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After a fierce one-week battle with the flu, Yuzuru Hanyu was dead.
Shoma Dos gazed longingly into the distance as he thought about his late husband (whom he absolutely did not marry for the fame.) Everything had been going so well ever since they had both made it onto the podium at the 2015 Grand Prix Final (the most important competition in history), nearly a year ago. Shoma Uno had locked arms with Yuzuru, and in a twist of fate, they had been wed.
At the time, Dos had been dormant inside Uno, waiting. It had only been during their free skate at the Grand Prix Final in Marseille that he had finally been able to push Uno back after years of trying to come to the surface. He thought back to those dark days when they had struggled to even land a triple axel - back when Dos had only occasionally managed to surface long enough to give Uno the strength to do quad toes and even the world’s first quad flip.
Dos shuddered. No more thinking of the past. He was now free, and although he could only remain in control as long as he heard his program music, Balada para un loco, he had enough liberty of movement to put his plan in action.
The fact of the matter was this: As soon as the music turned off, Shoma Dos was sent to the back, and Shoma Uno reappeared.
Shoma Dos was happy to not be in the backseat all the time, even though Yuzuru was batshit crazy and stuck to him like glue during all their competitions together. At first this confused Uno, but he eventually grew to find it strangely endearing. Shoma Dos, on the other hand, was annoyed beyond words and his desire to destroy Yuzuru grew stronger by the day. At this point, he would only accept the utter destruction of Yuzuru Hanyu by his own hands.
Uno would never understand why Yuzuru was so taken with him, but Dos did.
It was the quads.
Yuzuru had loved the quads. His eyes had filled with a certain gleam whenever he saw Shoma land a quad flip, his face expressing his wonder.
Yuzuru had wanted to land a quad axel. He had been quite literally obsessed. Shoma would often awake to weird texts full of emojis and exclamation points, excitedly relaying how Yuzuru had landed a quad axel that night in his dreams. Sleepless nights were spent over Skype with Yuzu shouting at Shoma about rotations and how it was so close that he could almost taste it. Shoma would just nod along sleepily in agreement.
Sure, Uno was the one who joked around with Yuzuru, but Dos had all the quad power and that was what mattered. It had simply been a coincidence that Uno had been the one to seal the marriage - but the one who did quads, the one who had Yuzuru wrapped around his finger, who he truly adored, was Dos. When they renewed their vows in Marseille, Dos knew it was meant to be.
Dos had cackled in his little corner within Shoma’s mind, awaiting his turn to play with poor Yuzuru’s quad-loving heart. The man was their rival, and Dos wanted to suplex him into the cold hard ice.
It had all been going according to plan with Dos building up momentum so he could crush Yuzuru at Japanese Nationals - but then the dumbass had to get a cold and die. Words could not express the kuyashii boiling up inside of him. Goodbye, dreams of suplexing Yuzuru into the ice. He would have to settle for suplexing him into his casket instead, which wasn’t nearly as satisfying.
(Uno kept saying Yuzuru wasn’t dead, that it was just a cold and he had just withdrawn from the competition, but Dos knew better, as always - and he had seen the Fuji TV memorial clips, in black and white no less, so.)
How dare Yuzuru, to be honest. Shoma Dos had spent all season dropping subtle hints only to be left hanging like this, and he was not pleased at all.
“Yuzuru,” Dos had once said during the weekly Skype session Yuzuru demanded, as strains of Balada para un loco played softly in the background, “I want to suplex you into the ice.”
There had been a small pause before Yuzuru had broken into laughter.
“Shoma, that’s funny! I’m glad you’re loosening up and cracking jokes now!”
“I don’t joke.” Dos had answered.
Yuzuru had looked at him fondly. “Adorable.”
From that moment on, Dos had vowed to double his suplexing practice.
Things had escalated from there. Dos had worked extra hard and had even taken practice tips from Medovejava (or whatever her name was) on how best to suplex people into the ice. It came to a head when Dos had started adding triple toe loops to all his jumping passes in his free skate run-throughs. Yuzuru had thought he was doing it for fun, but soon realized that the other was serious, dead serious. As dead as he would be in two weeks.
In hindsight, perhaps direct intimidation had not been the best strategy, but Dos hadn’t expected Yuzuru to be such an utter weakling. And lo and behold, within a few days Yuzuru was seen trying his best to catch something which would give him a plausible reason to withdraw - wearing light clothes in the middle of December and spending more time at the rink than was strictly necessary.
