Chapter Text
Keonho stands back against the railing, looking out on the course and waiting for his third and final run.
They can all see the heat shimmering over the pavement, sun beating down on their necks, heat turning them almost feverish, but it’s not enough to stop the nerves thrumming through their bodies.
This is make or break.
Martin has just finished his own last run, setting his score at a final 87 points and putting him in first place, for now. Seonghyeon is at an 86 himself, while Keonho sits at an 84. Fourth place under him is at an 80. If Keonho wants to secure the podium, he’s going to have to clean up this last run.
Keonho’s first run had been rough. He’d slipped up on a front blunt on a rail, a rail that has been noted by the commentators for being shorter than the ones usually featured on most street courses. He isn’t the only one to slip up either, other competitors, including Seonghyeon and Martin, have been having trouble. No amount of board wax has been helping, especially with the heat, it just melts right off.
It’s been all about calculating the momentum, timing the grinds against the length.
Keonho had landed hard on his side on that first run, hard enough that he had taken a few of his precious run seconds to take a breath and stay down, before he was up and popping the board again. His second run had been better, but he’d slipped up on a flip, stumbled a little, but he’s unshaken as ever.
There’s an intensity to the focus in his eyes that Seonghyeon can see even from where he stands off to the side, waiting for his own last run.
He does his little ritual, smacks his chest left and right, two times each. Smacks his arms, left and right, two times each. He shakes, a full body vibration. Relaxing the muscles, he calls it. Leftover rituals that have followed him from his first love of swimming. They tease him for it, but it clearly works.
Keonho does this thing where he closes his eyes for a second, lets out a long breath, lips moving to form the syllables of a few words, a self-soothing mantra.
Seonhyeon has always wondered what he says, but he doesn’t ask. It seems too personal, too precious of a moment, and it’s not his secret to know. They all have their things, and this is Keonho’s. Who is Seonghyeon to ask to be let in on it?
And it’s in this moment, Seonghyeon staring at the way Keonho’s lips move, the flutter of his eyelashes and the trickle of perspiration down the side of his neck, a drop freefalling from his jawline, that he feels it.
There’s an itch in his fingers, even as they grip the railing behind them tight, white knuckling the steel even with the warmth from the sun’s heat. There’s something that feels like some skittish instinct in his feet, animalistic like a rabbit or a startled deer. His heart is telling him to go over there, to do something so incredibly stupid, something so incredibly reckless.
But his mind stops him, the fear that fizzles off of every nerve freezes him in place.
Keonho opens his eyes, glances over at Seonghyeon for a brief moment and smiles, something fleeting, but bright all the same.
Seonghyeon’s heart gets even louder, but his mind even more so.
Keonho drops in, taking Seonghyeon’s heart with him.
Winter X Games 2026: Aspen
Seonghyeon, Keonho, and Martin have landed in Eagle County Airport at ass o’clock and everyone is not in the fucking mood.
Martin has gone in search of a bathroom because his huge ass can’t piss comfortably in an airplane bathroom and he’s held it since about halfway through the flight, a good two hours or so. Seonghyeon had asked him why he doesn’t just crouch inside the tiny airplane bathroom, instead of bending his neck or whatever he does. Martin had just looked at him, citing the fact that he shouldn’t have to give himself neck and back pain just so he can relieve himself. Whatever, dude.
“What would you do if they left your board and all your gear back in Queens?” Keonho asks suddenly, when they’d already been sitting ducks at a back pillar in the baggage claim for what has felt like years at this rate. “Imagine your shit is just sitting on the runway at LaGuardia.”
Seonghyeon feels the prickle of irritation traveling up his neck, feeling it cause him to clench his jaw out of instinct because he does not have the patience for this right now, on top of all this waiting around. He understands that it takes time to unload suitcases and people’s shit, especially with the three of them bringing all their gear, but it really does suck waiting around in the airport at two in the morning when all he wants to do is go lay down in his hotel bed and sleep.
“Bro, why are you even putting that into the universe right now,” Seonghyeon groans, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. He’s tired, tired from traveling, tired of Keonho’s shit.
