Chapter Text
The sun came lower, and Javier could finally drop the hand he was covering his eyes with. The golden hour, blinding as it was, was only endurable past the tree line. He rested his hand next to him on the worn out wood.
It felt warm against his palm.
For miles around, it was just him, sitting on the porch’s stairs, and Rosa a few steps behind. She was knitting, and occasionally Javier could catch her mouthing a mumbled melody, barely audible over the cicadas. They were both waiting for a car’s sound to turn their heads. Had been for a while. Javier pressed his hands on the wood to stretch his back.
The gesture didn’t go unnoticed. “I will get Martin to fix it,” Rosa’s sandpaper voice came right away from behind.
Javier spared a look back at the broken rocking chair next to her own. “It’s fine. I’ll just buy a new one.”
Rosa huffed, half assentiment and half sigh.
A car came. It didn’t stop. It rolled right past them, into the distance. After the dry summer they had, it raised a cloud of dust in its wake.
“Your friend,” said Rosa after a moment, “he’ll be tired. It’s a long drive from Málaga.”
It was. “I know.”
Javier had bought this summer house a few years ago, thinking his parents could settle into it as they retired. It wasn’t too far from Granada, where his mom’s own parents stayed, nor from Madrid, where he and – well. Where Javier had started building a life too.
Rosa, who lived closest to it, had kindly agreed to keep watch over the house while it crumbled away. She took care of the field their properties shared, made sure no wildfire sparked in the dry weeds, in exchange for quasi-exclusive use of the olives and the fruit trees production once the season came.
“He’ll need to rest,” she insisted. “You won’t be able to tell him everything tonight.”
Javier rested his chin on his hand. “I’ll have to.”
His parents had settled near Java, in the end. Closer to Laura and the kids. Leaning towards the right future – Javier couldn’t blame them.
“You should stay the night. It’s a waste to drive back.”
“I have to, Rosa.”
He had paperwork to sign – increasingly worrying piles of it. Federations were awaiting invoices and answers about the camp’s end. Plans about the upcoming one. The post-summer camp mind-numbing email drill. Javier always had a hard time getting to it, but especially the past few days, after Brian’s call.
“You should stay the night, and tomorrow. You know, take your time. You’re tired, too.”
A grasshopper jumped on the porch. Its long legs seemed yellowed by the sun. Javier tried to bat it away gently, but it stayed right where it was.
“I’m fine,” Javier said. “I’ll get through the end of this, and –”
The sound of a car slowing down the road silenced him. Even the click from Rosa’s needles quietted in anticipation.
When the car’s shiny black hood turned into their lane, Javier raised his chin from his hand.
When it stopped, halfway through the shrubby gate, he raised himself up from the porch’s stairs.
Five days ago
Had Javier’s morning brain been a bit less foggy, he would have known something was up right away.
Brian’s tone was weird through his car’s speakers; his hums a bit too curt, as he listened to Javier’s drowsy and confusing answer to his “how are you?”. Even without seeing his face, Javier could tell Brian was distracted.
That was odd, considering he had been the one to call Javier at 6:34 in the morning – 12:34 AM, Canada time.
“Listen, Javi,” Brian interrupted at some point, apologetic. “I hate to ask you this, but I need a favor.”
The sun had barely risen. Javier was driving down Madrid’s empty streets to the rink – not to skate. Piles of paperwork and a solid hour of voicemails awaited him.
“Anything,” Javier had replied, because it was true. He wasn’t in any position to refuse Brian anything – never had been. “What is going on?”
Something in Brian’s sigh subconsciously gave it away.
A core memory, repeated over and over the years – the crisp smell of the Criket’s Club ice, the faint echo of blades sliding across it. Javier’s own breath, burning though his lungs, and, next to him, familiar, –
“Yuzuru,” Brian said, with the same fatigue and fondness as back then.
Javier blinked away the deja-vu. “What about him?”
“He’s – here.”
And Javier stared for a second at his car’s speakers, like it was both Brian and Yuzuru there, facing him. “Right now?”
