Chapter Text
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If his parents asked, twenty-eight year old Sunghoon would tell them yes, he was happy.
And that wasn't necessarily a lie, but rather a partial truth. There was no real reason for him to be unhappy. He had a nice apartment in Seoul that he could afford without worry, a new car that he could maintain easily, a job in the field that he loved.
What more could an alpha in his supposed prime want?
It was regret, probably. The sick, twisted what ifs that plagued his thoughts. It's a mental game that he's able to think himself out of if he's sufficiently distracted.
And right now, he's sufficiently distracted.
Six kids, all around ten, scattered across the rink in pairs, critiquing each other's sequences. Sunghoon had only meant to rest his knee for a couple of minutes, but a notification from his family group chat had dragged him into his head for longer than he would have liked.
No, he'd rather not come over for dinner, but he'd die before upsetting his mother, so he sent out a "Sure" and rose from the bench with a sigh.
The moment his blades hit the ice, the nearest group waved him over, excitedly bouncing on their skates. Yechan and Yena were twins—presumably identical, with their near black hair and matching dark eyes. Their parents were clearly the type to dress them alike, but they didn't seem to mind in the slightest. Today, they donned matching maroon zip-ups, and Sunghoon couldn't resist a smile. He wasn't supposed to have favorites, but it was hard not to, being their personal trainer, and all.
"Okay, Yena. Give your brother a grade."
The little girl put her weight to one side, tapping her chin in thought.
"I'd pass him. But, like barely."
Yechan made a sound of complaint, throwing his arms up—keeping them there when Sunghoon shot him a look.
"And what's your reasoning?"
"Well, his posture was good, and he was on count. He finally got his thigh parallel in the sit," she rationalized, turning to face her brother. "But you lost the center and that's travel. Automatic downgrade."
"You didn't look up once, and your Axel was cheated!" Yechan floundered, ears turning bright red. Sunghoon made a mental note to work with him on receiving criticism better. God forbid that kid presents as an alpha someday, he'd need that skill.
"Mom's gonna ask who did better today, and I'm not lying."
"Okay Yena! That's quite enough. You're not the tech panel. You are ten." Sunghoon grabbed the two by their shoulders, reeling them in. "Go cool off, take a break."
They sent each other one more scalding look before slipping out of his grasp.
He made his rounds without much more excitement, though he noticed one of the smaller boys, Doyun, too nervous to critique his counterpart. Understandable, he thinks. Hajoon had about half a foot over him, but he seemed to notice, too, and was gentle with his comments in return.
Parents started arriving at quarter to seven, spectating together until the hour, when Sunghoon ushered everyone off the ice to swap their skates.
The twins were giggling again by the time they left, unable to stay upset with each other for long.
Doyun's mother, a Traited Alpha, thanked the coach before briskly dragging her son out of sight.
Sunghoon pitied her—could only imagine what she had been through to start hiding her furred ears daily.
Once the building cleared, Sunghoon shut and locked the rink gate, immediately dropping onto the nearest bench. He'd grown used to the feeling, but some days the numbness was more difficult to ignore than others. He'd be fine in five minutes—just needed a bit of rest.
His phone had garnered a handful of notifications since he'd last checked, mostly from his family group chat. His mother had sent tonight's dinner menu along with three other requests to confirm that he'd still be there. He heart reacted the messages, adding a thumbs up for good measure, and forced his body upright and out to the lobby.
He was flicking off the lights when he nearly jumped out of his skin.
A girl was watching him, forehead pressed against the glass of the front door, her hair whipping in the wind. Sunghoon clutched his chest, willing his heart to slow, unable to make out her features in the dark.
He does see the grin that spreads across her face though, and—creepy as the kid was—Sunghoon found himself returning it. She raised a hand, jacket too long for her limbs, before wandering off to the left.
A strange pit opened in Sunghoon's stomach as he rushed to lock up. He started in the direction the girl had gone, only to hit an intersection with no leads.