“I’m just saying, like, imagine they left your shit back home. What would you even do?” Keonho says, shrugging, and Seonghyeon knew he should’ve just kept his earbuds in and pretended he was napping while they waited. But he knows that wouldn’t have worked either, because Keonho would’ve just plucked one out and spoken to him anyway because he’s annoying like that, the attention seeker that he is.
“And I’m just saying, imagine me kicking your fucking ass if that actually happens, because it’s not them I’m blaming, it’s you,” Seonghyeon snaps, shoving Keonho’s shoulder.
“Ay, man, god forbid I’m trying to make sure you got a plan B and C,” Keonho says, putting his hands up like all he’d done was say something innocent and silly, like he doesn’t deserve the attitude that Seonghyeon is giving him.
“My plan B is to make you pay for that shit to get express shipped over here,” Seonghyeon snorts, shaking his head. “And why are we talking about me in this hypothetical? What if they leave your shit back home.”
“Don’t put that shit on me,” Keonho says, aghast and miffed that Seonghyeon would do such a thing. One thing about Keonho: he’s going to be a hypocrite.
“Oh, so you can wish death upon me, but I can’t do it back?” Seonghyeon scoffs, shaking his head again, unlocking his phone and going to check the checked bag tracker just in case since Keonho has put the fear of god in him.
“I didn’t wish death upon you—” Keonho protests, stopping when Seonghyeon gives him a look.
“Might as well have, asshole,” Seonghyeon grumbles, feeling a little relief when he sees the status of his things being ‘unloaded from the plane.’
“You are so dramatic, bruh, it’s not that serious,” Keonho says, rolling his eyes now, as if he doesn’t understand how ragebaiting Seonghyeon could have gotten him into this mood.
“For you, asshole,” Seonghyeon scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re not the one that has to fly out to Milano Cortina for the Olympics after all this.”
“You’re acting like Martin doesn’t also have that lined up,” Keonho says, and Seonghyeon is going to throttle this kid.
“I didn’t mention Martin at all, bruh, I’m talking about me,” Seonghyeon snaps, even though he knows that Keonho is being annoying on purpose, pulling the whole, oh you like pancakes, so you hate waffles? bullshit.
“The girls are fighting, Ju,” Martin says as he walks up, with Juhoon in tow.
“Oh shit hey” Keonho says, dapping him up from where he’s sitting on the airport floor. “You just land?”
Juhoon was flying in from Los Angeles, where he’s based. As close as they all are, they really only see Juhoon when they’re all competing, since the three of them are based in New York City. While he’s a summer fairy himself, skating in the Street and Park events, he’s just here to support them, and they are grateful for him.
“Yeah, we landed like thirty minutes ago, but didn’t get off until ten minutes ago. Don’t even know why,” Juhoon says, smiling wryly. “Didn’t tell us shit. We were sitting on the tarmac for like nine years.”
“This is James Zhao, by the way,” Martin says, stepping aside to reveal someone standing behind him, his huge ass able to obscure the view of a whole person.
Seonghyeon’s first thought is that James is very, very pretty.
He doesn’t know how to explain it, but James has this air about him, something aloof and serious, but in a different way than a winter X Games athlete usually has. This might just be his general vibe, but Seonghyeon can already tell that James isn’t a competitor. But maybe Seonghyeon should also stop sizing up a stranger like a weird, competitive freak. But that’s just the nature of an arrogant, faux self-righteous athlete. Everyone’s a threat until proven otherwise.
Or maybe that’s just Seonghyeon leaning into that Capricorn part of him and it has nothing to do with athleticism.
“He’s a summer fairy,” Martin says a moment later, and Seonghyeon is quietly pleased that he was correct. “I told ya’ll he’d be coming along for moral support.”
James is very, very, very pretty, Seonghyeon observes again, all sharp angles and with a pretty face to match.
He smiles briefly as Keonho and Seonghyeon each stand up to greet him.
“What event?” Keonho asks as he daps him up just like he did with Juhoon.