“God, no. In Toronto, I mean. With us – Tracy’s with him at all times.” A pause. “You’ve heard, right?”
Javier entered the parking lot, slow, trying to drag it out. “Heard…”
“It’s bad. Yuzu called, and I told him to fly over, of course – but I think it’s doing him more harm than anything.”
“He flew all the way?”
“He did. And I thought it’d do him good, change of scenery, you know. Yet yesterday – you won’t believe this – reporters, all in front of the club. At least a dozen. Tracy had to drive him back right away, a shirt over his head. You’d think this was Pyeonchang, I swear.”
Javier hummed. He couldn’t see Brian’s hand, rubbing his forehead as he spoke, but could almost feel it through his tone.
“And Tracy will have to head back to Lachine soon, her daughter is about to deliver, and we’re having the worst weather we’ve had in years, shit’s already halfway between rain and snow to add to everything, and – yeah. It’s awful.”
“Sounds like it.” Javier turned off the engine. Scratching at his eyebrow, he waited for Brian to tell him about the favor. “How can I help?”
He heard his former coach letting a breath out. “I was wondering about that house, the one you got in the country. A few years ago, remember?”
“Of course I remember.” The electricity bills that arrived every quarter, only to get discarded and rapidly forgotten under another pile of papers, might have disagreed. Thrice, Javier had to pay a fine.
“You still have it?”
“Yeah, I do. There’s no one in at the moment, but last I checked –”
He could hear Brian’s hum of approval. “That’ll do. That’ll just do.”
“I – do what?”
“He needs to get some sunshine in. I don’t think he’s seen the light of day for at least a month –”
“Wait? Who hasn’t?”
“Yuzuru,” Brian repeated, and the two things finally clicked in Javier’s mind.
Yuzuru. At the country house.
“I’ll try and put him on the next plane,” Brian was saying, but it seemed like his voice came from very far away. “It’ll have to be quiet. He didn’t come with much, I don’t think packing will be an issue –”
“Wait,” Javier said, both hands still firm on the wheel, even though the car was parked. “I – wait.”
“ – since he – yes?”
Javier tried to come up with something sensical. “The house’s –” The house. “It’s in a bad state. I haven’t been to check on it in too long.”
“Then how do you know it’s in a bad state?”
“I –” A series of thoughts were flashing through his brain at light speed, making it hard to form proper sentences. He would need to head there as soon as possible. Bring blankets, supplies, turn the water heater back on. Javier was fully awake, now. “There’s no food, nothing. You have to give me the weekend to put it in order, at least.”
Brian took a second to answer. “Of course, Javi.” He sounded calmer, somehow. Albeit a bit confused. “Tell me when’s best.”
“Monday. Next Monday, at the very least.”
“That’s okay,” Brian said. “It’s great. Thank you, so much. Just send me the details, and we’ll –”
His tone was shifting into something final, and so Javier’s words ran out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Brian, just –”
“Yes?”
“Don’t –” Javier felt silly even saying it, but still needed to. “Don’t set any expectations for him, please.” Anyone would get disappointed, and Javier knew of Yuzuru’s standards for everything. He could still picture his dark, quizzical gaze over him, even years after witnessing it last. “It’s an old, old house, in the middle of nowhere. The connection’s blotchy. And I won’t be there, I’m a three hours drive away –”
“Javier,” Brian chuckled, low and calming. “He won’t need much.”
From the corner of his eyes, Javier could see two of Maryko’s morning class student’s heads peeking from the ice rink’s entrance. Little Andrea’s overdrawn eyebrows, scrunched up. ‘Steban’s wide, owl-like eyes. Probably both wondering what was keeping him in his car for so long.
“And you know,” Brian was saying, “I was about to say the same. Don’t set your expectations too high. You’ll see, he’s –”
He seemed to hesitate, and that made Javier frown, as he distractedly reached for his bags on the passenger’s seat.
“He’s what?”
“In need of a break,” Brian said, and left it at that.
