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It had been a big shock, the day Takayama Riki announced his official retirement from figure skating.
Taki, as he was affectionately called, announced he was going to retire from figure skating a month before the Olympics. It came as a shock to Japan, and to the world.
He announced it in such a weird way, as well. It had been during a press conference organized by the Japanese Federation to introduce the team they were going to send to the Winter Olympics in Milano : Taki was surrounded by teammates on both sides of the mic, the scene utterly normal, when a reporter asked him a question.
“Taki, you’ve talked recently about your ankle problems. As the current male world champion, how exactly are you planning to prepare physically for Milano to still be in good shape to defend your Worlds title when it comes so soon after the Olympics ?”
And Taki had smiled kindly at the journalist, before answering, in his usual tone :
“Thank you for your question. Actually,” his speech trailed off a little, like he was hesitating for half a second, before he finally decided to continue, the end of his sentence dropping like a bomb in the conference room : “I’m not going to be at Worlds. I’m planning to retire after the Olympics.”
And he kept smiling so warmly, even though the temperature had dropped several degrees in the room, a shocked silence filling the air with chills. Another journalist recovered, still stuttering a bit as she asked :
“B-But… I mean, is it official?”
And Taki laughed, albeit a bit shakily : “Well, pretty much, yes, since I just made it official.”
And all hell broke loose after that.
Notably, the higher-ups at the Japanese Federation were white with rage, arguing that Taki was irresponsible and made them look like fools in front of the media, that he couldn’t just act however he wanted and had to consult them so they could adjust their public position accordingly. Taki’s coach, Kei, made his position and support of his athlete very clear, and defended him tooth and nails.
In the days following, he absolutely refused to talk about whatever had been said into that reunion room with the Federation and with the other Team Japan coaches, but Fuma – another athlete’s coach, had let it slip once that it had been one of the most tense meetings he’s ever been to, and that he hadn't known Kei could be that scary before that.
The Team Japan athletes were all pretty close, men and women got along very well. Sensing the crisis, they all met in an empty conference room in the Federation headquarters. Jurin, who was the oldest on the team, had gathered everyone, and the tension was so thick you could cut through it with a knife. They all sat in the room, some directly on the ground, some on the corporate-looking chairs organized strictly around the conference table at the center of the room. Taki looked a bit uncomfortable from his spot by the door, strategically chosen like he was getting ready to bolt.
Jurin spoke : “Alright. So.”
When Taki looked up to see everyone staring at him, he let out a nervous laugh, those laughs of him that broke halfway out. When he opened his mouth, everyone started listening seriously. But then, he closed it again. It opened and closed another few times, before suddenly, he let out : “I think I’m going to throw up,” before plastering a hand over his mouth and rushing out the door for the toilets.
Harua sighed from his spot on the ground, mumbling : “He sure knows how to make the suspense last”, before getting up to go help his friend.
When Taki came back looking pale and exhausted, everyone sat back down, the mood suddenly drained, much less tense. He let out a tired chuckle.
“I guess I do need to explain myself.”
“That would be good, yes,” Jurin said with a slight nod. “But, so we’re clear, we’re not reproaching you anything, okay? We just want to understand.”
Taki had gulped nervously, before letting out his biggest sigh yet.
“So, you all know I’ve been having ankle problems for a while now. I’ve been skating on it, and it’s always been that way, y’know, enduring the pain. But, it’s been months, and I just-”
He cuts himself off, looking oddly disgusted with himself and pained. “I guess I just can’t take it anymore, the rhythm of competitions. Every time it starts getting better, there’s a new one, new pressure, and I have to skate in pain again.”
He stays silent for a while. “Of course, I could just take a break, for a season or two. Kei recommended it.”
His voice trails off. A beat of silence.
“I guess, in a way, I started dreading it. Skating.” Taki sounds small and quiet, and it rings across the room in a muted bang.
“At first I wanted to endure it. The pain.” He sounds like he's desperately trying to convince them, but really, he doesn't look like he's even talking to the rest of the room : maybe the one he's trying to get on his side is himself. “... I didn’t give my all to skating just yet, to Japan just yet. I am indebted, in a way. To those people who watched me and supported me, to many other people, closer, that helped me. So with the Olympics, I have a chance at one last gift for them, one last thing to win, and then it will be over.” His voice breaks. “Then, I won’t be indebted anymore. I will be free.”
