Archive of Our Own

As the sound of the shot rings out through the stands, Luca leans forward, staring so intensely that the distance doesn't matter. He could fall through the floor this very second and still be happy about it. The pitch is mostly empty, as are the chairs, but it’s better that way. That way, there are no distractions, nothing he needs to swivel his head around to clear his view, and he can just focus on the rush of adrenaline as the next shot comes, releasing a rush of cheers from his chest as his fingers brush against the clouds.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he eventually hears, somewhere midway through his mini celebration. 

Luca nods, but he doesn't say anything yet. Down there, Shu’s celebrating in his own little way, fists pumping as a smile starts to work its way onto his lips. There’s a moment when their eyes almost-nearly-just-quite meet, and he just can't help himself, waving down at him with joy crackling through his veins. He can feel it lingering in the breeze— Shu’s light laugh, the ringing shot, the adrenaline that floats through the air. It’s not Shu’s best work, but it's definitely good enough to make the cut, and there’s just something so magical and invigorating about watching him in action.

Somehow, it’s always good, even if it’s kinda fuzzy. Shu pulls off his gloves and yanks off his visor, and it's honestly too hard to make out the target from here, but that doesn't really matter. His mouth looks like the moon as he bounds over to the sidelines, and that's the good part: seeing him so obviously satisfied with his performance.

As Shu starts to walk off, Luca finally manages to tear his gaze away, shrugging. Where else was he supposed to be? Wilson always sounds a little tired when he says it, but his whereabouts have never been much of a mystery, so it’s not like it’s that hard to find him. They never broadcast shooting, much less anything that isn't the finals, so if he wants to catch it (and selfishly, he always does), then he has to go in person. There’s no other choice.

Besides, their qualifiers aren't for another day, so he’s still free to do what he likes. 

“He shot me,” Luca says, mostly to himself. “He shot me.” Every sport should have a kiss and cry. If they did, he could always have the chance to watch Shu celebrate and stew in his thoughts as they tally the scores, breaking out the finger guns when he inevitably wins. He could save it in 4K— the sight of his triumphant, golden smile as he hears the results and tosses aside his little plush banana to hug his coach instead, ecstatic. “Did you see that? Wasn’t it cool?”

“Yeah.” Wilson freezes for a second, but he gets it. He, too, finds himself a little lost for words whenever he gets to see Shu in his element. Each time, it’s just as striking as the first, so of course it’ll take a bit for him to recover. “Yeah, it was. Course it was. But Luca—”

“Did Coach need something? I thought I told him I’d be back soon.”

He remembers getting a few texts here and there while he was sitting in the stands, but they were more of the same— a message from Enna saying they should all meet up sometime before the few skaters left have to fly out for their own competitions, another from Ike asking where he left his jacket after warmups, nothing too time sensitive. Nothing urgent. Nothing that should send his teammates fanning out in search of him like this.

“What? No, I was just gonna ask if you were gonna make it to dinner. You didn’t answer.”

“The one after finals?”

Wilson’s quiet for a moment, sighing as he pinches his forehead. Instead of answering, he takes a few steps forwards, opting to lean against the railing. All around them, the stands are mostly empty, but that’s all going to change soon. The whole world's gonna see Shu shine.

“I told them you’d be here,” he tells him, pointing a finger at Luca’s chest. He says it like it’s a bad thing, like he should be embarrassed or disheartened somehow for being so predictable. “Everyone’s busy stretching or relaxing or whatever it is they want to do, and you’re gonna be here, watching Shu do his prelims.”

“It’s only for an hour!”

And what’s so bad about coming here? They had time to kill, and he knew a good way to spend it. It’s not like missing an hour’s going to suddenly wreck his performance. And besides, maybe this is how he chooses to relax. It’s like gaining free endorphins without doing any of the physical labour.

“Dude,” Wilson says, a little sterner than before. His frown gets deeper as he watches Luca stare wistfully down again, still enraptured as he sees Shu debrief with his coach. “Really?”

Luca’s barely ashamed. Actually, he isn’t ashamed at all. Maybe he has a staring problem, but what’s new? What’s wrong with that? “Ah, right, right,” he says, snapping his fingers. The question. He kinda remembers hearing about it this morning, some sort of meetup with the swimmers before they’re shipped off to the pools. “Tonight? With Sonny? I’ll be there.”

Wilson sighs again, bigger and louder this time, as if surprised he has to point it out at all. “This is like the third time I’ve had to do this,” he says, slumping over the railing.

Even if that’s true, he doesn't see any problem with that either.

“You watch Zali practice sometimes. When he’s figuring out his routines.”

“His home rink is in our city! And we’re friends.”

“Shu’s my friend too.” Kinda. It’s close enough, anyway. That much is definitely irrefutable.

It’s true and yet somehow, it's not the right answer either. Wilson springs to his feet, clapping a hand on his back as he asks: “I mean, I know he doesn't wear it, but you do know he’s married, right?”

Luca’s mouth opens once before clicking shut. Of course he knows. There’s no way he couldn’t. When someone first noticed, it became the talk of the town— and by town, what he really means is their ragtag mishmash of athletes, a group so varied yet distant that it gives them a third degree connection to just about any medalist from the last ten years. It spread so fast because it was the best kind of gossip: lighthearted, simple, and easy to celebrate.

As Luca tries to discern his concerns from Wilson’s cloudy expression, he’s a little tempted to ask how his marital status possibly relates to dinner and whatever it is that brought him over here, but he doesn’t. There’s no need to invite extra scrutiny his way. If the team knows where he is, then that’s good enough. They’ve got the essentials.

It’s kinda funny. Shu’s pretty private too, but it’s a different sort of private. He’ll gladly drop stories of random misadventures— that time one of his teammates dragged them off to Hooters just to try it; the fact that his partner (on one of the few date stories he’s ever told, hence their collective shock at his nuptials) once made him wait at the table as he googled the proper way to arrange the forks; whatever mishap happened to old, creaking bones as he crawled out of bed that morning, leading to him accidentally walking into the bedframe— but it’s all a clever facade. He’s really nailed the art of peppering enough random details into conversation to come across like an open book while actually revealing nothing much at all.

They all know he’s married, for example. They’ve all seen the ring— or they’ve all heard about seeing the ring, at the very least. It quickly became an overblown topic of conversation last year in a ‘I heard that Klara mentioned that Vanta saw it while waiting for his teammates’ sort of way, turning into a twisting grapevine full of cries of ‘Shu was wearing a what?!’

Even if he doesn't wear it during competitions, they all know he’s got one, and Luca doesn't have to see it to imagine it there, shining in its rightful place as the sun pierces into his skin. He even asked him about it once, but the underlying reason’s nothing too complicated. He just doesn't want to damage it, so he doesn’t wear it much, and that’s perfectly fair. He probably doesn't want to end up like that other guy last year, the one who made headlines for tying his to the laces of his shoes, inadvertently tossing his lover under the spotlight.

That’s the thing. They all know he’s married, but none of them seem to know exactly who he’s married to or when it could have even happened. Wilson has said as much himself back then, suddenly serious as he mused about how it felt a little strange, like maybe his husband fell out of the sky some day because he never thought Shu would get married when they never even knew he had a long-term partner. And sure, maybe if they competed in the same events, one of them might have been able to catch a glimpse of his mystery man waiting in the wings with pride pouring out his eyes, but that’s basically impossible. These tiny pre-opening pockets of overlapping free time only happen once every couple years at best, so there’s only a few chances in their whole careers where they can feasibly meet up. 

Hell, despite being seeded, apparently Zali couldn't even compete in NHK this year, eventually getting an invitation to Skate Canada instead, so there’s no way anyone could have met him through all that, and that’s only counting one of them. It’s basically impossible for any of them to know who he is, and there’s no way anyone ran into him by chance either.

“I know,” Luca eventually replies, sounding a little softer than before. “I’ve seen the ring. It suits him.”

He can remember it like it was yesterday, some conjoined team dinner a few months back with a few tables full of friend-of-a-friends. It must have been a rest day because when someone eventually ushered him through the door, Shu still had his ring delicately wrapped around his finger.

Wilson winces as he catches the dredges of a grin swirl around his face. “See? And if he wasn’t married, then I’d be on your team for sure! I’d totally be your wingman, you know. I’d get Claude to drop cool points about you whenever they meet up and everything. We could— Maybe we’d find an excuse for you to run in front of him to really show off your speed and stuff. I could say I left my keys somewhere, we get you running, blah, blah, blah. One way or another, we could try our best to make it happen.”

“Zaddy.” Luca smiles, feeling unexpectedly touched.

“Zaddy.”

Luca’s knuckles pop as he clenches his fist, squeezing one hand with the other. “Well, maybe he isn't married. I mean, have you ever met his husband?”

“No, but— But, well. I dunno.” Wilson sighs, placing a hand on his shoulder. He’s got that strained sort of ‘why did I get placed on the inner track again?’ expression that used to plague their preliminaries. “It just doesn't feel right! I don't want you to keep breaking your heart, and I don't want him to— to…” 

He doesn't finish his sentence, but the gist is still pretty clear. The strangled, mumbled noise he lets out communicates it well enough, even if it sounds more like a trainwreck of consonants than any real set of words. 