When Javier finally got out of his car, under the kids’ jabs and impatient query, his brain was devoid of any of its usual morning fog. It felt clear, and sharp, in a way it hadn’t for a long time.
20XX.
It was slightly surreal, and a bit comical, watching Yuzuru get out of the taxi, sunglasses on, heavy winter coat hanging from his forearm. Watch him talk a bit with his driver, in gestures. Two or three bows, confused looks. Shiny gray suitcase on the dirty, brown road.
There he was. Javier arrived next to him just in time to wave the driver thank you as the car backed away in a cloud of yellow dust.
Yuzuru and he both waved at it a second too long, maybe. Delaying the face-to-face.
But then Yuzuru lifted his sunglasses off his nose, into his hair, fluffing it up. “Hi,” he smiled, right at Javier, and because of the angle setting sun, it felt hard to take a proper breath.
“Hi,” Javier said too, useless.
“Holà,” said Rosa, startling them both. She had walked all the way too, without Javier noticing. Impressive speed, at her age.
Javier stepped away, accommodating the space between each of them, and putting a gentle hand on Rosa’s frail shoulder. “Yuzu, this is Senora Rosa,” he said, making the introductions in English. “And Rosa, my friend – from Japan.”
He turned back to Yuzuru, who was already bowing deep. “Nice to meet you, Rosa-san.”
Rosa looked at him with round eyes – impressed, in the way all foreigners still had when encountering the typical gesture for the first time. Javier had to bring a hand to his face to cover his smile, as Yuzuru raised himself back up – round eyed himself when Rosa then grabbed him by both the cheeks.
“Oh, isn’t he just adorable,” she said, in Spanish, before landing one big, loud kiss on each of Yuzuru’s cheeks. “Adorable,” she repeated, as if talking about a child or a small dog.
She pressed her wrinkly hands into the plushness of his cheeks one last time, before finally releasing him.
And despite his best efforts, Javier couldn’t help but laugh at Rosa’s delight, and at Yuzuru’s reddened face.
“Rosa’s been working hard all week to get the house in order,” Javier explained, trying to grab Yuzuru’s luggage for him, getting rebuked by a silent but sharp movement of his guest’s hand. “Took out spiders the size of my head. Without her, I’m afraid you’d have to sleep in my car.”
“Yes,” Rosa agreed, in Spanish again. “Never seen a young man so afraid of bugs in my life.”
Yuzuru looked a bit confused, and Javier was glad he couldn’t catch that. “I’m not young,” he mumbled, and tried again to catch Yuzuru’s suitcase handle, to no avail. “Let me get it,” he suggested, “You must be tired.”
“I’m okay,” Yuzuru simply replied.
In the end, of course, Yuzuru rolled his own suitcase all the way to the stone house. Under Rosa’s disapproving glare, Javier could only silently squirm. I tried, he mouthed, and she rolled her eyes at him.
The wooden porch creaked under their steps, and so did the door as Javier struggled opening it.
“There you go,” he said, holding it open for Yuzuru to enter first. He squeezed himself awkwardly against the entrance wall, to not accidentally brush him when he passed, and nor get his toes rolled on by the wheels of his suitcase. It was a tiny one. Yuzuru hadn’t brought his skates, Javier could tell.
Once they got inside, he followed Yuzuru’s gaze, right away roaming all over the first floor.
But his guest’s eyes weren't settling over the creaks on the ceiling, the mismatched chairs, or the wonky, century-old signs of structural defects, like Javier had feared. Instead, they lingered on seemingly random places – the coat rack, the two plates drying by the sink. A picture of Javi’s family, summer after Pyeongchang, in which Laura hated her smile; Javier had brought it here because she couldn’t stand to see it on his city apartment’s walls. Emptied frames still awkwardly sat next to it.
The leftover menestra de verduras Rosa had brought over was warming on the stove.
It was a pitiful house tour. Not because the house was pitiful per se – in fact, one could argue it had charm – but because Javier couldn’t seem to remember where anything was, or what point any of the utilities had. Rosa had to correct him on almost everything he tried to explain.
They went upstairs.