Taki continues, his voice sounding more resolute : “And I carried the federation on my back so long, their mismanagement, the way they treated me, when all they wanted was to put the blame on me... I can take whatever you guys want to throw at me, it would only be fair.” Finally, he looks them in the eyes. “But when they said I was being selfish… I can’t stand it. I gave all my childhood away to skating, all my life almost. I don’t care what they think about me. I know what I dedicated, what I sacrificed.”
“I knew they’d try to bind me into backing out of it,” He never pronounces retirement, like he’s still scared speaking the word out loud in such a quiet, closed off and intimate space would break his confidence, would make him crumble, “so I had to make it official myself, and the media are maybe the one thing in this world where if you say something you can be sure it will get out, whether you like it or not.” He laughs a little, but it sounds broken. “That’s why I said it like that, in the conference room. Only Kei knew. We had talked about it.”
Harua reaches over for his best friend’s hand across his lap, to stop the other boy from picking away at the skin of his fingers. Maybe it's what gives Taki the courage to say : “I hope you will understand what it all means to me. I didn’t want to make it harder for you, never.”
After that, they all sided with Taki in front of the media and against the Federation’s damage control tactics. Every time one of them answered a particularly odd question about him, formulated to create drama, by adamantly defending him, Taki would show them his happiest, warmest smile, gratitude and relief written all over his expression.
And so, the Olympics came.
The day of the first event – the short program, Harua and Jo were both shaking with nerves in the training zone backstage. Compared to them, Taki was the picture of composure, stretching in silence with a small smile, earphones on, gaze lazily trailing around the room.
It had been the case for the past few days : ever since they had arrived in Milano, Taki had looked oddly peaceful, although it was tinted with an edge of something more bitter, something closer to nostalgia that never seemed to settle down on something definite. He had been quieter, as well.
Across the room, Jo cannot stop staring. He knows he is, he knows he should be focusing on his own stretching, on the pull of muscles against his skin, but truly, there is something ritualistic to Taki’s pre-skate routine that he can't take his eyes away from.
It strikes Jo again, not for the first time, that Taki is just as mesmerizing off the ice.
That day, Taki takes the first place in the short program, putting a perfect clean skate and a 106.89 points performance behind him.
Jo falls on his triple axel and has a shaky reception on one of his combo jumps.
His fingers haven't stopped trembling since the start of his performance, but after feeling the cold surface of the ice under his palms during his fall, he suddenly got much calmer.
As he gets off the ice, he can still feel the blood anxiously pulsing underneath his skin, a bitter taste across his tongue. The adrenaline still hasn't left, and it feels useless now, taunting : Jo feels angry. A useless anger, a frustration that takes the course of the lungs and that you can't cough out yet.
When he tells his coach, the man just nods, neutral. Jo doesn't want comfort, doesn't want to be pitied, coddled. His coach probably understands it, can probably read that on his face :
“That's good. Stay angry. It will make your blood warmer, you'll be able to fight on the ice.”
As enigmatic as it sounds, Jo thinks he understands. The results show 94.84, his components still allowing him to place 4th, not too far from the podium : still, disappointing, as he came in one of the favorites.
When he comes across Taki in the changing room, the other boy has already shrugged off his costume, and is now back into his all-black sponsored practice clothes, looking oddly relaxed as he waits. He's sitting on the concrete ground, despite benches and chairs being arranged around the room. When Jo enters, he cracks an eye open and smiles up at him :
“Hey.”
Jo's throat is still a little closed off : “... Hey.”
The changing room has a small screen that’s showing the rink, and he knows Taki watched his skate. He doesn't really know where he's standing right now, when the other gave such a perfect performance, when he still feels so angry at himself. It's stupid, but he doesn't want to disappoint the rest of the team, he doesn't want to disappoint Taki and betray their expectations, their trust.
Taki doesn't say anything for a while, just smiling, calm and gentle, looking down at his hands where they lay on his lap, palms open, facing the ceiling. After a while, he speaks up : “You were nervous. Out there.”
It's more a statement, an observation, than a question.
Jo doesn't dare to look at him. He turns his back to the youngest man to undress. He knows what he must look like, right now : the pale color of his skin, the shy planes of his back, how skinny he is, the awkward stretch of muscles as he takes off his undershirt, the collar getting stuck onto one of his ears as he tries to get the clothing over his head. He knows by now, both his ears are bright red. As he looks down, still refusing to face Taki, he mumbles :
“Was I that obvious?”
