"I told you that jump sequence in your free skate looks better with one of your arms up."

Jisung tossed a glare over his shoulder at the older leaning nonchalantly against the tough barrier of the ice rink. He slowly shifted his weight on to one of his blades and the other leg relaxed tautly inches from slicing the top layer of the ice off, the momentum drawing donuts in the delicate yet imposingly tough surface as he spiraled, circling backwards in a constant pattern of debate with himself and the cycle he pressed himself into. A slight frown edged his lips as he watched the lines of art develop under the metal brush of his blades. That upturned crescent moon teased hesitation festering under the cracking of the glacial pond he gyrated around like a wandering vulture.

His cheeks filled with an air of complaint as he edged the diameter of his circle, and was forced to flip his gaze forward, "Even if it looked good, it's harder that way."

"You pulled it off though. Took you a few tries, but you made it look clean," Minho shrugged. His fingers tapped an object laying on the barrier almost lazily, as if the contents, the demeanor, the distraction, was a meager excuse to divert his eyes to a more reasonable place. In other words, he was playing on his phone. A full-frontal distraction, with every press the meager sound of coins crashing together popped in their eardrums since the older chose to leave his sound on. But low. Hardly enough to hear over the grind of his blades on the ice, save for if they were attempting to listen. Truthfully, it sounded more like a rhythm game with the way he was blowing huffs of frustration more often than a steam train puffing smoke along the winding steel tracks. 

Jisung shifted his weight around again as he set his lifted boot down, the inside edge of his blades turning to sketch the circumference of the circle instead of it being artfully drawn by his backwards travel. He winced, a slight protest in his muscles reinforcing the odd turned-out positioning as the switch slowed his travel down, "I don't know, the choreographer wanted my arms tucked in."

"If Seo has a problem with it when you go back, he can shove it or come find me, and we'll have a nice chat," The older defended, his eyes briefly shooting up to watch the skater's movements as he once again readjusted his footing to tuck one of his blades bent behind his Achilles heel. Steadily, Jisung attempted to keep a gaze on him. Or at least, keep him within his peripheral vision as he continued to make unyielding circles. As strong and as steady as the younger kept himself, Minho let a small smile upturn his lips.

From what Jisung could see of his face; It wasn't a soft smile, or one full of all the stars in the sky. It wasn't integrally proud, or a grin full of arrogance. It wasn't crooked, twisted, false, or unreasonable. It was a smile, so plain and devoid of ultimate intentions for ultimate solutions, that there was nothing else to say about it besides it's sincerity.

Jisung set his foot down. The blade connected with the ice, effectively stopping him in his charted globe on the surface so he could return the friendly stare to the older. His own light smile came to his features as he noted the crinkles pressing at the corner of the other's eyes, He smiles at me differently than others do.

I like it.

Without another thought on the subject, the skater pushed off from his position off to the side in the ice rink and glided over to Minho's usual spot leaning against the barrier. His palms met the edge, a gentle bump shoving his elbows to break his unimpressive speed before he turned on the heel of his blades to press his lower back to the blockade. He propped his elbows up on the barrier beside Minho, neck crooning at an odd angle so he was able to scan over the other, "Are you two friends? You and the choreographer, Seo?"

"Friends? Are you kidding? He's the only reason I got time off, the stupid bastard," Minho told, his plain smile turning to a fond laughter like chiming bells, "He's great."

"I'm getting mixed messages."

"If he's your choreographer, you're in great hands. He likes Swedish death metal too much, but he has a brilliant mind once he knows you."

"O-oh, okay," Jisung timidly accepted. Though I don't know why I would need to know about the death metal thing. As the skater attempted to recall the man's image in his memory, the new information didn't seem to match up; Seo was a shorter man, couldn't have been much older than Minho, sure he had some sort of muscle mass but beyond that nothing reinforced the idea he liked death metal. Possibly the darker clothes? But the longer Jisung thought about it, trying to remember the face and voice of the man, he only came to realize, "He didn't seem like that much of a skater, or dancer when I was working with him."

"His sense of music and rhythm is flawless is second to none," The older said as he quickly shut off and pocketed his phone into his usual wax cotton jacket, too heavy for an elephant to shoulder. There was a certain pride to his tone when he spoke of the mentioned, almost as if he was discussing his own achievements and not someone he hardly stated he had a relation of any type to. He continued to talk with that same impression on his tongue, "We used to train together when we were little but, he took a turn more towards choreography and he shines at it."

Jisung nodded. Simply, nodded. Slowly, and unsure, each repeat growing as uncertain as the previous.

His lips pressed out into a flat line, creating a clear horizon far off from either of their reaches though they might run to it with their feet pounding against concrete pathways. Or in their case, the blades of the skates swaying on the unforeseeable future. Locked behind it all, shoved into a compact mess within his throat, were his words. Choked up and tangled on one another, he couldn't find a decent sentence or combination of sentences upon paragraphs to say to the older's smile laying unwavering on him. Him, Jisung. The boy who, a few months prior was nothing but a fan scrolling through articles and watching videos time and time again for a new conclusion to be drawn from the way his wrist flicked or his face crinkled.