“It’s not incredibly comfortable,” Javier scratched the back of his neck as Yuzuru glanced around the guest room. “But it does the job.”
The second floor was still covered in that beige carpet all over, carpet Javier had sworn out loud to rip away when he bought the house. He hadn’t managed to get to that just yet. At least it gave a sort of muted, cushy feeling to each bedroom.
“What job?” Yuzuru asked.
He was eyeing the paintings on the wall. They were varying sizes, depicting different scenes of the Sierra Nevada, and all a bit ugly – a family friend painted them and kept giving them as gifts over the years.
The walls were wooden and white, and the bed was encased in the wall. It wasn’t much bigger than a single, which Javier had felt a bit guilty about – this had clearly been intended as a kid’s bedroom. He’d even forgotten to bring bedsheets for it. Thankfully, Rosa had spare ones she lent him. A patchwork quilt of hers covered the bed. The nights could soon become slightly brisk.
A large window offered a view of the yard and the dry hay field behind it. In its right corner, you even could see the mountain scape on a clear day.
What job, Yuzuru had asked.
“Resting, I guess,” Javier replied, and Yuzuru nodded.
He dropped his luggage by the bedside. A suitcase and a handbag.
Javier could remember the gesture like it was an ingrained one, as familiar as a jump takeoff – automatic, in every hotel room, a cold and impersonal space to try and make yours before each competition. The kind of travel that made the whole world end up looking like the same four blank walls.
Outside, the sky’s fading pink was turning deep blue. Javier looked for lines on Yuzuru’s face, age or fatigue, but nothing showed.
“So, um,” Javier said. “There’s soup for you downstairs, if you’re hungry.”
Yuzuru turned to him. “Thank you.”
“I can leave you for a bit to freshen up, if you want.”
Javier knew the first thing Yuzuru liked to do, after getting out of a plane, was to jump into a shower. Washing away the locked air smell.
God, how come he remembered that.
“Thank you,” Yuzuru repeated, and Javier lingered, uneasy, on the doorstep.
There was something off about Yuzuru’s tone, it seemed. But Javier wasn’t even sure. A lot of time had passed. His voice was a bit deeper, maybe. His smile, paler.
“First door on the left,” Javier reminded him, before turning away. “Towels on the desk.”
His throat felt tight as he got down the stairs.
When he arrived into the living room, Rosa was placing wood into the fireplace, flickers of orange dancing on her features.
“Dios mio, Rosa,” Javier came running to her. He seized the big log she was bending down to grab. “Careful, these are heavy.”
She scoffed at him, but settled down into the nearest rocking chair without protest.
“Your friend,” she asked as Javier cast the last log inside the fireplace. “He’s the one you played with?”
Javier closed the shield glass door. “Not hockey,” he replied in a sigh. “But, yeah.”
“Hm,” Rosa said. “He could stand to eat a little. Isn’t he hungry?”
“I don’t know. He’ll come down, eventually.” Javier settled to her right, on the couch. It was quite comfortable, for the antique it was. “He’s taking a shower for now.”
The corners of Rosa’s mouth went down. She waited a bit, then picked up her knit. “He’s not.”
Javier watched her work, in silence, enraptured with the movement of her hands. After a while, her words caught up to him, and he asked: “He’s not?”
“The water’s not running.”
“How do you know?”
“You just know, when it does. The terrible sound it makes.” Rosa didn’t even raise her gaze at him. “You should go check up on him. Did you show him how to turn it on?”
Javier took a deep breath, basking in the fire warmth a few more seconds, before raising himself back up. God, he took all his positive thoughts about that sofa back. It was hard on his back. He really needed to buy a new one – another thing on the list.
He didn’t miss the eyebrow Rosa raised at him as he rubbed the back of his hip subtly, on the way to the stairs.
“Yuzu?” he called from the last step, gentle.
No response.
The bathroom’s light was turned off, but the guest room’s was still on. The door wasn’t properly closed. Javier walked all the way up to the corridor and gave two small, tentative knocks on the hardwood.
“Yuzuru?” he repeated. “Do you need help with anything?”