“Not really. You were shaking. It could've been the cold.” Taki's stare burns into Jo's back : he can feel it on his skin, a tangible thing, a hot iron pressing against him. Taki continues : “... But it wasn't. Right?”
Jo chuckles.
“Right.” He resumes undressing.
“But, it went away, when I fell. I don't know why.” Taki's silence feels accepting. Jo continues : “In a way, the slap of the ice against my palms brought me back to reality. It shook any nerves left out of my body. It felt familiar, finally something I could grasp onto.” He turns back to Taki : “Sorry, I'm rambling. Am I even making sense?”
Taki nods, like he doesn't mind, with endless patience. “You didn't do badly. I was nervous too, at my first Olympics. Sometimes, the fall is needed. To remind you the ice is the same everywhere : it is cold everywhere, it is cold for everyone. It's reassuring : the ice doesn't do favorites, it treats everyone the same.”
At that's that, but long after he's left the changing room and Taki behind, Jo can't help but think about what the other said.
The ice doesn't do favorites, he thinks, but watching you, it sure feels like it does.
Jo gets to speak to Taki again after the team dinner, the evening before the free skate.
They're all laughing and joking around, trying to diffuse the stress that's lurking around the corner, slowly catching up to them. Taki is laughing on his side of the table, wide grin splitting his face, teeth out, catching the lights just right. He looks like he's shining. At some point, Kei, who's sitting on Jo's right, elbows him lightly in the ribs, before whispering, not unkindly :
“You're staring.”
Jo only says : “Oh.” before looking down at his plate, blushing. He wants to apologize, the words leave his tongue before he can swallow around them, force them down his throat : “... Sorry.”
Kei just shrugs : he has known everyone in the team for so long, he feels like an older brother to all of them. Sensing the younger male's embarrassment, he reassures Jo :
“It’s okay. You’re allowed to, y’know. He’s not uncomfortable with you.”
Jo laughs, short and punched out. “I struggle to see how that makes it okay, though.”
The oldest glances at him, studying Jo for a moment, uncharacteristically serious. Then he says : “He likes you, you know?”
Jo feels thrown off. “Uh?” The pasta he had just picked up with his chopsticks slip out of his hold, back down onto his plate. He freezes, looking at Kei like a deer caught in the headlights, mouth still open. The oldest bursts out laughing at that, endearingly reaching out a hand at Jo’s chin, trolling him by acting like he’s helping the youngest’s jaw to close, as if he couldn't do it on his own. Jo is bright pink now, and he feels a little like he's getting mocked at.
“Did he tell you that?”
Kei looks back at Taki, smiling fondly at the youngest, sat further away from them :
“Of course he didn’t. But I know Taki, I’ve known him for so long, when we were both skating, when I wasn’t yet a coach, even less his coach. I don’t exactly like saying it like that, but I think I genuinely know him as if he was my own child.” He turns back to Jo, one arm thrown lazily across the back of the younger man’s chair : “He’s careful around you. That doesn’t mean he’s not comfortable : it’s because he likes you. He probably likes you most, out of everyone else in the team. Well, maybe not Harua, but they’re a little special, these two, y’know how it is.”
And Jo’s throat constricts on itself. Kei pats his shoulder twice before turning around to start a conversation with Fuma.
Jo looks back at Taki, only to find the youngest already looking at him, a complicated look on his face, cheeks a little puffed.
Jo feels himself flush, and he awkwardly smiles and waves, a little unsure. Taki smiles back, looking satisfied. He gestures for Jo to come over to his side of the table : Iroha, the youngest of the women’s team, having just left her seat empty after being done with dinner.
When Jo sits down, Harua teases him by saying :
“Jo-kun, finally ! Taki was wondering if you were starting to like Kei more than us!”
And Taki shrieks at the other boy, cheeks warming up visibly as he tries to explain himself to Jo : “I-I wasn’t !! He’s making it sound much more accusatory than it was, I swear-”
Right at this moment, Kei hovers around their side of the table, standing up above Jo’s shoulders, as if sensing the perfect opportunity for teasing : “Awww, Taki, are you jealous?”
And Jo starts laughing lightly at that, only to see Taki blush furiously across the table, crossing his arms childishly and puffing his cheeks again. He likes you, y’know : Kei’s words are ringing in his head. Jo is probably blushing even harder than Taki.