Is it flattering or is it offensive when someone thinks you have the power to break up someone else’s marriage just by existing?

Luca shrugs it off, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he declares, ignoring Wilson’s skeptical stare. It’s better for everyone if they just drop it, but it doesn't matter much anyway. Luca has no intentions to change how he acts now, and he’d rather burn off his nerves doing something productive, like running. “C’mon! The swimmers await!”

-

Honestly, he expected Wilson’s attempted intervention to be the last of it, but somehow, the marriage topic resurfaces when they finally make it to the restaurant. They’re the last to arrive, which certainly doesn't help. Everyone turns as they enter, grabbing the only free seats near the head of the table, so all the attention rests squarely on their shoulders. 

It's not like it was Shu who made them late though. It’s his fault really, since it was only after they were at least halfway there when he realised that he left his wallet in his room. Usually, he keeps it safe in his pocket or stashes it in one of the zippered sections of his bag, but there’s been a little too much going on to keep track of all that. Poor Wilson had to run after him too, panting as he braced against the doorframe only to have to turn straight around as they ran back to the station once more.

It was on his desk, which explains why he missed it. In his haste, he must have forgotten to grab it in the morning, too occupied with his usual routine to remember tossing it there the night before. He could have left it there too, but when he texted the group to mention their delay, Vox spit out a half-serious suggestion that the last one there really ought to pay them to compensate for their time, so he decided it was better to get it just to nail down the joke. He’ll wave his wallet around as they jeer about his tardiness. It’s perfect.

So, yeah, as they head inside, his mind’s so far removed from the intervention that he’s almost forgotten it’s happened, but that momentary peace instantly shatters. As soon as they walk in, the first thing anyone says to him isn't actually about him at all. It’s not a ‘Hi Luca!’ or a ‘Good luck next week, Luca!’ or anything remotely like that. Instead, what greets him is a mirthful, barely audible: “So, Luca, did Shu win today?”

Luca takes in the sight of them, plopping into his seat as quickly as he can. Usually, he doesn't like to be the only one eating. It makes him feel a bit disrespectful, like he’s some sort of elder-hating hamster that's only interested in himself, but today, he doesn't care, grabbing a few strips of dried squid off of one of the bowls before gnawing on them for a bit. All protein is good protein, right? And besides, he’s a little hungry, so he can forgive himself just this once.

Luca laughs, aiming for something nonchalant. “Win?” he asks, chewing thoughtfully. “Win what?” But then, because he can’t help himself, he keeps going when he could have easily stopped, adding a proud little: “Yeah. He did,” at the end.

He’s pretty sure there are no real prizes aside from advancement, but that doesn't really matter. If he wanted to, Shu could probably find a way to win them all anyway, and he’d still cheer him on just the same. That bit of the question makes enough sense. That’s not the weird part.

“But how’d you know where we were?” A few of them are his teammates, but the bulk of the group aren’t, so they shouldn't have been within earshot when he mentioned his plans. It shouldn’t have been the first thing they ask him about, at any rate.

“Because it’s obvious,” Ike says unhelpfully, bundled in the jacket he must have eventually found. “But also from this.”

Sonny passes his phone over, and Luca squints at it, leaning down to stare at the screen. It’s a bit grainy, but someone snapped a picture of them as they were leaving, with him in the front as Willy sprints after him, somehow caught midair with his arms swivelling around as he tries to latch onto Luca’s sleeve. Their faces aren't visible, but their team jackets are, captioned appropriately with a self-deprecating little ‘me vs my responsibilities lmao.’ Luca scrolls through about ten redraws of them as pairs of different people before pushing it back across the table, spending an extra minute on the one where someone added a baton between them, turning them into a pretty picture of Mario and Sonic fumbling the Olympic Games.

All things considered, it’s pretty tame. There are certainly worse things to go viral for. One time, Ren made one singular post about muffins and everyone ended up calling him the ‘Muffin Man’ for the next two years. Even the commentators got in on it, mentioning how the power of carbs must have given him enough oomph to bag a few consecutive service aces. That would be a little awkward, but this? Meh. Hardly worth worrying about.

Luca can handle his friends speculating about why he does the things he does, but it’s a little much once it breaches beyond that line. The mere thought of someone randomly springing Shu with their probing, Luca-related questions makes him feel a little queasy.

“Pretty good, isn't it?” Sonny grabs his phone, tucking it back into his pocket. Apparently, his favourite was one where Wilson became a hamster. Luca was still himself, but Wilson was a hamster, and his legs were a dust cloud as he tried to catch up. “You’re totally blowing up. Really living large and meme-ful or whatever the kids are saying these days.”

Vanta frowns. “Dude, if that’s roleplay, then you’re way too into your big bro thing. And also about fifty years off.”

“Sonny Ojisan,” someone adds, smothering their laugh as Sonny squints in their direction, shaking an invisible cane. A wadded napkin flies across the table, nearly missing his glass.

“I can’t believe you have time for that,” comes another voice from the other end of the table. It warbles around the end, transforming into a yawn. “I’m spending all my off time sleeping.”

“Well, you know how it is. Some people have hobbies, and Luca has shooting.”

Not even food is powerful enough to make their conversation topic deviate, so Luca tries his best to take it lightly. He watches Wilson take a huge, almost obscenely large bite of his meal and pokes at his own, half-heartedly shovelling rice into his mouth. It’s like his stomach’s already swollen, filled up with all the attention he’s swallowed.

The less he shares, the better.

Someone asks how long it was, and he answers an hour at the same time someone says it’s been going on for longer than they’ve known him, which is saying a lot. Technically, they’re both right. His spectatorship has been going on forever, and soon, he’ll probably age out of events like this, so he’ll be fresh out of luck. Each year, it seems like the talent pool gets younger and younger, and the only thing that saves him from getting cut is his commitment and endurance. 

This isn’t going to last, but that’s even more reason to enjoy what little time he still has.

Vox stares into his cup, likely imagining his upcoming race. “An hour?” he says, tapping the glass. “Fuck, man. I wish mine was that short. I should’ve picked a different sport.”

“At least you qualify through your regular races. We’ve got time trials and prelims and heats and—” Wilson groans, resting against the table.

Sonny grins, unable to keep himself from laughing at the mere thought of it. “Well, I can’t wait to get into the pool. I’ve been waiting all week for it.”

“Sonny, you’re like a certified pool freak. I’m pretty sure your opinion doesn’t count.”

This is probably what he’ll miss the most once he retires. There’s only so many chances for their schedules to line up enough, and even then, it’s only possible in tiny groups of a few people at a time since no one’s truly free, even during rest days. The most he can manage during the regular season is the occasional text or two, sometimes paired with a social media sweep to catch highlights from whatever championships his friends end up competing in as they jet halfway around the globe. 

“Don’t worry,” Luca says, laughing. “We’ll fish him out the pool once finals are over. Rosemi said I can borrow her pole if I need to.”

Sonny yelps as he evades the invisible net he’s tossed his way, and Millie looks at him, shaking her head. “Don’t do that,” she says, obviously more concerned about Rosemi’s gear than Sonny’s well-being. “He’ll definitely show if you-know-who is coming. You don't need to hit him.”

“I wasn't going to hit him! I was gonna use a net.”

Finana’s grin sharpens as she taps Wilson’s shoulder— seemingly for no reason. “Speaking of dates,” she says, “I heard Shu’s husband is coming this time. To the big after finals thing, I mean. The party.”

“Really?” Luca freezes, and his breath rattles through his chest. This is the first time he’s heard about that part of the night.

“Claude told me,” she replies, still pointing at Willy, who’s been staring at her like she’s holding a knife to his throat. “Wilson can vouch for me. He was there too. It’s some kind of— Apparently he’s here for the games or something? I dunno.”

The look of pity and resignation on Wilson’s face speaks volumes. No wonder he tried to stage some kind of noble intervention earlier. “Yeah,” he croaks out, staring somewhere vaguely behind him. “I, uh… yeah, I heard.”

“I still can’t believe he’s married,” Vox muses. “I thought he’d like, I dunno, asexually reproduce some day. Like one day, he’ll show up with Yaminis in tow or some shit like that.”

Ike glares at him at the same time Millie says: “Wow. Shu-tosis.”

“His husband?” Luca repeats, gnawing on the words. His stomach shrinks even more as he stares at his half-cleared plate, but focusing on that is better than looking up at them and witnessing their pitying faces surround him from all angles. “Are you sure? Have you ever— Do you know him?”

Finana shrugs. “No, but that’s why it’s so interesting. I mean, what kind of person could have won his heart?”

“I bet he’s a celebrity,” someone pipes up, almost swooning. “A hot one. Like that actor that kinda looks like Kaelix. You know, the one with the swishy hair? He did all those flips in that spy movie?”