He waited a few seconds, forehead almost touching the door, before pushing it open.
Curled up on the bed’s quilt, Yuzuru’s small figure rested, facing the wall.
His suitcase wasn’t even opened.
Javier looked at him for a moment, the slow dip and rise of his shoulder. He must have only meant to lie down on the bed for a second. The plane had really taken its toll. Or maybe it was the drive, like Rosa said.
“He’s asleep,” Javier informed her, once back downstairs.
She hummed. “Right.” She watched the fire a minute more, before reaching down to grab her bag, putting her knit into it. “I’ll get going, then.”
“Oh,” Javier said, an automatism. “Wait, I’ll walk you back.”
“No need. It’s right across the road. I’m not that old.”
She was already getting up, and Javier felt a sudden anxiousness rising in him. A tightening of the chest, pressure from all sides. No, she couldn’t leave at all. If she did –
“Wait,” he repeated, following her to the door. “Don’t go. I should wake him up. What should I do? I didn’t even show him how to turn the water on.”
Rosa scoffed, grabbing her hat from the coat rack. “You can show it all to him tomorrow.” She put her hat on firmly.
“I can’t, Rosa – you know I have to leave.” He watched, helpless, as she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. “Could you, please... Could you please come by tomorrow and tell him about –”
“Javier, corazón. Tomorrow’s Sunday. It won’t kill you to take a day off. Besides, you know I don’t speak any English.”
“You –” Javier blinked. “But you said you understood when we –”
“I understand, not speak.” Her hand was already resting on the door handle. “Stay the night, Javier. He’s your guest. Work will always be there.”
When she opened the door, the cold night’s air seemed to cool Javier’s mind. The sound of the cicadas filled the house. Javier felt her wrinkly, paper-soft hand grab his, as if to reassure him.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” she said, her tone gentler. “With Martin, maybe, to fix the chair.” A final hand squeeze. “Goodnight, corazón.”
And just like that, she was gone. Javier watched all the way, as her colorful shawl faded into the darkness of the path to her house. He would be worried for her if it hadn’t been for the past years where he sporadically saw her do the same thing, often much later at night. Rosa knew these paths like the back of her hand.
That didn’t leave him with much choice.
Javier cleaned the kitchen, half-heartedly, storing the soup into a container, washing up the pot. By the time he was done, he still wasn’t tired. He went back to the fire, and half-sat on the wonky sofa’s arm.
Mindlessly, he spared a glance at his phone. A useless gesture; there couldn’t be any new notifications on the home screen. No data by the house. He’d have to get to Rosa’s tomorrow to send Maryko an email, notifying her of his absence from the afternoon workshops – or drive a bit up the hill to send her a call.
Staring into the dying embers, he thought of the pictures he took out of the frames today. He had shoved them into his bag because he felt uncomfortable throwing them out with Rosa watching.
He thought of the wardrobe in the masters’ bedroom upstairs – still half full, most likely. Javier hadn’t even brought a change of clothes for tonight. He’d have to open the drawers – no.
He’d come back next Friday. Write a note, send a text tomorrow to say sorry. He grabbed his bag, and headed for the front door.
But then, he thought of Yuzuru.
Yuzuru, who could wake up in the middle of the night, all alone in a foreign space. Javier walked back to the kitchen to turn on the stove’s light for the night.
Yuzuru, who could wake up hungry. Javier went back to the fridge to take out a couple of fruits, leave them in plain sight on the table.
Yuzuru, somehow now in Javier’s house - and Javier glitched, blinking into the void for a moment. Yuzuru, who’d never even stepped foot in Javier’s hometown while they were friends, and now slept under his roof as… someone he used to know.
They would have had a lot to talk about tonight.
Or maybe not.
Javier wondered if he’d even ask, at some point. He wondered if he truly cared to know how Yuzuru even felt about his hideout. If Javier himself truly could bother with the disappointment of not receiving satisfying answers. He’d had his fair share of those, over the years.
It was late.
Javier put his work bag back down by the door.