“BMX street and park” James says as he daps up Seonghyeon. “I skate too, but nothing like the rest of you.”
“Nah, I bet you’re good,” Seonghyeon says, nodding seriously, pretending to look him up and down. Or maybe not pretending and using it as an excuse to check him out. Sue him for liking to look at pretty people. Fucking sue him. “You look like you could grind the fuck out of a rail.”
“Yeah, just do a last minute qualifier for the LA events,” Keonho jokes, which gets a quiet chuckle out of James, and it lights up his face, making him prettier somehow.
“I’m knocking one of you off the podium, then,” James says, smiling. “Who’s it going to be?”
“Martin,” they all say in unison, and Martin’s mouth drops open in offense.
“Ay, bro, what the hell?”
Yeonjun is sitting in the lobby when they all roll in, tired as fuck and irritated from the wait at the baggage claim.
“What took you so long?” Yeonjun asks the second Seonghyeon walks in. Seonghyeon just looks at him in response because the question is more rhetorical than anything. His coach isn’t actually interested in the answer, especially since Seonghyeon had been texting him with updates the whole way there.
On top of them landing at the airport buttfuck late and having to wait for their shit at bag claim, they also had to pick up the two Suburus they rented and drive the hour and a half from the airport to Aspen. It would have been worse if they had flown into the airport in Denver—it would’ve been a three hour drive instead.
Needless to say, they have arrived at the hotel damn near the asscrack of dawn and no one is happy about it. Seonghyeon is fucked because he knows Yeonjun’s going to want him up and ready at 8AM sharp for practice, time of arrival be damned.
Yeonjun always likes to book the earliest superpipe slot because he likes to torture Seonghyeon. And also because he’s responsible and cares about keeping Seonghyeon accountable and consistent and getting him in gold-medal condition. He’s got the Winter Olympics less than a month after, so it’s even more imperative that he gets his shit together.
But that also leaves time for after-practice shenanigans, which is much appreciated.
So, you win some, you lose some.
Yeonjun could’ve just texted him and gone to bed, but he wanted to stay up for Seonghyeon’s arrival so he could nag him. Yeonjun is like halfway's older brother, halfway’s father figure, halfway’s coach. That’s three halves but Seonghyeon is way too tired to give a fuck.
Martin’s coach isn’t arriving until tomorrow and Keonho’s coach is already in bed and had texted him beforehand to let him know what time their practice would be. Only Seonghyeon has a helicopter coach, and while he pretends that the man is aggravating, he really is the best and he’s grateful for him. Except for right now.
“Practice at—” Yeonjun starts, and Seonghyeon’s sure it’s the late hour that amplifies and cuts into his already short patience. Or early hour. Whichever.
“Eight AM sharp,” Seonghyeon finishes for him, sighing heavily.
“Don’t sigh at me, punk,” Yeonjun says immediately, but there’s no bite to it. “Some ground rules.”
He always does this bi-annually, both winter and summer events. They’ve practically got the rules tattooed on their brains at this rate. It doesn’t help that Seonghyeon and Martin compete during both seasons, and now that’s about to be Keonho as well.
“And this goes for you two, too,” Yeonjun says, pointing at Martin and Keonho, looking stern as he wags his finger at them. “Both Jungwon and Soobin both agree with me. As long as you get to your designated practice on time, do whatever you want that is within reason and legal. Don’t do anything stupid that would make you or your coach look bad. If you show up to practice hungover, that shit’s on you, but we still expect you to show up ready to perform.” Yeonjun narrows his eyes at them, looking like an angry bird. “Got that?”
Martin does a stupid little two finger salute, and Keonho copies him because those two are birds of a feather and the corniest fucking people Seonghyeon knows.
Yeonjun looks satisfied. He nods at Seonghyeon and fixes him with a stern look “I’ll see you at eight. Or else.”
Seonghyeon rolls his eyes when his back is turned. Yeonjun loves to act like Seonghyeon isn’t always on time to literally everything he is scheduled to do. He doesn’t think he’s been late a single time in all his years with him, and if anything, Martin and Keonho’s coaches should be grateful that Seonghyeon is there to get their athletes where they need to be on time.