It was cold out, not quite enough to snow, but cold enough that his breath was visible. The sky grew dark early this time of year, keeping the streets half as busy.
The little girl was too young to leave a scent behind for anyone but her parents, so there really wasn't much Sunghoon could do.
He was sure the kid was with her family by now—just like he should be, if the incessant buzzing in his pocket was any evidence.
The walk back to his apartment was quiet enough that his knee had time to make itself known yet again, the old ache settling in.
Three years now, and it still caught him off guard sometimes.
There was nothing in life that compared to the feeling Sunghoon got when he was skating—no replacement for the the flow, the weightlessness he felt when blade met ice. He couldn't recall a single memory prior to his introduction to the rink. His parents had even convinced him he knew how to skate before he learned to walk.
In truth, Sunghoon's mother had always dreamed of a daughter on the ice, so when the doctor revealed the baby in her belly was a boy—that her dream would not be realized—she was heartbroken, obviously. Blame it on the hormones during her final trimester or the joy her husband couldn't hide, but as soon as she was skin to skin with her son, her heart mended itself instantaneously.
Still wanting a skater in the family, she spent years convincing her husband that it was not, in fact, emasculating as he assumed, and when Sunghoon turned four, his father finally conceded, enrolling him in the local rink's classes.
According to his mother, he hated it.
She blamed it on herself—somehow he had ended up a huge Momma's boy, and if that kid saw her walk out the door, it was game over. Kicking, screaming, throwing up tiny little flurries of ice, and causing a great deal of embarrassment in front of the other parents—the pipes on that little monster definitely came from his father.
Ever the innovator, his mother called in the expertise of her university acquaintance Kim Yepa, who had competed at the Olympic level back when the two were still in undergrad. Yepa had retired from figure skating early—standard for such a sport—and now owned a rink further out of the way, but what Mrs. Park wants, she gets.
The one-on-one lessons allowed for a much more personalized experience, and it turned out Sunghoon was somewhat of a prodigy once he wasn't surrounded by other kids that couldn't care less.
He even began to refuse to leave the ice, throwing tantrums when his parents insisted it was time to go—a full 360 from the group lessons.
By age five, he'd mastered the basics and became the youngest competitor in the local Excel Competition. By twelve, he was at the rink every day, pushing himself further on the competitive track.
As a junior in the field who had all but perfected his quads, his parents thought it best to find a more flexible school to fit his practice schedule. His father refused to let him forgo his studies no matter how great he was becoming, and the couple got into more than one quarrel over it.
"We have to be realistic," he argued. "No one can see the future. What are we going to do if some unforeseen circumstance ends all of this?"
"Do you have to be so pessimistic about our son? Can you not just support him?"
"I'm being cautious, honey. If he ever needs an alternative route, good grades could be a huge factor in his backup plan."
His mother grew exasperated with her husbands antics, opting to ignore the subject and let him parent as he pleased.
Some part of her knew he was right, but she could not fathom the possibility of her baby ever getting hurt.
Sunghoon was popular in high school. Of course he was—he was an attractive athlete, and it turned out ladies love a figure skater—but he never let an ego show, if he even had one.
At eighteen, he presented as an alpha, same as his father. It didn't come as a shock to anyone, but it was a relief to his family all the same.
It changed little in his routine. Sunghoon trained the same, maybe ate a tiny bit more, but he still lived and breathed for the ice. If anything, it was just one more thing for his mother to boast about at family dinners.
By twenty, his name was recognizable to people outside the sport. By twenty-three, he had stood on national podiums, and whispers of an international career followed him wherever he went.
At twenty-five, his knee gave out on a landing he'd hit a thousand times before.
Three years later and he had yet to find a replacement for that feeling—not one that came close, anyway. He told himself it didn't matter. He told himself a lot of things these days.
He let himself into his empty apartment with a sigh, dropping his bag by the door, and heading towards the shower to prepare for his family dinner.
For some reason, Sunghoon really hoped that kid made it home okay.
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