Climbing up the stairs, he tried to step on the spots that would make the least noise. He missed one or two, cringing at the plaintive creeeak the wood made in the silence, and passed by Yuzuru’s dark room as speedily and quietly as possible.
The door to the master’s bedroom wouldn’t close properly; a detail he’d forgotten about. He gave it a shove or two. With great effort, silently contained his frustration at his failure. Rested both his hands on the gondoled wood. He decided he’d fix it come morning – another thing to fix come morning. He opened the drawers, fumbled to catch a shirt of some sort, got changed, and washed up quickly.
At last, Javier slipped under his covers, without even having to turn the lights on.
He dreamt he was on the ice, as always.
2016.
The light touch of someone shaking his shoulder woke Javier up.
It was dark outside. The low rumble of the bus was the only thing he could hear, and Javier felt very disoriented for a second – until he saw Yuzuru’s face looking down at him.
“Are we there yet?” Javier mumbled, mouth dry and mind fuzzy.
They were on the way back from something – a workshop ? No, the Autumn Classic. Maybe a few hours drive away. Everyone on the bus was silent, exhausted from the past few days of competition. The lights were dimmed.
“No,” Yuzuru said.
Javier sat back straight on his seat, groggy. “Then why’d you wake me up?”
Yuzuru gave him a weird look, before adjusting himself in his own seat. Javier noticed he had taken one of his earphones out, but his reflection on the bus’s window showed that the other one was still set in his ear.
“You talk in your sleep,” was all Yuzuru replied.
Javier smiled, stretching his back. “So I’ve been told,” he said. Miki found it endearing. Courtney used to slap him awake with a pillow. “Said anything interesting?”
Yuzuru took a second before answering. “It was a dream, I think.”
“Was it?” Javier chuckled. He was a bit cold, so he adjusted his hoodie, pulling the hood over his head. “I never remember much about my dreams. When I do, they never make any sense.”
“No, it had sense,” Yuzuru said, like he tried to recall. “You said…” Javier leaned in, interested, wanting to catch more of Yuzuru’s barely audible whispers. “Ah! Yuzu, I give up the 99, you are true winner, forever –”
Javier shoved him with his shoulder. “Oh, stop it.” And Yuzuru was laughing, pushing him back. “I never said that, and I never will.”
“You said!”
“In your dreams, maybe.”
The entire Cricket’s Club team obsession lately was this stupid card game called 99. It was a matter of pure luck – but Yuzuru kept beating everyone, against all reasonable odds. And Javier kept losing, which was very amusing at first, especially to Nam and Gabrielle, but was kind of driving him crazy by now.
Yuzuru just nodded, satisfied with his joke, and glanced back down at his hands, where his earphone lay. Javier stared at the soft cut of his profile for a while.
“But really,” he then asked, “do you dream at all?”
Yuzuru nodded, after a second. “Oh, I dream, yes.” He paused. “Very real.”
“With, like, people and stuff?”
“Yes. Situations, the day.”
“I see,” Javier said.
“Brian is there many times. Abe-sensei, sometimes.” Yuzuru gave him a side glance. “You, too.”
Javier raised an eyebrow, feeling the smile creeping back on his face. “Me?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes, uh. Last night?”
Yuzuru stared at him blankly, then shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Liar,” Javier teased. “You said you remembered your dreams.”
“I don't.”
Javier titled his head, exaggeratedly. “Were we alone?”
“I say, I don’t know.”
Javier titled his head even more, in a ridiculous position – to try and catch Yuzuru’s fleeing gaze. “Was it a sex thing?”
“Stop. No.”
“It was, dios mio.”
“I said, no!” Yuzuru was looking right at him now, spark of irritation in his eyes. “It was a competition, only.” His tone was curt. “And not just you. Many people.”
Javier sat back on his own seat. “No need to get angry,” he sighed, closing his eyes again. “You made it sound top secret.”
“No,” Yuzuru simply said, and stiffly put back his earphones in his ear.
Javier opened an eye to peek at him.
“Did I win? In your dream competition?”