Luca expects someone to disagree, but nobody does. None of them seem especially displeased or put off by the suggestion, even though it makes no sense. Do they all think that? Do they all think Shu has been moonlighting with some hunky actor?

As his eyes flit around, he latches onto the sight of Freodore looking conflicted as he puts down his chopsticks, and Luca always knew he liked him! He’s smart, and he’s got his whole career ahead of him, and he’s definitely the nicest (and most observant) of the newest batch of swimmers. He’s going to object so Luca doesn’t have to!

Unfortunately, his hopes are quickly dashed. “No one looks like Kaelix,” is what he actually says when he finally speaks, rather than dismissing the whole idea altogether.

Luca’s eyes widen. “Who the hell’s Kaelix?”

Across the table, the yawning dude from earlier waves. Apparently, that guy is Kaelix. And sure, he’s easy on the eyes, but he’s not that hot. He’s definitely not secretly-dating-Shu-for-years sort of hot… right?

Luca doesn’t react as he processes everything. In fact, he hardly even moves, silent as the rest of the world continues to chug ahead without him. Or maybe he does. Maybe his face does something weird on its own because Sonny keeps looking at him every once in a while, alternating between that and a spot in the corner that’s draped in shadows.

If it wasn’t for the tiny, minuscule, itty-bitty wrinkle that he’s pining after an ostensibly happily married man, then they’d all be on his side! Wilson said so himself! If things were different, they wouldn’t be nodding to themselves, secretly pleased by the notion of Shu canoodling with some faceless, silver-haired casanova as if it all makes perfect sense. And he gets it. Shu deserves the best. Really, he does. He deserves someone who will love him and support him and cheer for all his victories, even when he’s not in a position to do it himself, but that someone doesn’t necessarily have to be dreamy and six feet tall and able to handily backflip twelve times across the observation deck of the Tokyo Skytree.

He could probably do a flip or two too! It’s just that he chooses not to. It’s not like he can risk getting injured so close to a competition— or ever, really, not even if it’s to prove a very good point.

And wouldn’t it be better if his husband was a little shorter too? If he was only a couple inches taller than him, for example, then they could kiss whenever he wants! Shu wouldn’t have to lean up too much or pull his partner down to meet him in an awkward push-pull-push kind of motion, and really, none of that height stuff should matter anyway as long as they love him. Tallness is overrated. So maybe his partner could be kind, and he could support him through the hard times as well as the easy ones, and he could be 178cm tall and love him so fiercely that it threatens to burst out of his chest whenever their eyes meet, even if it’s been years since the day they first fell in love. 

Maybe there’s a world where that can be true and still make sense.

“Luca— Stop thinking! Whatever it is you’re thinking about, stop it,” Ike hisses, throwing up his hands. He nearly misses smacking a poor couple that’s trying to put on their coats as they sneak out behind them, beelining for the door. 

Wilson puts a hand on his shoulder, frowning slightly. “Like I said. I’m on your side, Zaddy. It’s just…” The hand lifts. His eyes scrunch up before widening again, and Luca can feel the guilt coalesce around him like a swell of brackish water. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure if I should tell you or not. You know how he is about that kind of thing.”

Despite Ike’s warning, Luca does not stop thinking. In fact, as he remembers Wilson’s previous encouragement, his resolve only bolsters further, fusing into his skin like a set of gleaming armor. He’s already nodding his head as he imagines it. It’s brilliant! It’s perfect!

Why didn’t he think of this sooner?

“Let’s make a bet,” he declares, cracking his knuckles. Something in his shoulder pops as he flexes his arms, but that does little to dent his widening grin. 

Vox bursts out laughing. “For what?” he asks, wiping a fake tear from his cheek. He goes for the knuckle crack as well, but it doesn’t make any noticeable sound at all.

Isn’t it obvious? Luca grabs his cup and lets the water flood down his throat. It doesn’t do much to ease the itch in his mouth. “I bet I can get with Shu by finals.”

All around him, several background conversations crash to a halt. Wilson’s head jerks towards him, shellshocked. It’s clear from his eyes. He’s already imagining all the ways this’ll blow up in his face, and each of those scenarios ends with a very sad, very heartbroken teammate that he’ll have to spend an inordinate amount of time with as they prepare for next season. 

“What?! You can’t do that!”

Vanta, on the other hand, finds it extremely funny. His laugh is even louder than Vox’s as he says he’s definitely in. “Five thousand dollars,” he says, leaning against the table for support. “Charity of your choice… or whatever you want, I guess.” 

Once Vanta breaks the ice, the other offers start pouring in. It’s mostly little things, but the pool builds and builds as Ike tosses in a first edition print of his favourite book, Finana doubles Vanta’s offer to make it ten, and Vox even offers to fly him to his house where he’ll cook him a celebratory dinner if he makes it.

“But I want your bike if we win,” Vox adds, utterly buoyant with good humour.

“Bet you my medal he won’t,” Kaelix chimes in, downing the last of his drink. It’s some kind of artificial berry-ade, staining his mouth with a bit of a blueish tinge.

Vox tries the knuckle crack again, and this time, he gets a few pops.“Whoa, whoa whoa. Slow your roll, hotshot. You’ve got to win one first.”

“Who says I won’t? You can talk big once you’ve won the Tour.”

“And you can talk once you’ve won Aquatics.”

“You can't bet that!” Freo cuts in, grabbing his wrist. But if anything, Kaelix grins even wider at the warning. There’s raw challenge oozing out of his stupidly blue eyes. It’s clear on his face: the flame they’ve all fanned over the years, that raw confidence that he’s going to win no matter what, burning so hot that his cheeks start to flush as he’s thrust under the spotlight.

“Why not? Some people sell them. And it's not like I’m going to lose.”

And just like that, Luca goes from not expecting anyone to notice to locking in everyone’s attention for the foreseeable future. He pushes forward wholeheartedly, shouting “You’re on!” as he swivels his head around, making sure to catch everyone’s gaze.

As he breathes, his breath seems to hang in the air. It becomes a frozen cloud hovering beside him, something more suited for a rink than a restaurant. It’ll be fine though! It’s all fine! It’s just one little conversation, right? He can manage that. 

It doesn’t have to be weird.

Once the hubbub dies down, Wilson sits with this deep line stitched across his forehead, concerned as if he wasn't the one that started this whole mess. He doesn’t seem to think it’s very fine at all, even though he has nothing on the line.

“Are you drunk?” he whispers, flagging down a server. Another cup of water appears on their table, and Luca takes it even if he doesn't need it, letting the condensation drip down both of his hands.

He doesn't bother answering. They both know the rules. No drinking till after finals, and random drinking’s not his idea of a fun time anyway, so there’s nothing to hide behind. 

“Just having a little fun.”

He can see why Wilson's concerned though. Maybe he’s having a little too much fun with it. 

Later that night, as they wander back to their rooms, bracing against each other’s arms for support, he catches Shu in the elevator and gives him his best possible stare, one strong enough to start to dissolve all notions of holy unions and promised forevers. Luca steps a little too close as he pretends to make space for the others, and his voice dips as he makes some quip about their future status as memes. He’s so close that he can start counting Shu’s eyelashes and does so, silently.

When Shu finally notices, he looks confused more than anything, lip slightly quirked as his eyes run down his face, but he doesn't react. He doesn't rebuke him either, so it’s basically a win. All he does is laugh softly before wishing them a good night, promising he’ll look for the meme before marching off the elevator, stepping onto the floor below theirs as if nothing unusual happened at all.

Wilson stares at him, shocked, and Luca can't help but laugh at his open-mouthed expression. He’s not a kid anymore. He’s not going to boil in that goopy melange of heat and nerves and not do anything about it.

No one turns their sport into their life without that ceaseless conviction to chase after the future you want. There’s no way he’s going to fail because he didn’t try hard enough. He’s definitely going to win, no matter what.

“I’m definitely gonna win,” he declares, more smitten than smug, and it only makes him laugh more as Wilson trudges to his room. 

It’s certainly an interesting change, being more open, wearing his feelings so clearly on his face. The smitten grin doesn't dislodge itself until his door clicks shut behind him, and he’s pretty sure he can hear Wilson’s furious pacing through the walls for the next twenty minutes. He must be confused. 

As Luca flops into bed, he’s only a little sorry for whatever else Wilson will inevitably have to endure.

After all, he’s got a bet to win.

-

Speaking of elevators and interesting changes, this year, the organisers have seemed to enjoy switching things up a bit. It’s probably more of a bid on space than anything else— a chance to leverage oceanic real estate, a chance to split the cost between multiple cities, a chance to show off the city or… whatever it may be— but it has come with some interesting developments. 

Rather than the traditional set of slightly cramped, slightly conjoined buildings making up a village of sorts, they’ve all been housed on a boat this year. The rooms are mostly the same as usual— clean-cut, filled standardised furniture that’s more dorm-like than hotel-like— and the boat doesn’t really move at all, but the novelty still makes it a little more fun. The ship. The ship. It’s a ship, not a boat, and it’s fun, even if it’s no longer seaworthy and can barely move an inch. They’ve already tried all the ways they thought of to play with it, tasking the largest group they could find with running from one side to the other to see how much it’ll lean from the weight difference. The answer? Not much at all. It’s a very stubborn ship.