When they all go back to their hotel rooms, Taki and Jo find themselves alone in the elevator. Only Kei’s room is on the same floor as theirs, and after getting his fill of teasing Taki he told them he had to go pick up something with Fuma, to go back without waiting for him. The air is a bit tense in the closed space of the lift, the cold lighting making everything duller, more threatening. Or maybe it's the evening lull of a full day weighting on Jo. They both stand with their back against the mirror : Taki is slouched a little, posture loose as his hands are leaning against the metal handbar, and Jo is standing straight as a pin. The distance between them makes the silence even more awkward.
It then hits Jo : that this is the last time him and Taki will ever be together in this situation. Jo speaks up despite his throat being all parched and strained :
“So, I guess it really is time to say goodbye.”
Taki looks surprised at that, like he wasn't expecting Jo to speak at all, and even less to say something like that. He lets Jo take control of the space. The taller boy explains himself further, a little awkwardly : “Your last free. Time for a final goodbye, right?” and his voice wavers on the last word, the interrogation becoming a grimace.
Taki only answers in a muted tone : “Right.” A single nod, soft.
“But,” Jo's voice breaks as he turns slightly towards Taki, face suddenly scrunched in desperation, “Do we really have to?”
And he wants to tell Taki how much his skating means to him, how much he means to him, that he cannot put it into words, that he tried, but it was never enough. He wants to tell Taki he misses him already, he wants to tell Taki the ice won't be the same after he'll leave, he wants to tell Taki it's wrong that the patterns he spent so long carving into the cold surface of the rink are cleaned, erased by a machine who cannot understand its sentimental value. Most of all, he desperately, selfishly, wants to tell Taki to stay.
And Taki smiles like he understands, but it's all wrong and lopsided. The lights on the ceiling are cold, and the elevator's finally arrived on their floor, its metal doors sliding open. Taki doesn't answer.
He simply walks Jo to his room in silence. As they're about to separate, Taki looks up at him like he had been lost in thoughts all this time, and tells Jo, quietly :
“Time to say goodbye... I guess not, no. It's not forever. For now, though, I have to.”
He just smiles. As he’s already walking away, he says :
“Goodnight Jo-kun. Tomorrow is tomorrow, but who knows about the day after that?”
And finally, Jo understands : this separation is probably hardest for Taki, more than anyone. He understands that Taki is being polite, is holding it together for everyone’s sake, but really, it isn’t easy for him. He understands Taki is being gentle, careful with him right now, even when Jo dares to question his choice like he’s allowed to, even though no one can understand how badly the younger man is breaking inside. To Taki, this decision probably feels like tearing apart a limb, a part of himself that he’ll never get back.
And Jo swallows the spit that gathered in the back of mouth, behind his teeth. It’s bitter. It’s uncomfortable. He feels like he’s overstepped, in some ways, that his hope was misplaced. He immediately wants to apologize to Taki’s retreating back, but the moment is already over. The small click-y sound his hotel door makes when he closes it sounds final and resolute.
Taki’s free skate : his last program, Time to say goodbye.
At only 22 years old, the young skater was leaving behind an almost 9 years old senior career, in which he had won everything and had broken multiple records. The world had seen his rise, the perfecting of his unmistakable style, powerful and wide, beautiful and free, and many figure skating fans had been watching him for the better part of their lives.
Many would say Taki has been a big part of figure skating in itself : he had changed the culture, broken some taboos, all while staying uncompromisingly true to himself. He was an important face in figure skating not only to fans, not only for his beautiful skating and his artistry, but also to his opponents. Taki was such a warm person it basically seeped through his every pores : he would cheer for the other skaters, make kind comments during practices, and his silly and bright personality would always help the tension of competition dissolve.
He was loved by everyone, but he was also respected. Taki was sweet, very young, but he was always amongst the most experienced skaters at every competition. He was known for his flawless step sequences and excellent edge control, which always made his performances feel so light and floaty, and the ice-coverage on his jumps and throughout his programs made him look free, like he was skating across a much bigger stage. He wasn't the type of skater to have the flashiest jumps, or to stock his programs with the highest valued jumps, but he had worked on his technique to the point where judges often unanimously granted him the highest execution scores.
In a way, he was uncompromising on his programs and their quality : it didn't matter what everyone around him did, it didn't matter what people wanted to see from him. He wasn't just skating to music, he wasn't just gliding and jumping across the ice. He was becoming someone else entirely on the ice, someone he had crafted himself and knew better than anyone, he was building another world out there on the ice, and it didn't matter that sometimes, only he could understand it.