Yuzuru was staring through the window, into the pitch black night. “No.”
Javier sighed to cover up a smile, and closed back his eyes.
“Of course not.”
20XX.
A terrible, terrible noise woke him up in the morning. Javier sat up in bed in an instant, in a hazed panic.
The water, Rosa’s voice seemed to say in his mind. The water.
Javier pressed his face in both his hands. It was only the water running. It still took a few seconds to calm his racing heart.
When he blinked away the haze, he could take a better look at his surroundings. Remember where he was.
In the masters’ bedroom, at the summer house. Light was flooding in; he’d forgotten to close the blinds last night. There was a mirror on the left-hand side of the room and a chest of drawers under it. The drawers, full. A dried rose bouquet laid atop of it. Javier’s own clothes were on the floor.
From the bathroom, water was still running.
Yuzuru, Brian’s voice resonated in Javier’s head now.
Yuzuru, he agreed back. Priorities.
When the man in question came down, half an hour later, hair still wet and bags puffy under his eyes, Javier was already making coffee in the kitchen. Yuzuru stilled when he saw him.
Javier summoned a tired smile. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Yuzuru replied, hand still gripping the stair railing. “You’re here.” Then, as his hand dropped to his side: “I woke you.”
Javier made a face, shook his head. “You didn’t,” he lied.
Yuzuru didn’t seem to buy it, but walked nonetheless to Javier and to the coffee cup he was holding out for him to grab.
He brought it to his chin, but didn’t take a sip. “A morning man, now?”
The cup was concealing the slight taunt of his tone, curving his lip. Javier snickered.
“People change,” he said, and Yuzuru hummed.
He was glad Yuzuru seemed to be in a mood good enough for teasing. This was their default. There wasn’t much you could tell yet of the great distress Brian had implied he was in – and honestly, Javier felt kind of relieved about it.
“I fell asleep yesterday,” Yuzuru said, bringing his other hand up to warm up against his cup. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Javier said. “It was kind of funny. Did you sleep fine?”
Yuzuru shrugged. “I woke up at two a.m. But, my fault.”
“Take it easy today,” Javier suggested. “I was thinking of showing you to the village, if you’re feeling up to it. Rosa might come by.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Then at some point, I’ll head back to town, but you’ll always be able to call me from the line phone if you’re in need of anything.”
Yuzuru nodded, looking pensive.
Javier noticed the cup that was still close to his face, but that he hadn’t yet taken a sip of. What was only a suspicion suddenly hit him with a faded, blurry certitude: Yuzuru didn’t drink coffee.
Never had, never did.
And, in typical Yuzuru fashion, never, ever would tell him.
A small flare surged up in Javier – embarrassment, at himself. He couldn’t seem to look at anything else but the cup, full, in Yuzuru’s hands. Wanting to take it away from him, not yet having a reason to – except for this vague feeling, without explicit confirmation.
Yuzuru seemed to take notice, because he, too, glanced down at his cup.
“It’s not too hot anymore,” Javier said, neutral. He wasn’t sure why – to test his memory, maybe ?
“Oh,” Yuzuru said. “Okay.”
Still didn’t take a sip.
“You don’t want it, do you?” Javier asked.
Yuzuru shook his head, eyebrows frowned. “I do.”
Javier kept quiet, staring right at him.
Yuzuru slowly brought the cup to his lips. Took a microscopic sip, under Javier’s insistent stare. Showed no expression whatsoever.
Then, as Javier kept looking at him, waiting, came a toneless : “You have sugar?”
Javier repressed a sigh. He turned to search through his cupboards, trying to find some, along with herbal tea. Natalia always used to drink some, he could swear they still had some, somewhere – there.
He set both the sugar and the box of green tea on the counter, right next to Yuzuru – who’d barely moved an inch.
They stared at each other.
And Javier felt… silly. Yuzuru looked like a deer in headlights, and suddenly, Javier couldn’t stand the sorry sight anymore. He grabbed the wand lighter from the counter, without reason. Almost dropped it.