He knows it’s not a boat, but it’s hard to deviate from his usual instincts and stop calling it one. Fulgur keeps getting on his case about it, claiming there’s a real difference between boats and ships, and he’s the expert, so he should know, but Luca still gets it wrong sometimes anyway. 

Obviously, he doesn’t actually want to capsize the ship, but that didn’t stop them from trying to get it to tip a little. It’s like their first big event where a bunch of them got stuck in an elevator. If they didn’t want people trying anything, then they shouldn’t have put them on the 47th floor! But anyway, one emergency shutdown and a few awkward calls later, and they all got out relatively unscathed (pride notwithstanding) as they swore up and down that they wouldn’t do any more coordinated jumping, even if it was still pretty fun for the first couple seconds.

If you asked him, he’d guess that it was probably a cruiseliner of some sort before it became a floating dormitory. Maybe the economics work out better that way. It’s probably cheaper to rent out a boat than it is to build a swathe of new buildings that may never be used in the same capacity again, even if said boat has been gutted out and filled with the creakiest wooden furniture he’s ever seen. He still remembers the sprite-like rumours that cropped up last year, little willowy, whispered things suggesting they’d stuff ‘em all into shipping containers and stack them up like dolls because that was the easiest way to save space. 

It must have been a good idea back then, when they were still planning things. On paper, it’s fine, and it sounded fun enough to him, but there are plenty of sports they can’t host near the port. Plus, the rooms are a little stuffy, the walls slightly thin (sorry Wilson), and the location just a little far removed from the rest of the city, seeing as it’s literally part of the harbour. That’s why he’s here, slumped over a chair on the ex-Lido Deck, scrolling on his phone instead of strolling the streets.

Actually, there are multiple reasons. He can’t exactly force some poor local florist to ship his order all the way down to Tokyo when the trip takes so long. Stupid Aquatics regulations. Once they leave for the venue, they’ll be hundreds of kilometres away, so there’s only so much he can do from here.

What kind of flower best communicates the vibe of ‘I’m sorry for ignoring you because of something you can’t control?’ Lilies, maybe? There are just too many options rife with roses (too romantic), and carnations (too shapeless), and lisianthus, which he’s never even heard of before, so they might not exist! It could be a trap! And he’s 80% sure that Kaelix had some kind of sunflower charm pinned to his lanyard, if he’s still remembering it correctly, but they’re a little too big to put in a bouquet, and it’s the wrong season anyway, so that won't work either. 

Luca tosses aside his phone with a sigh, watching it bounce once before coming to a stop. Maybe this is the sign he needs. He should just take a break and try to join their volleyball game instead. From what he can tell, they’ve just been bumping it around rather than running anything serious. That much, he can definitely keep up with.

It’s not Kaelix’s fault if someone may or may not look like him, and he does remember meeting him, actually, now that he thinks about it. It was a couple months ago, and Sonny was treating his juniors after some sort of competition, and Kaelix was there too. They both got some kind of fruity, yellow drink afterwards that tasted more and more like chalk as they got down to the bottom.

So, flowers. Florals. Laurels, if you will. He can’t really give them all the same ones, so maybe he should ask the florist to pick based on what they have? But, then again, it’s better to tailor it if he can't go out and look. And wouldn’t it be nice to coordinate it? Sure, they’re going to be pretty far apart, but they’ve got plenty of people cheering for them from here.

“Watch out!” 

As he swerves, he has just enough time to swat at a blur of blue-and-yellow that leaps up to attack him. Ren waves as he runs over, snatching up the ball that almost had a rather painful collision with his face. Luca waves back. It’s always nice to see a friendly face in times of need.

The rest of the players stay huddled together, deep in conversation about something.

“We can ask Luca!” Reimu says, dashing over to join them. “I’m pretty sure he was watching.”

Luca was not watching. Staring? Maybe. Watching? Definitely not. A dinosaur could have popped up in front of him, and he wouldn’t have absorbed it at all, so caught up in the task at hand.

“Sorry, I’ve got no clue,” he says when she inevitably asks if the ball was in or out. They’ve been using a shuffleboard court, but the lines don’t quite match up with a real court, so it’s not about whether it was in those lines. Also, more importantly, he has no idea what happened anyway, so it wouldn’t have helped, even if it was.

“Don’t worry about it!”

“Yeah, it’s all good,” Ren adds, tossing the ball back to the group. “So… browsing Hana Cupid again?”

Oh, right. The flowers. Well, at least he kinda figured it out.

“Yeah.” Luca scoops up his phone, counting off the recipients as he scrolls through his cart. There’s some lilies, some daisies, and a little bit of everything, really. “See? Finana, Aia, Sonny, Freo, and Kaelix. Plus one for the coaches.” 

As Luca tilts his phone, passing it over for Ren to glance at, Reimu comes running over again. No matter what she says, there’s no way that ‘helleborus’ is the name of a real flower and not just something ripped straight from a video game. They certainly can’t find anything by that name no matter how they try to spell it, but they (hopefully) manage to find something close enough to suit Freo’s tastes instead.

“I swear, that’s his favourite!” she says, waving her hands. Ren’s driving now, so he’s the one that’s got to balance both their requests, scrolling up and down and back again. “And actually, I think Finana might like the purple ones instead. No— Not that one! The one next to it.”

Luca shrugs. Purple it is, then. Maybe she’s right, and hellebores are real, and Hana Cupid just doesn’t have any. From the pictures that Ren pulled up before, they look a bit like reddened artichokes, so maybe he should just send him some of those.

“You could get them a flower stand instead,” Ren suggests, pointing at a few that look best. “I’m sure they’d appreciate the thought all the same.”

“Yeah, maybe. Bouquets are just easier though. They probably use like three different pools anyway, so I don’t want to pick one. And it’ll be awkward if they— Yeah. It’s better this way.” And besides, he’s pretty satisfied with what they’ve picked out in the end. It’ll be a nice surprise. “Good luck tomorrow,” he adds, trying to remember who they got matched up with. They’re both in Pool A, right?

“Thanks!” Ren pauses before snapping up again, passing his phone back. “But who's the last one for?”

“Huh?”

“You said you were buying stuff for the swimmers— Well, swimmers and divers, but that’s still only five.”

“And the staff!” Luca chirps, thumb hovering over a more substantial arrangement— one with a vase and everything. It’s nicer that way. More portable.

“Well, I’m sure they’ll like it.” After a moment, he starts to walk off, stretching out his shoulders. “You sure you don’t wanna join?”

Luca laughs, looking out at the court. “Maybe next time?”

Luca’s chest deflates once their game starts up again, and his eyes follow the ball for a while, spinning back and forth until it dribbles across the floor. That seemed to satisfy Ren’s curiosity, but Luca knows what he really meant. In his cart were seven bouquets, one of which stayed untouched throughout their long-winded journey of finding more suitable options. They aren’t hydrangeas (too out of season), and they aren’t quite roses (too on the nose), but they’re nice, and they’re purple, and they’re going to freshen up Shu’s room, so he couldn’t help but add them when he first saw them in the list.

They’re not really ‘congratulations’ flowers like the rest, but they’re not quite ‘I’m in love with you’ flowers either— or at least, he hopes it doesn’t read too much like that. Although, at the end of the day, it's not like it’s the end of the world if it does.

It’s his money and his choice to spend it, so if that means that Shu gets something too, then that’s just fate, isn't it?

-

Over the course of the day, Luca slowly migrated from the deck to the gym to the dining room and then back to the deck again, really taking advantage of his tapering schedule by doing nothing much at all. A light run, stretching, and lots and lots of rest. That’s the best way to prepare before the real thing. 

It’s evening when Wilson catches him again. There’s a beam of artificial light funneled directly into his face, and his arm’s started tingling from the strange angle he’s propped himself up in, but he can’t bear to move, much less hide. It’s too late to hide anyway. He’s already been spotted, and hiding means lying which means thinking about lying which means he has to move now, and that’s just not gonna happen.

It’s not like it’s anything new anyway. Apparently, he wasn’t very good at hiding to begin with.

Playing on his phone screen, bright enough that it transmutes his fingers into technicolour greens and blues, is a video he’s seen a hundred times before. He could recite every word without looking at it. 

As the world shrinks back into a familiar scene, the sound of the sea morphs into a roaring, effervescent crowd. There are cheers and cheers surrounding them from all angles as an announcer points at the field. Video-Shu lifts his hand, wiggling his fingers as he laughs about how it’s all in the wrist, and he’s got this electric sort of smile that just makes everything feel easy and natural and perfect. It’s supercharged by victory and the kind of genuine satisfaction in his performance that condenses on his skin, and it makes Luca want to laugh and cheer and kiss him and maybe combine the three together, laughing into his mouth as he spins him around.