The day of the free skate, Jo nails his program. He manages to hold onto the champion's chair even after the performances of the skaters that got number 3 and number 2 in the short program, and he has a front row view on Taki as he enters the ice, looking glorious and focused.
When Taki stops in the center of the rink for the start of his free program, the whole arena quiets down : like a spell, a thick and quiet coat of snow, just covered the crowd. Taki takes his starting pose : one leg bent in front of the other, which was kept still and stretched behind, his arms lying limp to his sides, looking down at the ice.
Suddenly, he transforms : his body is there, waiting for sound, waiting for the heavens to open up to him, but his mind already left, flying through the ceiling, free. Suddenly, he is seeing things nobody else can see.
And it should’ve been the opposite, Taki trying to connect, to get the audience into his universe, into what he was projecting into his performance, but really, this wasn’t at all what it was like watching him skate. It was like he was skating for himself, like he was dreaming, eyes wide open, right there and then on the rink, like the audience was just an afterthought. Without even trying to, the audience was already begging to be let in, as well, in this special world he was lost in.
From his spot next to the rink, Jo thinks watching Taki on the ice makes you wish you could merge with him.
Inevitably, when the music starts, it's the whole arena getting shaken. The first notes of Time to say goodbye bounce off from the walls of the rink, and as Taki begins moving slowly across the ice, something breaks. His body moves gracefully, arm lifting up, gaze suddenly going to the sky, and there it is : he’s already lost in another world completely. Love, beauty, power : that was what was going to take place on the rink for the next minutes. A spell cast on the audience, worshippers desperately trying to get even a glimpse of those visions, desperately wanting to get grace.
It is not a dance, though it is just as graceful. As cliché as it is, his skating is one of those things in the world that are too large for words. It feels sacred, all-powerful : halfway through a kiss he has already won you over, he has already defeated you, he is already leaving you behind before you can even process that he’s seduced you, like a blast of air in the face.
And when the music comes to its end, it isn’t Taki's body stopping with it : it is his performance swallowing the sound, a flame delicately burning out, until his arms finally still in the air, gaze still turned up towards the ceiling.
For a second, it's absolute silence reigning in the arena.
Then, the crowd roars alive. Their cheers fill up the air, overwhelming : everyone in the audience is getting up, clapping and screaming, the wave of sounds not showing any stopping soon.
At the very end, it seemed everyone agreed on that : Taki’s skating was as mesmerizing as figure skating could go.
In the center of the rink, Taki’s smile is blinding. His chest is heaving harshly, and he looks up at the crowd with wide eyes, like he can’t get enough, like he is trying to soak in the moment and the love. As he takes his final bows towards each side of the arena, he’s smiling so hard his cheeks are red.
Then he turns towards the exit of the rink, and probably meets Kei's eyes : that’s when he starts crying. Fat tears streaming down his cheeks, which is a little comical because despite all that, he’s still smiling and hiccuping through his giggles. Taki barely has a foot on solid ground when Kei scoops him up, hugging him tightly, probably too hard, since the camera captures Taki’s hand weakly tapping at his coach’s shoulder, struggling for breaths.
Jo is sitting in the Number 1 chair seeing all this from the side : his hands are shaking where they’re folded over his lap. Jo doesn’t cry, but it’s a near thing, and his eyes are probably shining a bit too much for him to pretend otherwise, and his face is comically scrunched, tell-tale that he is holding in tears. When Taki and Kei arrive to the kiss-and-cry zone and sit down, the camera on the side is probably showing Jo’s expression on the small screen, which makes Taki laugh, bending over a little to be able to look to his right for Jo, laughing again at him and giving him his biggest smile. Suddenly, Kei taps urgently on the youngest’s lap : the scores just dropped. Taki doesn’t even have time to read out the numbers before the crowd erupts, louder than it’s ever been. Kei immediately drowns his skater in a hug : even from a distance, Jo can hear Taki screaming : “How much? How much??”
And Kei lets Taki out of this crushing match, to let him see the score : a whopping 213.70 on the free skate, his best-ever, making up for a total score of 322.59 points. Taki is everywhere : he almost jumps off the couch, crushes Kei even harder, gripping his hair in shock.
Jo is already up and applauding for Taki, he has been for a little while now, when the youngest comes to him to sit in the champion’s chair, a hand still plastered across his mouth in shock.
