.
u should come to korea, Eunseok texted him one day on Line. there r so many good schools u can do econ at
I don’t even know Korean, Shotaro texted back. No way my parents will let me
no it’ll be fun i can teach u i swear, Eunseok said, then a pause. Minutes passed before Eunseok’s next message came. plus we can go to the slopes together. my friends know a good resort
And there it was. Shotaro bit his lip and wrote back I don’t know I’ll think about it, but he was already opening up a new tab and searching up transfer requirements for international students.
Come the next spring, Shotaro enrolled in university with a Japanese to Korean dictionary in hand. Much to their disappointment, it was far from where Eunseok went to school, and for the better part of a month Eunseok thought about whether he should revisit his plans for university.
“Are you stupid? Don’t do that, I’ll just come visit,” Shotaro said, then he quickly amended it. “No, you come visit me until I learn enough Korean to get around.”
It was as foolproof a plan as any. They made good on their word, Eunseok showing up at Shotaro’s dorm with his board folded up and dragging Shotaro along to ski resorts whenever he felt the urge to hit the slopes, and Shotaro happily came along for the ride, teaching Eunseok what he could, swapping tips and tricks. And somewhere along the way, Shotaro felt like he could fall in love.
“Where should we go after this?”
Shotaro rolls over, the blankets rustling, slipping over his skin. Sungchan’s propped himself up on his elbows, staring down at Shotaro. There’s a determined sort of set in the lines of his eyes, his lips. Shotaro muddles the question around in his mouth, testing. There’s only one answer— one real answer, one good answer.
“Paris? We could go when the weather’s better, take a trip out to Nice?”
“That sounds good,” Sungchan says. His face relaxes, crumples. He shuffles forward on his elbows, then pillows his head on his crossed arms. Then, hesitating slightly, just slightly, “There’s also something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What is it?” Shotaro replies as Sungchan reaches forward, curls his fingers into Shotaro’s hair. His fingers are warm against Shotaro’s scalp, and he leans into it, closing his eyes. A thought comes to mind from somewhere buried deep. A conversation long ago, back when they were still in university, back when the Olympics were just a dream. Sungchan had run his fingers through Shotaro’s hair the same way back then, said—
“I think the next Winter Games will be my last,” Sungchan muses, his voice melodic in Shotaro’s ears. He should be more upset. He could be more upset. But he isn’t, knows Sungchan’s had a career longer than most, more decorated than most. The national record is his, and if he ekes out a finish just two milliseconds faster on the powder in his next competition, the world record could belong to him as well.
It doesn’t matter. Sungchan’s done enough— they’ve done enough— for him to qualify for Korea’s only seed in the slalom. Perhaps it’s better for him that he retires on top, that he steps off the world stage while he’s Jung Sungchan, Winter Games medalist and two-time Asian Games champion.
“Taro-hyung, look at me,” Sungchan says, and Shotaro opens his eyes. “I thought about this for a long time. It’s okay.”
“I know. But will you be happy in retirement? Are you sure you won’t miss it?”
“Of course I will. I miss it all the time, even now.” A small smile flits across Sungchan’s face. He brushes his thumb over Shotaro’s bottom lip, and Shotaro resists the urge to open his mouth. To bite down, maybe, or— “But I think you’ll be happier.”
When Eunseok and Sungchan opened their admission decision emails, it was hardly a cause for celebration. Eunseok had been admitted to a school even further away from Shotaro’s than his high school, and Sungchan, who spent the past year going up to the slopes when he wasn’t studying, had in his hands an admission to Shotaro’s university.
The beginning of the end was a slow and gradual process, as many things were. Time and distance did not, in fact, make the heart grow fonder, and when Sungchan enrolled in a business administration course and took his classes eerily close to Shotaro’s economics lectures, Shotaro was hard-pressed to not put two and two together. Sungchan, he thought, was more cunning than he looked.
“Do you need tutoring for learning Korean, hyung? I can help you study for the TOPIK,” Sungchan would say as they walked from their dorms to class. He took it upon himself to carry Shotaro’s bag for him, which he probably should have rejected.
Or, one afternoon in the library, huddled over their textbooks, “It looks like the powder is good this weekend. I have a friend who can get us in for free. Wanna go?”
Or, damningly, sweetly, as moonlight poured down on them, “Have you heard from Eunseok lately? He’s not responding to my texts.”
“Enough about Eunseok, do you ever shut up about him?” Shotaro hissed, and when he pushed Sungchan over and onto his bed, Sungchan laughed. It was all teeth, all bite, and somehow it tasted like victory and defeat all at once.
One warm spring day, the afternoon light dappled on the blankets.
An exhale, quiet in the still air. “Hyung.”
“Hm?”
“If you wanted to, I would go back to Japan with you. We could live near the mountains. Raise a whole army of deer and feed them crackers every day. Play in the snow whenever you want to.”
“What? What brought this on?” A laugh. “I mean, it’s not bad. Could be fun.”
“Nothing. Just a thought, that’s all. The future’s so far away, anyway.”