Or that was his working theory, anyways.
Serves you right for being a coward, Dos had viciously thought while Uno fussed over the phone. Yuzuru had coughed violently, and Uno had fussed some more, warning him to stay indoors and get some rest, promising that he would win the national title in his stead.
It had been utterly disgusting for Dos.
In the end the fussing didn’t matter. Yuzuru Hanyu was a dead man the moment he started coughing. The influenza took no prisoners, and despite being akin to a figure skating god (or whatever Yuzuru had accidentally claimed himself to be in Marseille), Yuzuru was no exception.
A shadow suddenly flickered in the living room window, breaking Shoma Dos’s train of thought. He grabbed a conveniently placed knife and with a flick of the wrist, lobbed it at the glass, which shattered instantly. The shadow vanished. Dos’s eyes narrowed. Had it been a JSF spy?
The music continued to play, louder and louder.
Ya sé que estoy piantao …… piantao…….
No matter. Yuzuru or no Yuzuru, Dos would continue on his ultimate goal to dominate the world of figure skating. The short program at Japanese Nationals was looming, and there was no time to waste.
Well, Dos had done it, albeit in a messier fashion than he would’ve liked. Japanese National Champion, finally. A necessary conquest en route to being the best in the world.
It could’ve been done in a cleaner and less embarrassing manner, but Uno just had to try and wrestle control from him at key points during the program. Every time Dos had headed into the quads, Uno had tried to surface, saying something about how “Dai-chan is here” and how “I want to be the one to win the title in front of Dai-chan” or whatever sentimental bullshit filled his head.
So Shoma had faltered.
No combos on the quads. No clean quads either. Dos had to save Uno’s ass again by taking the lessons he had learned from Medovejava and tacking on toe loops to all possible jumps in the second half.
Dos would’ve cried in exasperation afterwards, if he ever cried (which he didn’t). Uno, on the other hand, had cried boatloads of tears as soon as the music stopped and Dos had receded into the back once more. Dos hadn’t minded relinquishing control that once. He willingly had allowed Uno to bask in the glory that his strength had brought them to let Uno learn a lesson - to never try to get in his way ever again.
Someone was talking to them. Dos listened in.
“Shoma!” Keiji said, “Congratulations on the title! Seeing tears from you is so rare. Are you alright?”
As Uno spoke with Keiji, an idea was beginning to spawn in Dos’s Machiavellian mind. Yuzuru was dead. Shoma was now a widow. He needed a new husband.
Keiji Tanaka. He had landed a beautiful quad salchow in the free skate. And Uno was fond of him as well, so there would be no trouble on that end. He had no issues with performing household chores, was good at doing laundry, and loved to wash the dishes. He was a certified house husband, which meant that Shoma would never have to worry about his domestic life ever again.
Keiji would be a perfect choice to take as their second husband.
With this conclusion made, Dos lay in wait until they were both on the podium to strike. At the precise moment when Uno had his guard down, Dos went into action, snaking his right arm through Keiji’s. At this point in the game, Dos was a master of the podium wedding pose, and with this single movement, their second marriage was sealed.
“Shoma?” Keiji exclaimed in surprise. “I didn’t know you felt this way!”
From his deathbed, Yuzuru felt a disturbance in the Force. He blew his nose, felt mildly better, and then fell back asleep.
A week later, Keiji was out buying groceries, and Shoma Dos finally felt free to resurface. He sat at his kitchen table, sipping a glass of red wine.
“We’re underage,” a voice that almost sounded like Uno whispered in the back of his mind.
“Shut up.” Dos muttered. “We got married at 17, anyway.” The voice faded.
Todos loco….todos loco….todos loco...
The doorbell rang.
Dos picked up a freshly sharpened kitchen knife and eyed his surroundings warily. He’d felt a presence watching him for several weeks now, and it never hurt to be careful. He made his way down the hall. The doorbell rang again, this time twice. It seemed the person was extremely frantic, which made Dos even more suspicious. He wondered if he should get the machete out from the closet.
The doorbell rang ten more times, and Shoma Dos flung the door open, just to stop the infernal ringing.
Quereme asi, piantao, piantaooooo, piantaooooo…
In front of him stood a ghost.