They have one large room booked, and in it are two queen beds and an extra cot. As soon as this fact is discovered, suddenly everyone is planting their flag in the name of bed colonization.
“Bruh, I am not sleeping on a cot. My ass would hang off the end,” Martin says, crossing his arms, already sitting down on the bed closest to the window, as if saying this alone is a good enough reason to confirm that he’s allowed to claim a bed.
“You roll around in your sleep, bruh,” Seonghyeon complains, shaking his head. “I’m not trying to get punched in my sleep.” He turns to Keonho, who narrows his eyes at Seonghyeon when he realizes that his best friend is trying to volunteer him for the cot.
“Don’t look at me, I’m not taking that shit,” Keonho says, and he flops down on the other bed, limbs all spread-eagle and claiming his spot.
“I’ll take it,” Juhoon says from where he’s leaning against the wall, not looking up from his phone. He sounds unbothered by the whole discussion, wanting to get this done and over with so they can all get into bed as soon as possible.
“Too late, I’m taking it,” James says, dumping his duffle and puffer jacket on the cot. This gets Juhoon to look up from his phone in surprise and confusion. “You guys are competing, so you need a comfortable bed to sleep in.”
“But I’m not competing,” Juhoon says, furrowing his brows. James just shrugs, mind already made up. He’s already unpacking his charger from his backpack and his various tech items and setting them on the sheets.
“Are you sure?” Seonghyeon asks, gnawing on his lower lip. He feels bad because he and Keonho are only just meeting the guy for the first time and James is having to take the short straw.
“I also don’t want to get punched in my sleep,” James says, smiling a little. He shoots a look over at Martin. “This wasn’t purely just me being selfless, trust.” Seonghyeon feels a little better.
“You punch me, I’m kicking you off the bed and you can sleep on the floor,” Juhoon says now, walking over to the bed and sitting down, attention turned back to his phone since it’s been settled. “I don’t care if you’re competing the next day either, your ass is going to be on the floor.”
Martin puts his hands up in surrender, looking slightly frightened of their friend. Juhoon is mostly harmless until he’s not. Face of an angel, but he’s prepared at all times to kick anyone’s ass on someone else’s behalf. Something, something, looks like a cinnamon roll, but could kill you.
With the sleeping arrangements settled, Seonghyeon decides to leave the unpacking for tomorrow once he’s back from his practice slot. He grabs what he needs from one of his suitcases and locks himself in the bathroom. While the water is heating up, he stands in front of the sink mirror, hands on the counter, fingers spread.
He looks at himself, looks at the dark circles that have been a permanent fixation on his face since he was sixteen and competing in his first Winter X Games, his dull skin, the dry patch of skin on his lips that he has the urge to tear off but knows he’ll regret it if he does. Nothing hurts like a bitch more than an open wound exposed to icy mountain air.
Seonghyeon tilts his head and looks at his face as a whole, zooms out of the little details. Is this the face of a gold-medal athlete? In the quiet of the bathroom, the sound of water hitting the shower tiles, the muffled banter in the hotel room, Seonghyeon isn’t so sure.
The pre-games self-doubt is normal, especially since he hasn’t touched board to snow here yet. He knows the first frontside cab spin he throws will give him his answer.
Seonghyeon hops in the shower, the hot water feeling like heaven on his sticky travel-coated skin. He has to wash off the airplane air before he can allow himself to sleep, even if it cuts into his sleep time.
As soon as he’s done, he’s dumping his travel clothes in the laundry bag he brought with him, throwing that in the closet and pulling back the covers on the hotel bed and trying his best to fall asleep as fast as possible, counting sheep and shit—he has to be up in about four hours, and god knows that isn’t enough sleep to get him top performance ready, but here’s hoping. There’s plenty of time in the next two weeks to catch up on his sleep before the event starts.
The last thing he remembers is Keonho joining him, feeling the heat of his body behind him as they both try to catch some Zs before a long morning of practice ahead of them.