“Luca? Are you— Oh.” A pause. A sigh, drawn-out, once Wilson recognises what’s got him so transfixed.

That year, their events got scheduled in stadiums a good hour apart, so he didn’t get to watch it, but he’s seen enough clips that it feels like he has. 

Abandoning the pretense of shame, Luca turns to face him. “I’m doing research,” he tells him, brandishing his phone like a weapon. He’s pretty sure that the sight of Shu’s genuine excitement is lethal enough to count as one. “You know how it is. Got to learn from the past. Figure out what’s best.” Between them, Shu’s still talking about how it felt— the rush of victory, the precision, the fact that it’s almost like he doesn’t think when he’s out there and his body just moves, doing it all on its own. 

“I can see that.”

Luca’s eyes flick down again. Here comes the part where Shu rolls his eyes, batting off the inevitable questions about his personal life— ‘so, Shu, you recently announced that you got married’ and so forth— as he steamrolls into one of his infamous botched date stories instead, and his eyes crinkle up as he slips into an unpracticed laugh. Luca’s finger comes up to scrub back, to catch the sweet sound of it again and again and keep it safe inside his pocket, but Wilson looks like he’s going to explode if he has to witness another second of it.

“What’s up?” he asks, opting to let it run through untouched. Video-Shu’s shoulders quake as Wilson looks him over. It’s hard to tell if he’s concerned or confused or so full of ambition that the emotions have all started spilling into each other, painting his face into a muddy mix of both. 

“It’s just— It’s nothing. Just wanted to see if you were hungry. That’s all.” The rest gets muffled by his hands, but it sounds an awful lot like a garbled, slightly judgemental ‘he is so screwed.’

“I ate earlier! But thanks. Maybe tomorrow?”

Wilson stands a bit awkwardly, slightly off-centre like he’s going to topple under the strain of existing. “Yeah,” he says, glancing back and forth from him to Shu and back to him again. “Maybe tomorrow.”

He hears Wilson walk off and can feel himself getting yanked back again. Here come the blue skies and the tickle of grass and the slightly lemony taste of freedom. Shu laughs again, this time practiced, and a wisp of hair flies in front of his face. If Luca was really there, he would reach out his hand and pin it back for him while Shu swats at his wrist. Determination drips from his skin as it colours the air, staining Luca’s fingers a faint violet hue, and he’s almost there. He can almost feel it if he dreams hard enough, warm beneath his touch.

Maybe tomorrow, he thinks again. Maybe tomorrow.

-

In the morning, Wilson overhears Shu talking to someone about a gift he got recently, and he steers them away so fast that it must count as a warm-up. He could probably ask their coach if it counts since running is still running, right? It really should count. 

So instead of eating breakfast at the dining hall, they find some quaint café a few minutes run from the harbor, and it’s under the cloak of blue-and-white cloth umbrellas where he looks as Wilson, takes a huge bite of eggs, and feels it deep in his chest. 

He’s a good friend. Even if it doesn’t work out neatly, he’ll always have that, and for that, he can only be grateful.

-

Somehow, their little bet has become more and more widespread amongst the other athletes in the village. It’s not just their little dinner party that’s in on it anymore. Now, he’s got a few stragglers from every sport chiming in, sometimes at random, and he’s really got to curb the spread before it reaches Shu in the worst way possible.

There’s no way he’ll forgive him if he finds out about their stupid bet from someone else, no matter how much he may or may not reciprocate his feelings. 

To be perfectly honest, he’s not making much progress on the confession anyway. There’s hardly enough space for it with everything else that’s going on, and he’s got no time to even see Shu, much less talk to him! Every time he tries, someone else cuts in, looking slightly sad or worried or merciful, even, as they drag him off elsewhere.

It’s either that, or he’s the one that has to force them all away, pushing them out of earshot to shield Shu from hearing about it prematurely. Stupid ship. There’s no space to do anything but sleep and nowhere much to go.

Case in point, the first time he tries to go out, Vox tries to deal Doppio in. 

To be more precise, he’s pretty sure they were trying to find another player for a practice set— 2 on 1, maybe, to make it more fair— and Luca was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’d usually be up for it too, but he really did have somewhere to be, so after a quick wave and an internal promise that he’d definitely catch up with them later, Luca started jogging past them as he ran for the deck.

“Oh, not him. He’s going off to woo his boyfriend,” Vox says, really dragging the word out as Doppio starts to flag him down. Luca freezes in place before trying to make it seem more nonchalant, running backwards to defuse the situation, but it's already too late. 

“Boyfriend?” Doppio chirps, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him so hard it makes him seasick. “Congrats, man. I didn't even know you had one.”

“What? No, it’s— He’s not my boyfriend.”

Doppio’s too nice. Of course he’s going to hear that and take it at face value.

“Oh yeah, Pio-chan, did you want in on the bet? Luca’s trying to con Shu into dating him… or something like that. I dunno. I get his bike when he loses though.”

“His bike?!” 

“Betting pool’s closed,” Luca hums, staring up at the sky. It’s fairly unremarkable, so cloudy it looks white all over. It’s good weather for errands though. It always feels pretty lousy knowing you’ll waste hours of sunlight indoors.

“But you let Kaelix—”

Well, of course he let Kaelix change his stakes. He's not gonna take the poor kid's medal away just because he picked the wrong side. Will he even collect on it in the end? No, probably not, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t try his best to win, and that means he’s got to be fair.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to let anyone else in on the joke. That’s what he tells himself as his legs do not, as planned, begin to ferry him off the ship. It’s just not the kind of thing that should become a bigger deal than it already is.

Doppio shrugs, but he brightens up as Luca agrees to play a round or two with them. If that’s the price, then he’ll forgo that task for a better day. For now, there’s rackets to find and badminton to play. 

Still, he’s pretty sure that even 2-v-1, Doppio’s going to absolutely destroy them. And he does. But it’s so fun that it’s hard to find anything wrong with it at all.

-

A day before his event, Luca finally takes initiative. It’s time to act. It’s now or never, so it’s got to be now! 

They’re supposed to take a rest day anyway— it’s something about muscle recovery, which he doesn't really question anymore, even if he feels pretty recovered by now— and if he has to spend another second on the ship, then he’s going to develop a second set of abs from all the teetering around. After locking and unlocking his phone a few dozen times, checking the time every thirty seconds or so as he melts into a chair, Luca’s decided he’s tired of waiting. The future waits for no one, after all.

“Let’s go out!” he shouts, springing up to his feet. The cushion’s left a seam-shaped mark down his arm, and he rubs it as he says it again. “Any takers? I think I need to buy a new couch.”

A few pairs of eyes turn his way, all in various stages of disbelief, but it’s the kind of disbelief he can live with. It’s the kind that catches the sunlight as it wraps around them, tipping people’s heads to the side as they stare at him, wide-eyed and unable to understand what the hell he’s thinking.

Ike has more than a few questions, but he seems relatively unfazed. “Is this like a ‘I signed a million dollar contract’ thing or a ‘I just bought a house and have nothing to put in it’ sort of thing,” he asks, “Because that totally changes the math.”

Luca shrugs. It’s a good thought, but it's not really either. He did move into a bigger place recently, but it's not exactly ‘let’s fill a room with couches’ sort of big. He just wants a good couch. People like good couches. Comfy people are happy people, and a good couch is a good place to start.

“Now?” Wilson adds, hardly moving from his spot. His face scrunches up even further, likely imagining a relay where they all carry it back to the ship like it’s some sort of modern palanquin. “Here?! Where are you gonna put it?”

“In my house?”

Hasn't he ever heard of delivery? It’s a great invention, a real staple of the modern age. And besides, he has to try it before buying anything. If he doesn't, he’ll end up with the easily-crushed, scratchy sort of couch they’ve furnished the ship’s common areas with— the kind that don’t do much but look nice and feel uncomfortable enough that it discourages guests from staying too long.

“I meant to go earlier,” Luca goes to say, which isn't exactly untrue. “It’s your fault! You got me into the whole bet thing.”

Claude nods a little, whispering something before pushing Wilson off him. He probably would be excited to carry it back, knowing him. “I’m down.”

To be honest, Luca doesn't really need the new couch, but it'd certainly be nice to have. He needs something a little more comfortable. A little longer. Easier to lie across.

At the very least, it’d be nice to have a shortlist of options so he can pick the right one, even if it doesn't happen today, and it’d be even better to get people to sit on some to test what’s objectively best. When else are they gonna be together and have the free time to waste?

“Why do you need a new one?” Millie asks, half-confused. She’s sprawled upside down with her legs along the wall. “The dorm ones weren’t that bad.”

Wilson laughs, grabbing his bag despite his earlier remarks. “They were so ugly. And I’m pretty sure we had to get flame retardant ones because of people like you, so they were real fucking stiff too.”

“People like me? I’m not the one who microwaved a piece of—”

“Anyway!” Wilson interrupts, clapping his hands together. “Do you need a list of stores? I’m sure I can find some.”