The ghost of Yuzuru Hanyu, his late husband.
“What’s wrong, Shoma? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Yuzuru said with his normally chipper manner and too-happy smile. There he went, making weird jokes, even in death. Dos instantly remembered why he had wanted to suplex his late husband so badly (and was so devastated when the flu had taken Yuzuru before he had been given a chance).
Dos remained speechless as Yuzuru let himself in, pushing past him. His mind was racing. What was happening? Was this his punishment for wanting to suplex Yuzuru onto the ice? He would’ve never plotted to kill him if he had known Yuzuru was going to haunt him for all of eternity.
Dos clenched the kitchen knife in his hand even more tightly.
Yuzuru looked at him, grinning. “Were you cooking dinner? Good, because I can’t cook at all! I’m only good at washing dishes.”
(Keiji had definitely been an upgrade.)
Dos stared at him. “How did you come back from hell?”
“Excuse me?” Yuzuru said, blinking in surprise before laughing. “Oh! Right! That flu felt like hell. I can’t believe it made me miss Nationals! But I’ll redeem myself at Four Continents.”
He reached out to pat Dos’s shoulder. “But congratulations on your first national title! You skated well! You don’t have to keep reliving your performance; it wasn’t that bad!” He waved a hand around the apartment, in reference to the music that was playing rather loudly from somewhere. “I’m happy that you won in my place.”
Is he mocking me? Dos thought bitterly, glaring daggers at Yuzuru’s smile.
The kitchen knife was still firmly clenched in Dos’s right hand, and he felt a little tempted to just shank his late husband and be done with it. Common sense, unfortunately, kicked in before he could attempt to do so. This was a ghost. A knife would be pointless, he realized, bitterly setting it down on the table.The flu had already taken away all his hopes and dreams of suplexing Yuzuru into the ice.
“Anyways,” Yuzuru sat down at the kitchen table, legs crossed, smile turning a bit plastic. “I heard some disturbing rumors from Kanako. She told me that you had married Keiji? I told her that was impossible, because you would never cheat on me, but she insisted it was true...”
Oh. So this was why he was being punished. For getting remarried less than two days after his husband’s death.
“Yuzuru, you have to stop haunting me.” Dos began to wax eloquently. “I couldn’t wait for you. Time waits for no man. I’m already forty-three in skater years. I had to remarry while I’m still young and marketable.”
Ya sé que estoy piantao, piantao, piantao…
Yuzuru’s smile faded when he realized that Shoma wasn’t joking - that yes, Shoma had cheated on him while he was dying from the flu. Yuzuru furrowed his brow. “First of all, Shoma, you have no sponsors. Second of all, what did you just say?”
Dos fought the urge to suplex Yuzuru’s ghost. Death must have changed Yuzuru. While alive, he would have never made such a low blow. Maybe he really was mad at Shoma for remarrying so quickly. The only way to resolve this so that Yuzuru could pass on peacefully was to make him understand the current state of affairs.
“Yuzuru, you’re dead.” Dos said. Ripping a bandaid off quickly hurt less in the long run.
¡Viva! ¡Viva! ¡Viva!
“What are you talking about?” Yuzuru said. “I already told you I’m all better from the flu. I will come back competitively. Didn’t you hear them announce my name for the World team?”
Dos couldn’t believe how stubborn Yuzuru was even when he was dead. “Yuzuru, you passed away. They aired a memorial to you on Fuji TV. I wasn’t able to suplex you at Nationals so I had to suplex myself.”
Yuzuru looked more confused than ever. “What?”
“See? You’re just a mirage.” To emphasize his point, Dos punched a hand straight through Yuzuru’s torso...except it didn’t go through.
Yuzuru gave a little pained “oof” before seeming to realize something. He laughed. “Oh, I see. You’re just hallucinating from eating vegetables again.”
Wow, Yuzuru as a ghost was way more solid than Yuzuru as a human had been. It must have had something to do with dying and becoming impervious to mortal attacks.
Unbeknownst to either man, a shadow flickered in the recently replaced living room window.
There was an odd happening taking place outside Shoma’s (and now Keiji’s) apartment. A shadow was crouched on the balcony, the figure hidden in the darkness. Then, a light from the neighboring apartment illuminated the shadow - revealing none other than Didier Gailhaguet, head of the French Ice Sports Federation.