When he comes to his level, Jo smiles and wetly tells Taki :
“I've been keeping it for you,” he gestures towards the champion seat.
Taki laughs like he just can’t believe him, and hugs Jo. It’s not a quick hug either, and Jo selfishly cradles the youngest’s sides, desperately wishing to hold onto the warmth a bit longer. Taki looks up at him through his lashes, some of which are still stuck together by tears, and just asks, all breathless and elated :
“Did I do good?”
And it’s something Jo noticed : that Taki never asks "how was it" when it comes to his performances, instead always opting for variants of "how was I", as if he was absolutely inseparable from his skating, from his art. And this habit, now more than ever, squeezes Jo's heart, crushes him in an irreparable way.
And Jo wants to tell Taki that all these years they competed together in Seniors, throughout every moment they’ve spent with the national team, he spent them admiring him. He wants to tell him what he’s never dared to tell him, despite being close, he wants to tell him how much he has inspired him, how much better skating is when there is someone like him to look up to, he wants to tell him he cherished every training session together and would like to continue, but he doesn’t dare, doesn’t want to steal Taki’s moment away from him another time. And so, Jo can barely speak but he whispers delicately against the shell of Taki’s ear :
“Yeah, the best in the world.”
And even as his competitor, even as he had to endure the betrayed sting of defeat, the shapeless form of humiliation that comes with having to sit up and leave the champion's chair to someone else, Jo can't help but think yeah, this is where Taki belongs, at the top of the world.
Long after the medal ceremony has ended, after the cameras have turned away and most people are beginning to leave, the arena gradually emptying, Taki and Jo start heading backstage.
The energy and joy seemed to have left Taki’s body : he is no longer vibrating out of his skin, and instead feels calmer, more soft and resigned. They’re into the tunnel back to the corridors leading to the changing rooms when Taki stops and looks back at the round circle of light opening onto the rink. In a calm voice, to no one in particular, he says :
“... I was great.”
And he looks back at Jo with a devastated smile and repeats :
“I was great. I was really great…”
Later that evening, they’re holding hands in the back of the Japanese team’s van, sat together in the last row of seats. Jo's eyes are still teary at the edge and Taki is refusing to look at him, staring out the tinted windows with an unreadable face but not putting on any headphones to indicate he’d like to be left alone, like he's quietly taking in everything about this ambiance, this team spirit, filling his senses with as much as he can take to pack home with him in his suitcase.
The van is stopped at the last street corner before the Olympic village when Jo squeezes Taki’s hand once to get the younger's attention. He whispers :
“I wish you'd become my sky”
And Taki looks back at him and smiles, benevolent, not asking any more explanations.
Jo's words, all jumbled up in his head, stay silent, and maybe it's for the better : maybe Taki knows, maybe he took pity on him.
That night, when the congratulatory party is done, and they are all red cheeked in Kei's hotel suite from celebrating and it suddenly gets quiet from after party exhaustion, Jo spreads out his long limbs on one of the mattresses they carried out from the other's room for this big improvised sleepover, deciding that from now on, he’s not moving even a toe. The others are still giggling across the room about something, and Jo quietly takes in the spin of today's events behind his closed eyelids.
His silver medal feels heavy around his neck : for some unknown reason he can't bring himself to touch it, like he isn't allowed to. The room spirals for a bit, and he’s close to falling asleep when he feels his mattress bend under someone's weight on his left. The person moves again, like they're going from sitting to now laying down next to him : Jo opens his eyes to see Taki on his right.
The youngest's eyes are closed too, limbs spread out like he's trying to summon Jo's relaxed energy for himself : around his tanned neck, next to the 3 moles sitting in a constellation across his collarbones, his golden medal catches all the lights in the room. Then, like he sensed Jo's eyes on him, he opens his and turns towards the other man : his gaze is all mellowed out from happiness and something else, indescribable. He is smiling softly, fond and satisfied, and his eyes are only half-open, making his pupils look so large they engulf almost all the white, only leaving visible two pools of dark water. He looks flushed and his messed up brown hair is swooping across his forehead and his nose and melting all over the white of the bedsheets. Just how beautiful can one look, Jo wonders.
Jo has barely recovered when Taki reaches over for his medal, without a single hesitation : his fingers do not shake like Jo's did when he was handed it, like it burned to the touch. Taki touches the silver like he's sure, like he's allowed to, like he owns Jo. Taki lazily smiles down at the object, turning it around in his hand : Jo doesn't dare to move. At this point he's looking more at the slow stretch of Taki's lips than at what the other is doing with his medal, in a way he doesn't even really care : not when he has Taki like this, all soft and pliant, his whole attention dedicated to him.