Luca pretends to look down at his watch, which doesn't actually exist, before shaking his head. “Nope!” he says, heading towards the door. “Let’s get lunch first!”

Ike stops fiddling with his lanyard. “Well, if you’re buying, then I guess I’m in too.”

The promise of food gets a few more heads turning, and just like that, recruitment ends for the furniture hunt. Let no one tell you that Luca Kaneshiro doesn’t know how to play a crowd. 

Honestly, he’s pretty sure people can’t say no to him, so he’s going to be fine. It’s a good sign.

-

Nothing is better than the feeling of standing on solid ground.

The ship’s fine. Honestly, it hardly even moves, but there’s something claustrophobic about it anyway. All it would take is a broken ramp, and suddenly, they’d all be stuck in hundreds upon hundreds of matchbox-sized rooms with no way to reach the shore. Maybe they could jump, but it’s a bad idea with all the other boats milling around.

As they walk down the streets, the rain-sodden, mushy feeling of autumn swirls through his veins. The pre-winter mess of half hot, half cold, and two thirds cloudy is one of the best parts of the year, and after a debatably gourmet meal (read: the nearest Saizeriya, thank you carb-loading!), Luca’s just about ready to try on some couches.

“I don’t think you try them on,” Ike argues, striding past an impressively large puddle. “I think you just try them.” 

Okay, well, he’s ready to try some couches then. And this time, even though it’s tempting, they’re not going to go to IKEA to do it. It’s too easy to get lost in there, distracted by shiny shelves and gigantic plushies and the smell of food that inexplicably gets piped throughout the entire store, even though there’s no way it should be able to reach that far. If they all went there, then they’d be trapped until closing, marvelling at all the cool stuff that they didn’t come there to buy while someone inevitably cracks a few too many jokes about Ike’s name.

“So what are you even looking for?” Wilson asks, trying to be helpful. “Maybe we should cheat and ask a salesperson for help.”

Claude shakes his head before draping an arm around his shoulder, forcing Wilson to lurch to the side. “That says a lot about you. That you’d see it that way, I mean.”

“Fuck off.”

Luca kinda agrees. It’s not really cheating, and he’d be more than happy to ask, but he doesn’t know either. If he knew what made a good couch, then he wouldn’t have made everyone come out with him! “Something soft…? Maybe?” 

The door swings open. Millie’s voice is barely audible over the slippery jazz that clings to the air. “Great,” she says, but it doesn’t sound like she believes it. “We’ll just touch all of them, then, and see what you like.”

The last thing she said gets lost as she marches inside, but based on Wilson’s shriek of: “We are not couch perverts,” he’s pretty sure he doesn’t need to know.

It’s as good a plan as any, so Luca makes a beeline for the upholstery, starting with the ones that can comfortably fit at least three of them at once. Sometimes he jiggles them a little, grabbing onto fabric or leather as he tries to gauge how stable the legs are. Microfiber’s no good— or at least that’s what he saw when he googled it earlier.

Some of them are long enough to accommodate his legs, slightly folded. Some aren’t. Some are real king-sized behemoths too, large enough that even Doppio could probably comfortably sleep on them. They’re so big that they’d probably fill up a room on their own, so reluctantly, unless he really does want to fill a room with couches, those won’t work either.

A few on the outskirts are this ugly shade of brownish green, and they all get ruled out based on aesthetics alone. What if he has company over and they hate his ugly green couch? What then?

“Here, Ike. How about this one?” Luca points to a brown, leather model. It’s sturdier than the last one, whose cushions were so squishy they reminded him of quicksand. 

He shrugs. “It’s alright. Better than the last two.”

“What if you lie down? Still comfy or is it too squishy?”

Unfortunately, this one’s not a keeper. The armrests are so stiff that his neck already hurts, apparently, so it’s definitely out of the running. Wilson keeps picking ones lined with velvet instead, and they’re not too bad. Definitely worth considering. 

Luca flops onto another before springing up again, dissatisfied. The backing’s too short. There’s no way it’ll feel nice to sit on for long.

“Just buy some new cushions,” Claude suggests, tossing one at his chest. Luca hums, squishing it a little before putting it back. Too stiff. Plus, it’s made out of that fabric that Shu hates. Apparently, it feels itchy on his skin or something, hence the new couch. The new, good couch that won’t ward people off.

Wilson laughs, pointing at another. This one’s taller but lighter, and the fabric’s been dyed a greyish purple mix. Millie gets in on the action, lobbing a throw pillow at his face. “Hey! It’s not my fault that Luca wants the Ferrari of couches.”

“Ferrari?”

“Lambo? I dunno. The fanciest one.”

Millie waves from her spot in the sea of upholstery. “Luca, you should just get an ottoman.” The one she’s honed in on looks like a giant wheel of cheese. “If you like it, you can just put your feet there.”

Wilson scoffs. “You’re so short that it doesn’t even matter.”

“I’m like eighteen feet tall.” Then, for good measure, she pulls out her phone, furiously typing something out on it. “I just checked your Wikipedia page, and it says that you’re short.”

“Well, that’s wrong. I’m nineteen feet tall, so I win.”

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Ike tries a couple more, Wilson keeps inadvertently egging her on, and Claude gets bored after a while, staring at throw blankets and big, lace-trimmed curtains as he moves them back and forth a bit. It’s all well and good though, perfectly peaceful until Ike shoots up like he’s been struck by lightning. His shoes squeak against the polished floor, and Luca’s pretty sure the same salesperson that came up to them a few minutes ago has turned around again, staring at them like they’re a blight on the showroom.

“Oh my god. I just realised what this is.”

Luca feigns nonchalance, flipping up some tags to compare a few prices. Perfectly in time with Wilson’s inevitable sigh, he hears Ike cry out about how he’s being used as a ruler. A Shu-sized ruler, to be precise, even if he doesn't quite phrase it like that. 

A cold chill starts walking up Luca’s neck as he stares at the extremely fascinating set of numbers he’s found. He can’t exactly deny it, can he? Not when he isn’t that far off with his estimations. Then, as he thinks about it some more, he tries his best not to laugh. A Shu-sized ruler. A Shuler.

There are plenty of people he has to think about when it comes to furnishing his place, and chief on that list happens to be Shu. That part is true. He’s wrong about the ruler bit though. Anything that’ll fit him will be fine for Shu, so he doesn’t have to hijack his teammates for that.

Revelations aside, it still feels like a victory when he’s done, which is the important part. Once he finds his perfect, holy grail piece of furniture, he marches up to an associate with as much flair as he can muster, scans his QR code, and leaves with a heart so full that it could burst. And then, once he remembers their genuinely good, carb-filled dinner, it’s almost enough to make it implode.

Delicious food, good company, and one last chance to be himself without the weight of a crowd leaping onto his shoulders. What more could anyone ask for?

-

‘Good company’ is an understatement, as it turns out. 

As they walk to their table, Luca sweats. They had to run the last kilometre since it was ever so slightly faster than transferring lines to go by train, already late from an unsuccessful detour to check out the maple trees— which are dramatically more impressive in November, apparently. What can he say? There’s a time and place for touristing around to your heart’s content, and that’s now. The only problem with that is that Luca is visibly sweaty as Shu waves at him, looking so casually beautiful that it makes him forget what he’s doing until everyone’s already seated.

The only free seat is the one right across from him. Luca tries his best to shut down his pores or glands or wherever sweat comes from when it wants to ruin his cool image. (The eccrine ones, he remembers later, once his thoughts aren’t shorted by the weight of surprise. Obviously.)

“Oh, yeah. I invited Shu earlier.” Claude points at the empty seats along the edges, shrugging. “He said he was free, and it’s not like the others can run down from Tokyo anyway, so.”

Luca nods, letting someone else take over the talking. That’s cool. That’s nice.

Shu’s been taking it easy after his event. “A lot of sleeping,” he mentions, laughing softly, and his left hand’s still bare every time Luca doublechecks it. 

It takes a few minutes for his muscles to thaw. Everyone’s chatting about the city and the sights, and Luca’s there, listening in a way that’s both there and isn’t. His eyes find a pleasing point to stare at— one of the wall sconces, whose light seems to bubble a bit, almost like a candle— as he lets his focus drift. It’s equal parts warmth and nerves swimming through his wrists and ankles and the more embarrassing, essential parts of him too, like his heart.

To be perfectly honest, he has been busy, but he’s also been avoiding the whole bet resolution topic. But maybe, now that Shu’s done competing, it’ll be safe to talk about. Even if he gets annoyed or angry or so exasperated that it doesn’t work out, it won’t have any lasting professional consequences.

It’s remarkable. Shu will do nothing of note and he’ll still be the brightest thing around. When Luca dies, they’re going to find patches of fabric, spools of lavender wool, flower petals, and a million constituent parts of Shu buried deep inside his soul. Luca sags against his chair, thinking about it up until Millie nudges his arm, whispering that it’s his turn to speak.