But, no matter how many words he read, articles he stalked through, videos he saved to his camera roll, interviews he recounted, none of the answers he recalled were enough of a truth to out together the story that was unfolding before his eyes. None of it was enough to guess how Minho and Seo were friends, none of it was enough to guess how the way his posture seemed so void yet so present at the same conflicting time, none of it was enough to guess whether he preferred wearing Crocs or being barefoot, or if he poured milk or cereal first. The tiny details he never paid attention to when with Seungmin and Jeongin, some even causing useless arguments in the late night hours, had suddenly seemed like life's greatest mysteries. Simply because, he didn't have Minho's answer.

The older began to touch his cheek, fingers pressing harshly on his cheek before they began to wipe at the skin until it pulled under his rough swipe, "Is something on my face?"

"Oh," Jisung stumbled to himself, voice beginning to pipe louder as he brought himself from his trailing thoughts, "No, I was thinking to myself."

"I hoped that's what it was. It looked like you were spacing out."

"Yeah. I'm your fan but, I think I realized how little I know about you."

Minho paused for a beat. His eyes seemed to trail where ever they were allowed to as he carefully treaded in the unfamiliar waters, "Do you want to know me as more than the fan you say you are?"

"Am I allowed to?"

"Well," He aske, once again letting his eyes drift to whatever destination they wished to arrive to, "What were you thinking you want to know me as?"

"Maybe, a friend?" Jisung decided firmly, though testingly. Asking, despite not saying it, if it was okay to want a label printed on his sleeve such as that. Not an acquaintance hardly seen or stranger frequently met, not as a fan hidden behind the masks they created for themselves, but as a friend. Not someone who wished or pretended to be, either for his own gain or unfortunate desires to be settled in the umbrella name of the other. Not as anything more. He wanted to be an honest, genuine, friend. And just as he was on the verge of regretting his decision, the only gestures he received a trained stare deep into his being, Minho's smile widened. Something in Jisung's chest squeezed. He processed the feeling as worry, an unsure wavering peaking his voice as he interrogated, "Why are you smiling like you've committed genocide?"

"No, it's nothing. It's just—," The older's word sliced themselves off the end of his statement. He suffocated his smile, his lips quirking hard into a more neutral face as his hands clasped together across the barrier and he told, "It's been a while since someone's wanted to be my friend, to be my friend. It's nice to have someone who wants to know you for you."

Jisung scanned over his face a few times. Before he could catch his words, he asked, "Not some alienated version of yourself?"

"That's a good way to put it. An alienated version of myself," Minho repeated, almost solemnly. That usual expression he wore when he stared at the rink fronted. As if in his mind, all he could have playing on repeat were nostalgic memories, each bringing him pain like a record with a dent in his favorite track. Jisung was only able to watch as the older's clasped hands tightened their grip around one another, and brace him for a head-on strike to the bow of his wandering lifeboat.  He began to recount,

"When I was skating, I had so many people around me. Behind me, in front of me, beside me. I had someone to reach for, and I had someone to catch me. But, when I made it to the top, there was no one around me. No one behind me, in front of me, or beside me."

His expression shifted. Suddenly, the only thing Jisung could see in his eyes was hatred.

"It was only me."

The younger remained statued in his spot. How am I supposed to react to that? Comfort him? And somehow, he only managed to feel worse for not being able to find a proper solution to respond with in time.

Minho's expression began to flood with his usual gentleness once again. The sharpened edges ironed out, the bitterness in his tone sweetened, the walls which closed off his thoughts dropped. His clasped hands began to release, the tips of his fingers beginning to press into his knuckles in a rippling effect. His eyebrows furrowed, "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay—"

"I don't know where that came from—"

"Really—"

"I didn't—"

Jisung hushed him with a firm hiss as a hand came to clamp on top of the other's knuckles. Promptly, Mimho startled but the grip rooted him to his spot. The skater spoke slowly, "It's okay. I'm not going to bash you for saying that."

The older raked over his form a few times; His gaze narrowing and focusing, training on his features on the smallest insecurities barely visible to the normal eye and impossibly unremarkable under a microscopic scrutiny picking apart hairline cracks of inconsistencies, attempting to find an excuse to believe anything but the words he currently spilled from his mouth. That pattern remained for a few beats, scanning and checking, before Minho shifted his eyes to the ice in front of him. Barely, Jisung could see the faintest glimmer sparking once again in his eyes. The weakest spark, hoping to catch a heat to the kindling and light a dancing flame through his self. Under his touch, he felt the older's hand coiling and snaking to prepare an inescapable strike forward.

But instead of letting that sparkle in his eyes spread onto his features, instead of proclaiming that excitement through a word or action, Minho pulled his hand away from the younger. The spark was snuffed out. He stepped back, wordlessly, and left Jisung to watch his back retreating from the battlefield in defeat.

Somehow, he couldn't even find it within himself to feel angry or disappointed the older left. All he managed to feel was the boiling within his chest as his fingertips burned with the memory of the other's tensed hands, asking,

That day at the championships, what happened to the Lee Minho that loved figure skating?

What happened to you?

❆❅❆