He was here to vanquish the monster he had created. To stop the chaos caused by his (lack of) action during those fateful days in Marseille. Yes, unlike popular opinion claimed, Didier did have a conscience and (sometimes) took responsibility for his actions. Okay, maybe “sometimes” was an exaggeration, but he would take responsibility for this.
How could Didier have known that his deficiency in planning the Grand Prix Final would ruin poor Shoma Uno’s life like this? That when Shoma Uno took one look at the plastic medals that Didier had provided for the medalists, something dark would surface from within him? That a week of falling and popping all of his jumps due to the lake on the ice rink would weaken him enough to unleash a monster?
It was all his fault, according to the missive he had received from the Japanese Skating Federation. If he didn’t fix it, the JSF would send their spies to take him out for ruining the future (and potentially the present, if the monster managed to accomplish its goal of taking out the current Olympic Champion) of Japanese men’s figure skating.
After nearly two weeks of observation (French Nationals didn’t need any oversight anyway, the podiums had already been made), Didier had come to a realization.
The music.
It was always there, constantly playing, constantly looping, never-ending. It played from the monster’s phone, its laptop, its stereo.
It gave the creature its power - and it would ultimately be the key to laying it to rest for good.
So here he was. Crouched outside of Shoma’s apartment in the bitter cold, waiting for the moment he could strike and turn off that ghastly music to save Uno from his evil alter ego.
Didier peered tentatively through the window. The last time he had done this, he had gotten a knife lobbed at him. Only his years of experience in dodging responsibility had saved him from an untimely death. A cursory glance revealed that the coast was clear - Shoma and Yuzuru appeared to be involved in an intense conversation in the kitchen, and the living room, where Shoma had set up his stereo to play his program music, was deserted.
¡Locooooos! ¡Locoooooos! ¡Locooooos!
He could hear the infernal wailing all the way from his perch.
Yes, there was definitely something dark in that music. He would go in quickly, turn the music off, and everything would return to normal, Didier reassured himself. Sneaking into a teenage boy’s apartment was hardly the shadiest thing he’d ever done (that award went to...other moments which were too numerous to count).
Didier went into action, quietly sliding the window open and slipping into the apartment without the two men noticing. He was in. Now all he had to do was turn off the music, and that would be the end of it.
Didier barely made it two steps forward before something dropped down from the ceiling and knocked him violently to the floor.
As his mind reeled in shock, he processed the forms of two people standing proudly above him.
“Boyangman, Boyangman ,” a voice sang softly, “does whatever a Boyang can .”
“Boyang,” the second figure hissed, “we’re supposed to be doing this covertly. We can’t do that if you start singing.”
“But I wore my Spiderman costume just for this!” The first voice, clearly Boyang Jin of China and a member of the feared sQUAD, whined.
“You also wore your sparkly shoes, which defeats the purpose of being undercover! At least I wore the black lingerie version of my short program outfit instead of the significantly better Arizona gift shop vest and purple velvet leggings,” said the second voice, whom Didier identified as Nathan Chen of the United States, the most terrifying member of sQUAD - recently affirmed by his ability to defy the lake on the GPF ice and skate clean. With four quads.
Didier was shook.
“Can I at least do my web moves when we tie him up? We bought shiny white rope for a reason.” Boyang did a little shoulder shimmy to emphasize his point.
There seemed to be no language barrier between these two boys. Who needed to learn English when you could just communicate through the uniting power of quads? What terrifying capabilities the sQUAD possessed.
Nathan paused, then nodded. “Yeah, that would make a really cool photo.”
The boys began to tie Didier up, pausing to take photos, with Boyang still singing the Spiderman theme, tailored to his own purposes. “ Look out! Here comes the Boyangmannn …and Nathan.”
“Gee, thanks,” Nathan commented dryly, as he posted several of the photos to Instagram. “Wait a minute - are you livestreaming this?”
Boyang looked mystified, as if he was confused as to why Nathan even had to ask such a question. “Of course I am livestreaming this!”
Nathan glanced at how Boyang was holding his phone while tying Didier. “That has got to be the shakiest livestream to watch. And look at the angle you’re filming your face,” he said critically.
Boyang was slightly miffed. “Every angle is a good angle. There’s no such thing as a bad angle for me.”