Luca says the first thing that comes to mind, which happens to be: “Huh? Oh, I bought a couch today!” He doesn't have to look to know that Wilson’s suppressing a laugh, but he’s the fool here. He doesn't know about Luca’s hidden couch rizz. His couch-risma. His… couch-risma balls. 

“Was it nice?” Shu’s foot nudges his from beneath the table. It’s a silent question, to which he merely nods in response. He’s fine. He’s more than fine, really. After all, he bought a killer couch today.

“Yeah! It’s good. Definitely a keeper!”

Wilson jumps in, blessedly pulling the spotlight off him, “You should’ve seen it. There were like a thousand couches. It was crazy.”

“I’m sure he picked a good one.”

The assurance is nice. His fingers twitch from the sudden longing to reach across the table and find Shu’s, but he can’t. Instead of doing any of that, he brings his glass closer, squeezing it slightly as he brings it up to his lips.

“You can try it out first then,” Luca murmurs, still touched, still unable to help himself from speaking. That makes Shu smile, but he was also smiling before, so there’s not a huge difference. All he really gets out of it is another desperate look from Wilson, who’s never stopped telling him to just call it off already.

Claude claps his hands, ending the spell. “Ok, that’s enough flirting for one day!” he says, spouting off a line about how he’s so hungry he could eat the moon. “Like seriously, I’m about to keel over.”

His words have the opposite effect. Somehow, once they’ve eaten enough to extinguish the flames of building frustration, the conversation meanders back to love because life is full of inertia. He gets to carb-load and relax, and to compensate for that boon, the universe throws him into a conversation about ideal types and how hard it is to meet new people when they’ve spent the better part of their lives training. Growing up like that, it kinda messes with you in a way that’s hard to put into words. And what can they do once everything’s over?

When they get around to Shu, he putters for a moment, sitting on his hands before opening his mouth. “It’s pretty obvious,” he says, staring somewhere in the middle distance. Luckily, someone cut in for Luca earlier, waving off his turn because they ‘all knew the answer’ or ‘it'll just be type deez nuts’ or something silly like that. “For me, it’s got to be someone who respects basic human dignity. You know, like not dooming a cat to a life named Albert Einstein.”

They've all heard the story. It’s one of those distracting, prepackaged ones Shu saves for when the reporters get a little too personal— the affable, slightly distant tale of how he fostered some cats once with some friends. They couldn’t agree on a good set of names, so they ended up picking one each, to… mixed results. 

No one else laughs at his non-answer, but they don't question it either and they don’t probe for more. Only Claude has the thought to give him a consoling thumbs up as Luca dials down his laughter, and it’d be a lot more comforting if it wasn't so obviously pitying too.

It's fine. They wouldn't get it anyway. He still likes Shu’s stories, even if they're old news. And if you asked him, he’d say Einstein’s a way better name than ‘Air Fryer,’ which was a very real suggestion that got rightfully thrown out.

Wilson shrugs, grabbing his napkin. “But like, hypothetically,” he says, glancing at Luca once more before shaking his head. “If you had a cat named Pogchamp, then you could pick him up and call him your little Pogchamp.”

“Or her,” Millie adds, eyes sparkling.

“Or her! You could even call her Champ for short!”

Shu instantly recoils, voice pitched high as he slams his hand on the table. “I’m not naming my daughter that!”

“You never had problems with Hornny!” Wilson shrieks, abandoning the love topic entirely. 

“Hornny’s cool. And also not real. And it’s Sonny, so…” Shu waves his hand vaguely, making a vague noise as if that explains it all.

Luca grins at that, absentmindedly gnawing on his chopstick as a gale of air flushes in and out his lungs. It’s the kind of comment that could have telephoned into the wrong thing once upon a time, but he supposes Shu’s endearments have become old news too. After all, that mystery’s going to end real soon.

After another beat, he opens his mouth, steering them further and further from the topic of love, but he’s already made up his mind.

Tonight, he’s going to tell him everything.

-

“Shu! Wait!” Originally, he was happy to wait until they were back on the ship, but that was before he knew they’d see each other like this. “Wait up!”

The streets pull a yellowy-grey hue beneath his feet, and each step is marked by a little arc of water from the remnants of rain as he runs and he runs, zooming towards his retreating form. The streetlights trap him in a pool of golden light that swirls a little less as Shu’s pace dwindles to a stop. When Luca reaches him, their shoulders brush together briefly, and there’s a greediness there. Maybe it’s unintentional, but his chest burns as Shu finally turns to face him.

Shu is radiant. It’s not a particularly special or unique sight, but it feels deeply personal anyway. This moment is just for them. All it takes is one glance at his shimmering eyes, and all of a sudden, Luca’s forgotten every single word of his brilliant speech. 

“Luca?”

With nothing left to go on, instinct takes over. He’s got to talk before he starts sweating again, but his body won’t listen, doing a poor job of managing his internal temperature.

“I saw you compete,” he eventually says, which feels safe enough to start with. It’s certainly true, anyway, and it’ll soften the blow. “It was… You were cool.”

“I know. I saw you.”

“You did?”

Shu hums, staring up at the starless sky before looking back down again. The venue was pretty small this year, so it’s not unreasonable to assume that he noticed him somehow. He’s not exactly the most conspicuous person around, and he never tries very hard to mask his obvious allegiance.

“Well, I mean it. You were really cool.” Then he laughs briefly, awkwardly, as he squeezes his hands together. Something in him twists a little as he tries to find his good words, the ones that make it sound better than it is. “I wanted to tell you yesterday, but, um, I’ve been kinda busy.”

The weight of his impending confession makes his voice a little softer, strangled by the pressure. As he looks at Shu, he shifts his weight occasionally, switching from favouring one leg and then the other to burn off the nerves. It also has the side benefit of keeping himself from kissing him too because, okay, maybe he’s wanted to kiss him for an hour or a while or a thousand whiles, but he can wait. He can live with not kissing Shu yet, even if they’re finally within kissing range.

This is good. He’s doing good. Or at least, he was doing good for the first ten minutes, because before he knows it, he’s dropped to his knees— both knees, even, so he’s not doing it right— and he’s holding Shu’s sleeve in his hands as water starts to seep into his kneecaps as he says a lot of things, one of which might be an offhanded marriage proposal. It’s hard to tell.

Shu blinks. He blinks, and then he shakes his head like he’s trying to dislodge something. “What? Luca, get up.” 

The weight of thousands of dollars and medals and his bike and whatever else is riding on this keep him planted to the ground. Now that finals are so soon, it’s a million times more concrete than before. There’s no getting around it now. Why did he open his mouth?

Why’d he have to say that?

“Let’s go on a date,” he says after another moment, even though they both know there's no time for it. Starting tomorrow, he’s going to be confined to the track for the foreseeable future. And that’s not right either. Instead of his sleeve, he holds onto his hand, stroking it gently.

“I knew something was up with you.” Shu tugs his arms up. When that doesn’t work, he tries his shoulders. “Come on. People are staring.”

Luca’s jaw is sore from keeping it all in. He must look drunk and stupid, clinging to someone’s hand with his coat fanned out around him like a ward, sucking up the last bit of mud from their little stretch of road. And sure enough, though they don’t stop, a few people turn to look at him, staring back and forth between Luca’s hunched posture and Shu’s soft, inquisitive smile as he squeezes his palm.

“I have to tell you something,” Luca whispers, hauling himself off the ground. He crashes into Shu as he does, getting pulled into his chest as he stumbles backwards, and something hard— his ring, probably, seeing as he’s not wearing it tonight— hits a tender spot on his chest. He probably kept it in his pocket. He wouldn’t have left it in his room, after all.

Shu nods, waiting, but it doesn’t feel right. The light flickers, and the moon’s vanished, and there are too many people around. Luca reaches out to fix Shu’s collar, mentally preparing himself, but then he thinks he hears the ringing sound of Millie’s laughter and that plan goes out the window too.

“What are you doing?!” Shu’s grip is so tight that they’ll never get separated as Luca takes one quick look back, grabs his hand, and takes off running. 

Luca offers a two-fingered mock salute as he turns a corner. “Stealing you from your husband!”

He’s never felt better than this moment, with his fingers hooked around Shu’s as he flies through the air. Sometimes Shu pinches his knuckle if he turns too fast, but he keeps going and going until they become comets burning through the city. Where does he start? The husband? The fact that everyone’s excited to meet him? The bet? The fact that he kinda sorta has to figure it out before the closing ceremony?

Once they finally run far enough to escape the invisible eyes that always seem to trail after him, Luca turns to Shu and whispers something in his ear. At first, Shu nods. Then, his eyes turn violet. A boyish grin starts to ripple onto his face.

“There’s no way,” he mutters, laughing to himself. So far, so good. At least he’s not mad about it. “I’m not doing that! He’s going to kill me!”

It’s like a verbal tic. He keeps saying ‘But, Shu,’ and ending it with various things. But, Shu, it’ll be funny. But, Shu, it’s just one time. One night. One chance. Each justification is as meaningless as the last, even though they’re so stuffed with passion that they bruise his tongue a little as they glide out.

