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Javi is almost convinced that Yuzuru is not actually human. He can’t be, to skate like that, to jump like that, to make it look that easy. As he lands quad after quad after quad - transitions in and out of them, of course, because Yuzuru doesn’t do anything halfway, doesn’t believe in sacrificing artistry for the sake of jumping - Yuzuru seems like something out of another world, the single occupant of a planet entirely his own.
Javi knows he will never be able to keep up. He likes to pretend that he and Yuzuru are in direct competition for the gold, but deep down he is aware that there’s no way he could ever compare, not really. It’s not just that he is older, his knees a tad creakier - god knows that Yuzuru’s ankle is held together by sheer willpower and copious amounts of sports tape. It’s not even a matter of talent, though if he’s being honest, it’s Yuzuru who was truly born to skate.
It’s that skating is not everything Javi is, not even now, in the run-up to the Olympic free-skate. It’s not everything he breathes and thinks of. He has a life outside of skating, pared down as it is right now. He has friends back in Toronto, a social circle in Madrid. He has hobbies. He has Effie waiting for him at home.
Yuzuru has laser focus to the point where it becomes scary - like the way he didn’t notice that his lips were turning blue during back-to-back run-throughs when he was younger, only to nearly collapse once he was done, gasping for breath, his asthma and then-lacking stamina finally catching up with his stubbornness. Like the way he refused to withdraw and competed with a split chin and a bandaged head, pushing through even with blood dripping down onto his costume. Like the way he’s jumping now - like there’s nothing to worry about, like he’s not sustained an injury that nearly ended his career just a few months ago.
Javi is going to give it his all, of course. But he knows that if, by any chance, he ends up the Olympic champion, it’s going to involve a lot of sheer luck.
*
Superhuman.
That’s what they call him - the media, the commentators, the fans. And Javi still believes he is.
But looking at him now, napping with his hair all over the place, the 1000th Olympic gold medal nowhere in sight, Yuzu just seems so normal. Vulnerable, even.
They were going to play videogames. Javi was going to beat Yuzu - here, at least, even if he couldn’t beat him on the ice. They got as far as the sofa in Yuzu’s hotel room - Yuzu sitting with his feet up, ice-pack strapped to his ankle, Javi muttering as he tried to hook the portable console he’d brought to the TV. When Javi looked up a few minutes later, console now successfully linked to the screen, he found Yuzu asleep, head lolling back against the cushions, his chest rising and falling, rising and falling…
So unguarded. Here, he is just Yuzu. Not Yuzuru Hanyu, who had arrived in PyeongChang with a ten-person security detail. Not the athlete whose insane dedication was a big part of the reason why Javi has two World titles and an Olympic bronze to his name.
Javi looks at him. Smiles. Then goes to grab a blanket so he can drape it over Yuzu. And then, just because he can, just because he’s always kind of wanted to - he leans down and presses a feather-light kiss against Yuzu’s forehead.
“Javi,” Yuzu mumbles, eyes barely fluttering open. “Stay,” he says, and reaches for Javi’s arm, tugging him closer. “Hai,” he breathes, smiling contentedly when Javi settles down beside him on the sofa. His eyes fall shut once again almost immediately.
He may not be superhuman, or have any special powers beyond being stubborn, bordering on self-destructive.
But when Javi feels Yuzu’s arms wrap around him, when Yuzu nuzzles his face into his neck, Yuzu’s soft, satisfied exhale hitting his skin, Javi realizes one thing. He will never ever win against this man in a contest of will - or rather, he doesn’t even want to.
When Yuzu asks Javi to stay, all sleepy and soft, Javi will - for now, for the night, or possibly forever.