“Why are you doing this?” Didier managed to choke out as he interrupted the sQUAD infighting, baffled.
“Do you even have to ask?” Nathan smirked. “If you shut off the music and make Dos disappear entirely, you might just kill off the part of Shoma that loves the quads. And if you do that, sQUAD will be no more. Our power will fade.”
“Our strength lies in our common denominator of age and quads,” Boyang added. “And if you ruin our solidarity it might weaken us. We’re all connected. We make sacrifices for each other, we avenge each other, and we have a blood-forged bond. And you can’t ruin that. We won’t let you.”
“You guys just want to ruin the world of figure skating with your quads and your subpar artistry!” Didier growled, parroting NBC’s terrible commentary. “I will free Shoma Uno from this burden!”
“Excuse me?” Boyang hissed, extremely offended. “Spiderman is a work of art! There’s never been a performance so iconic! And Nathan…well, Nathan is working on it!”
“Um, wow,” Nathan said, utterly bemused, before realizing he had bigger fish to fry. “And it’s not like you care about figure skating anyway.” He eyed Didier critically
Didier spluttered, “Of course I do! I am the Head of the French Ice Sports Federation!”
“The Grand Prix Final proved otherwise,” Nathan muttered under his breath.
Didier struggled against his bonds. There was no way he was going down like this.
Inside the kitchen, Yuzuru was slumped forwards in his chair, looking nearly defeated. “I just don’t understand. Is it because I withdrew? I tried really hard not to! I even scaled down my building to go to the rink! My parents tied me to my bed.” He leaned over the table to look at Dos pleadingly. “I really wanted to be on the podium with you!”
Unlike other weaklings (Uno), Dos remained unmoved by Yuzuru’s sad face and puppy dog eyes. “You are dead. Move on.”
Yuzuru remained determined, reaching over the table to clutch Dos’s hand. “We can marry again at Worlds! You can even be on my right side this time instead of my left like usual!”
Dos slammed his fist onto the table. “No! I wanted you to be on my right!”
Yuzuru blinked. “You want bronze again? Silver is better.” He paused and made a face. “Well, not really. But still.”
How had he ever been married to such a fool? Dos shook his head viciously. “No! I was going to be on top! And you were going to be flat on the ice! It was my dream! And you ruined it!”
“Oh,” Yuzuru said, and nodded, comprehension finally dawning on him. “You can try beating me, but we can still get married again.” He paused once more and his eyes suddenly turned dark and intense and honestly kind of creepy, even by Dos’s standards. “Javi won’t separate us. I promise.”
It was impossible. This ghost of a man was impossible. Making empty promises that could never be kept. Dos wanted to suplex him into the ice that was as cold as his heart. Damn it! Why did he have to die?!
“Lands a quad - any kind, wins world medals from behind! ” A voice sang from the living room. Dos and Yuzuru jerked out of their chairs in surprise, the tension between them immediately broken at the sudden appearance of a song that wasn’t Balada para un loco .
Yuzuru crouched behind his chair, yanking Dos down with him. “I think there’s someone in your house,” he said.
“You think?” Dos whisper-yelled.
Yuzuru stood up, pushing Dos behind him. “Don’t worry, Shoma, I’ll protect you.”
Dos rolled his eyes, as if he would ever trust this noodle of a man to protect him. What could a ghost do anyway?
“Look out! Here comes the Boyangman!” More singing, accentuated by the sound of something crashing onto the floor. Dos pushed Yuzuru out of the way and hurried towards the living room, where the sounds of an intense scuffle mixed with some sort of Spiderman theme song remix could be heard. Yuzuru scrambled after him, not to be left behind.
Dos stopped abruptly as he reached the entrance to his living room, ignoring how Yuzuru’s ghost bumped against his back. There was a moment of silence as he took in the scene before him. Yuzuru peered over his head (which was very easy to do) and gasped softly.
“What are you guys doing?” Dos yelled, more annoyed than anything else at seeing his fellow sQUAD members entangled with each other and struggling with something (or someone) on his living room carpet. “Why are you even here? I thought I told you that if you wanted to quad on people you have to do it outside.”
“Why are you tying up that man?” Yuzuru asked. Nathan and Boyang couldn’t understand him since he wasn’t a member of the sQUAD. (And also a ghost, Dos reminded himself.)