Taki looks up back at him, drops the medal against Jo's chest, not caring that it hits his chest as it falls back down : he smiles for real this time, cheeks stretched in a youthful grin, perfect teeth pulled into a heart shape. It's really all too warm for Jo : the youngest’s hand reaches up, hovers slowly over the side of Jo's neck that's bared to him, then over the side of his cheeks. He finally touches Jo's ears, and the oldest almost flinches : he doesn't know whether it's Taki's fingers that are unnaturally cold or his own ears that are burning embarrassingly warm. Taki doesn't say anything for a while, gaze running across Jo's face like he's trying to memorize it, to get to know him and read his every thought.
After a while, as sleep seems to take over the both of them, Taki rolls on his side even closer to Jo and whispers in the small space between them :
“You don't need me to be your sky, Jo-kun. You already have everything to be your own sky.”
And Jo can feel the heat of the evening and the sting of the alcohol take the course of his thoughts, and as sleep takes over, he involuntarily lets out :
“... I don't need you to be my sky.” Groggily, he mumbles some incoherent things, then lets a beat die between them, before he whispers : “I just want you”
Unbeknownst to Jo, who already fell asleep at that point, Taki’s heart stutters harshly in his chest at that, eyes wide and breath cut short.
Oh, the youngest thinks.
The next morning, Jo doesn't remember it, and Taki just smiles cryptically at him when he asks if he said something weird. Jo looks mortified all the while, and Taki only says, to reassure him :
“It's okay, Jo-kun. It was something pleasant. If anything, I like that you don't remember it.” Over the breakfast table, Taki is picking up various side dishes, looking relaxed and still soft from a good sleep. He adds : “I kind of want to keep it for myself for a little while.”
...
A few days later, as the whole delegation is waiting in the airport for the flight back home, Taki asks for a moment alone in the lobby. He just wanders around and takes in the greyish beiges of the terminal, the pale bodies of the airplanes taking off to places he will never visit, to cities that are home to someone but that he will never get to know.
It's lonely, an airport. There's so many lives intertwined in such a bare and cold space. It's so lonely, he thinks.
As he silently watches an airplane take off in the distance underneath the sad winter sky of Milano, he thinks about what Jo told him last night and cringes at himself. "I kind of want to keep it for myself for a little while?" How stupid he thinks. How foolish, how pathetic.
Truly, he couldn't say what he was really thinking :
I want to keep a part of you that not even you would know of, a part of you that was let out into the world only for me and that now only belongs to me, I want to keep that part of you with me back home even when I'll be left behind, left all alone : even then, I'll still have you with me, I'll still get to keep the silver that stained my fingers that night, your silver, I'll still be able to remember the warmth you shared with me on that mattress that we both slept on, on the bare floor of that hotel room.
In the plane, Taki cannot bring himself to look at Jo.
Leaving makes you mean I guess, Taki thinks. Even when you'll be done leaving me behind, I'll still have a part of you within my hands that not even you have a say in. If you want to take it back from me, you'll have to fight with your teeth.
Jo sleeps through half the plane ride, and Taki spends that time blinking sleep off from his own eyes, staring at the other’s sleeping figure, the curve of his lashes over his cheeks.
I told you, I don't need to be your sky. I need you to come and rob me of my golds. Then, maybe I'll let you inside, into this space between my ribs, the ache in my bones, the years that weigh on my ankles.
A month later, Jo wins worlds. He sends a letter to Taki : it says everything he's always wanted to say, maybe even more, maybe too much. By the end of it, he writes :
"In Milano I told you I wished you'd become my sky. You didn’t ask me to explain, but I will, because I wanted to explain myself to you, I have always wanted to.
I wished you'd become my sky so you'd stay on top of the world all the time, and forever ; so you'd keep showing everyone how bright and unattainable you are ; so you'd keep everyone down here on earth dreaming from your perfection.
I wished you'd become my sky, so you could keep your warmth, your stars, only for lovers who know to crane their heads and look towards your immensity, who can't even begin to understand your beauty but still desperately reach for it.
I still do, I wish every day for you, and in a way you became my sky long before I even asked for it. I hope you know, those lovers that crane their necks up at you, I am one of them and I will continue to search for you in every night sky."