Shu shakes them off, coughing a little from all the laughter that’s slipped out. “I can’t! He’s gonna feel so heartbroken! Betrayed! And I—” Shu’s joints lock up as he’s transported into a memory. After a while, he slumps down, head bumping against Luca’s shoulder. “Is that why Willy’s been so weird lately? I was gonna say hi the other morning, and he just ran off.”

“Kinda? But, uh… Claude told him about the husband thing. Said he heard it from you.”

“He did? When?”

Luca shrugs. It doesn’t really matter how it happened because it did, and now they have to deal with the consequences. If Shu doesn’t want to, then he won’t push it. No one has to know. “Are you in or not?”

Shu makes this noncommittal noise as he melts into him. Luca lets him ruminate as he eases them back towards the harbor, whispering little incentives into his ear as they move as one gigantic human. There’s a part of him that truly believes that it’ll come true if he just says it enough times. It’s the kind of half-lie that pricks his stomach as it goes down.

But, Shu, no one’s going to care. Trust me.

-

The good thing about giant events like this is that the organisers give everyone a full day between the last event and the closing ceremony, so there’s no way that anyone who wants to attend could get locked out of it, no matter how distant their venues may have been. 

The bad thing is that that means everyone is here, and there’s no shortage of inquisitive glances whenever he stumbles upon someone he knows. It’s like they’re all trying to gauge his feelings from the way he walks and waves, which makes him consciously think about it, which in turn probably makes it look weird and unnatural, meaning they all must think something’s up. 

Luca’s running. Again. He’s not late, but he’s certainly cutting it close. Wilson caught him on the way down, offering company on the way over, so he had to pretend like he left something in his room, saying he appreciated it until he went all the way up, waited a while, and then came back down to see a blessedly empty lobby.

In the end, they settled on meeting in one of the common rooms before heading over. His head’s full of a million things as he double checks his pockets, patting them down to make sure his prop didn’t disappear in the last ten minutes. Shu doesn’t say anything before stepping behind him, brushing his hair out the way to adjust his collar. 

“Thanks. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Of course. You?”

Shu’s a picture perfect prince. Truly, genuinely, he’s so charming that it makes Luca breaths billow out in tiny, cloud-shaped bursts. He’s more striking than a thousand ruby-red maple trees in the peak of autumn. And it’s not about how he looks but who he is— so inarticulately, wonderfully himself that merely thinking about it is enough to send him reeling. That bit’s never really changed, even if he’s better at dealing with it now. There have been too many moments that have stolen his heart over the years, but it’s fitting. It’s impossible to know exactly when you fall in love with someone. All he knows, and all he cares to know, is that he loves him right now, and he probably will for a long, long time.

Seventeen-year-old Luca would probably gape at him now, gazing fondly at the life he’s found. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t care. Back then, he’s pretty sure he only cared about running. Maybe his interest would begin and end at his events, too busy to notice how his heart swells at the sight of a familiar speck of purple in the stands.

On the ride over, they speak in hushed tones, mostly telling jokes. Shu pulls out his phone, showing him the best Luca-Wilson redraws he found while he voices all of them, starting with the high-pitched hamster that complains about his tiny hamster legs. It’s so mundane that it makes him ache. This is why he loves Shu. It’s all the little things like this, moments where they’re just existing together, whether that means trading memes or merely leaning on each other, hands outstretched as Luca points out the funny-looking buildings that dot the skyline.

It took a lot of grovelling, but Shu finally agreed to it. 

“Here. Give it to me.” Luca grabs the wad of plastic from Shu’s hand as he slides the ring onto his finger. The heft of it makes his hand wobble as he waves back to him, smiling before striding into the venue.

The plastic crinkles in his pocket as he sinks into the wall. He considers running out to throw it in the bin, but it’s hard enough to discern what’s going on without adding any unnecessary distance.

“Shu!” he hears. It’s unmistakably Doppio, based on the voice. “You made it!”

“Good to see you, man,” Vox says. “I was getting scared there for a second.”

Closer to the entryway, he can hear Wilson and Vanta speaking among themselves too.

“Have you seen Luca? He didn’t want to come with me, but he should be here by now.” Then a pause. A few words he can’t make out. 

“Haven’t seen him. But he’ll survive. He’s tougher than he looks.”

“I know.” Wilson seems a little less convinced though. “Hey, did you hear back from Zali yet?”

Soon enough, the signal comes. Someone compliments Shu on his shirt— slightly satiny and a pale, silvery lavender, accented by these bat-like collar pins that he always seems especially fond of— and that’s when he does it. Shu’s voice swoops up then down as he laughs. “Thanks. My husband must have snuck it into my bag. I could have sworn I packed something else.”

(Not true, but it’s not the kind of lie that’ll hurt anyone, so Luca lets it slide.)

“You husband?” Finana probably intends to sound unbothered and casual, but a little bit of curiosity sneaks its way in there regardless, heightened by the shock. Shu rarely acknowledges it. There’s a reason why his marriage is mostly an enigma. “He came with you this year?”

“Of course he did.”

Kotoka laughs, swinging her arms. “Maybe we finally met him. Did he watch any other events? Tennis, maybe?”

“No clue. But you’ve definitely met him. You all have, in fact.”

“We have?”

There’s his cue. Luca listens to a few more people expressing their confusion before he sprints into the hall, brandishing his pristine candy ring.

“I put a ring on it!” he shouts, shrieking as Shu grabs his hand and tries to take a bite out of his berry-flavoured prize. He probably licked off at least a tenth of a carat! And really, after spending at least an hour looking for a specialty store to chase one down, he deserved the first taste, didn’t he?

For a second, everything is silent as the cogs start to turn in people’s heads, after which the room gets very, very loud. Their reactions range from shocked (Vox) to genuinely happy (Maria) to perfectly neutral (Freo), as if their matrimony was common knowledge all this time. It gets even louder as Shu presents his other hand, grinning as Luca reaches into his pocket, unwraps another lollipop, and slides it onto his finger.

To be fair, they’ve never tried to hide it. It’s just that they never tried to advertise it either… or confirm it… or even state it outright. It’s the kind of PR headache neither of them wanted to deal with until after they retire, so that was the first thing they decided, way back when they first started dating. Their little love story gets dramatically less interesting once they’re no longer competing, so there’s a good chance no one would care by then. 

Still, he never imagined it would become such a big deal.

Vanta goes pale, gaping at the two of them. “Please tell me you’re joking.” Across the room, Vox looks about the same, grabbing his head with his hands as he blinks long and slow.

Beside him, Wilson’s going through his own Luca-related crashout. “So the flowers— And when you said that you were going to— It was your couch?! Collectively?!”

Shu grins, reaching under Luca’s collar to pull out a necklace. Dangling from the chain is his actual ring, the sight of which leaves no room for argument.

He would have been fine keeping it under wraps. All that mattered to him was that he loves Shu and that Shu loves him back. As long as that’s true, he didn’t care what anyone else thought, but as he looks at Shu now, nearly doubled over as he laughs so hard at the ridiculous picture they make, he thinks that it’s fine for them to know.

“See, I told you it’d be funny.”

Shu’s lips are a little shiny. They’re extra pink from whatever they put in that candy, and his breath is a little sweet too. He weighs his options but opts not to kiss him yet. They’ve only just revealed their relationship after all. Best to take it slow.

Shu doesn’t have the same qualms though. He takes one good look at him before wrapping his arms around his shoulders, turning them around to hide most of it as he kisses him quickly. The thing is, Luca is not a cartwheeling, six foot tall actor with the power of retakes on his side, so he’s not tall enough to cover all of it, but Shu doesn’t seem to care, kissing him once before revealing the big news.

“Don’t worry, guys,” he says, shrugging as if he didn’t drop two bombshells tonight. “I won’t let him collect on the bet.”

Luca nods. He probably wouldn’t have taken any of it anyway, but it certainly didn’t hurt that removing the stakes made Shu a lot more amenable to joining in on the joke. (“See? No one gets hurt that way!”) His friends erupt again, stunned that he knew about it.

As Luca surveys the crowd, he tries his best to capture Wilson’s attention, nonverbally channeling all the gratitude he can muster. He’s grateful and sorry and a little relieved as he looks at him, shouting: “See? Nothing to worry about!”

-

A week later, as they stretch out on their new couch, Shu passes over his phone, giggling softly to himself.

Shining on his screen is another resurgence of the Wilson-Luca chase meme, this time relatively untouched. The only change is the addition of a few seemingly random emojis— chiefly a lollipop, the planet Saturn, and a whole bunch of explosions. 

Yu Q Wilson @YuQRunson 

me vs my desire to strangle him lmao

Luca makes a mental note to respond later, but for now, he puts the phone down on their table, scoots closer to Shu, and latches onto him like his lungs are full of water. He wades through the air, so totally saturated by the love that pours out of him.

Their eyes almost-definitely-absolutely meet, and all he can think about, as he kisses him properly this time, is that he’s never been happier.