“Uh -” Nathan began to answer, but Boyang suddenly slipped - revealing the man’s face to Dos.
The world seemed to freeze in place and spin around him.
Deep inside of Dos, Uno stirred. He felt like he’d been awakened from a long overdue nap. Since Nationals, he’d only occasionally gotten glimpses of the outside world. But the moment the face of the figure on the floor had been revealed, he’d known. It was time.
That man. The one who was responsible for awakening Dos, who had made his life a living hell. The one who had rewarded his near death-on-ice with a plastic medal and a half-assed bouquet. The one who had almost killed him again during his re-marriage to Yuzuru because of shaky, recycled podiums. Who couldn’t even buy a Japanese flag for their ceremony. The cause of all his problems for the last three weeks. Him.
All'alba viiiinceròoooooooo!
Shoma Uno finally surfaced in a triumphant revival, as Dos fell back with a scream. He knew what he had to do.
Vinceròoooooooooo!
“Stand him up,” he ordered his sQUAD members. Nathan and Boyang looked at him in awe for a moment, before hastily dragging The Man™ onto his feet. Shoma stepped forwards and firmly locked his arms around Didier’s middle.
VincEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEErooooooooooOOOOOOOOOO!
And as the music climaxed, Shoma threw himself backwards with only the strength of his core muscles. All those years of doing cantilevers had culminated in this single moment, and the savage force of his pent-up anger only made the suplex more powerful.
Didier stood no chance. He flew in a glittering arc before meeting his demise as the floor met his face. The ancient evil Didier Gailhaguet, after all his infamous deeds, was no more.
Stunned by the beauty of Shoma’s ultimate suplex, Nathan and Boyang broke into hushed, rapturous applause. They, of all people, could recognize what Shoma had just done. Yuzuru, still not a part of sQUAD, did not understand but looked oddly proud.
Shoma collapsed, exhausted from this momentous deed. He squirmed out from underneath Didier’s motionless form, accepting Nathan’s offered hand and rising to his feet.
Shoma hadn’t felt this accomplished since landing a quad flip on a whim, and stood in silence for a while - basking in the glory of his achievement.
Boyang inched forwards. “Do you think this would be a bad time to ask Shoma if I can quad on Didier’s corpse?” he whispered to Nathan, who was busy texting some of his more unsavory contacts about body disposal.
Yuzuru took a step towards Shoma. He was smiling, but his eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. “I have questions."
“Uh.” Shoma answered. How did one explain that your alter ego had taken over your body and had also been convinced that your husband was dead, despite all evidence to the contrary? “I was having a fit after eating some salad?”
Yuzuru frowned. “Since when do you eat salad? And who is that man?” He gestured at the body, and then paused to take a closer look. “Wait a minute, isn’t that the man who forgot the Japanese flag - ”
“The French dude.” Nathan supplied helpfully. He too, held a slight grudge over the plastic medals, although perhaps not as much as the two Japanese men did. After all, the USFSA sometimes gave out plastic medals. Japan, on the other hand, would never dare. “He ran the 2016 GPF."
Something in Yuzuru’s eyes grew dark, then he seemed to settle himself with a nod.
“Don’t worry about the body.” Nathan continued. “I know a guy."
“And I caught your suplex on livestream!” Boyang cut in. “The whole world knows of your heroic deed.”
Yuzuru stepped forward to clasp Shoma’s shoulders before bringing him into a hug. “You did a good thing today. You saved figure skating.”
Shoma flushed with pride and mild embarrassment. Now that he was back in control, he and Yuzuru needed to have a serious conversation about everything that had happened in the last month, but for now… Well, he had just suplexed the head of the French Ice Sports Federation. He could revel in this moment.
“I’m home!” A voice called from the hallway. The celebratory atmosphere in the living room dropped as everyone froze. Even the dead body somehow seemed to stiffen.
“There was a sale on carrots, so I picked some up along with -” Keiji Tanaka came to a sudden stop as he entered the living room, taking in the sight of Shoma in Yuzuru’s arms, and Boyang Jin and Nathan Chen surrounding what appeared to be a dead body.
“Um.” he said. The groceries in his arms fell to the ground, a lone eggplant rolling out and hitting Didier’s body.
There was silence, before Yuzuru flung his arms out with a smile.
“Welcome home!”