“I’ll, uh,” he mumbled. “I’ll show you how the stove works, if – when you’ll want to boil water for yourself.”
And after a few seconds, as Javier awkwardly fumbled with the lighter and the gas, Yuzuru came closer to watch, quiet.
It was silly – because Javier knew how Yuzuru was. He couldn’t resent him for being picky, nor being polite. That was just the way Yuzuru was.
Javier had watched him through endless potlucks and celebratory cakes, barely taking a bite out of the plate someone put in his hands, ending up carrying it around all night. Leaving for washroom trips and coming back with significant progress on his drink. Smiling and nodding enthusiastically when asked if the food was good.
He guessed he just wished Yuzuru would feel like he felt back then – familiar enough to share a laugh about it, maybe. A conniving smile from the other side of a room. To subtly hand Javier out his uneaten portion of “Tracy’s famous” macaroni salad. Instead, Yuzuru was accepting coffee he wouldn’t drink at six a.m. in Javier’s own kitchen.
It was unfair – change. But so were a lot of things.
Yuzuru sat at the table, extra, extra-sugared coffee next to him, half-heartedly munching on a banana, and Javier knew the moment had passed. He shouldn’t linger on it.
He left to take his own shower, and spared a last glance at Yuzuru’s empty gaze – and full cup, still. Unbothered by it, it seemed. His attention seemed set on the wind, through the window, moving the fields.
In the shower, the noise the pipes emitted was strong enough to drown away any of these thoughts.
They drove to the village after Javier’s shower.
It could be done by foot, but the return was steep, and Javier wasn’t feeling up for it. They went to the only grocery store, a tiny, pitiful thing, and Yuzuru grabbed a big bag of white rice.
“I don’t have a rice cooker”, Javier warned him, and Yuzuru put the bag back. “But I’ll buy one,” Javier then said, and Yuzuru picked the bag back up.
At the counter, an old man buying cigars small-talked with them. Yuzuru seemed a bit wary, frowning when he picked up on Javier’s patinaje artistico amidst the fast-spoken Spanish, but then the middle-aged lady behind the counter said, oh, didn’t a girl in Spain win something sometime, and the old man said, no, Spain won something in ski, and then the lady said, wasn’t it snowboard, then the old man said how am I supposed to know, and Javier and Yuzuru left, grocery bags full, a blinking Yuzuru by Javier’s side.
They left the windows of the car open on the way back. The radio was playing a slightly whiny tune, whose guitar rhythm had Javier tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.
Yuzuru’s folded arm was resting over the window’s edge. His chin and mouth were buried in the fold of his elbow, looking out. Javier couldn’t see his face. Just the back of his head, hair dancing in the wind.
They passed field after field after field.
“It gets a bit boring,” Javier felt the need to warn him, and regretted it right away.
Yuzuru turned back to him. “Boring?”
“Well, you know. It’s –” Javier couldn’t find the word. Far. Quiet. Repetitive – but it was what Yuzuru needed right now, after all. He didn’t want to sound judgemental. “Peaceful,” he set on.
Yuzuru chuckled, a single breath, and it took Javier by surprise.
“Peace is boring,” he said, amused, setting his chin back in the creak of his elbow. “You think, now?”
There was this way Yuzuru had of saying that sentence, always had, with the missing so, that made it sound like Javier just – didn’t think, in general. And as insulting as it sounded – it was familiar, a familiar wording, buried and almost forgotten, but familiar, and Javier felt himself smile.
“I think, now,” Javier repeated, light and easy. Amused, for a different reason than Yuzuru’s. It didn’t matter.
Yuzuru only hummed. The fields kept rolling by the window.
2012.
Yuzuru had barely just arrived in Toronto when David’s car had stalled on the way to morning practice, so he wouldn’t make it on time for practice. One of those awfully early choreography touch up sessions, tragically delayed – Javier wasn’t about to cry about it.
“What should we do?” Nam had asked, poking at the ice with the tip of his blade.
He still had his jacket on. His fingers were shuffling with the zipper, as if unsure whether to take it off or not.
Javier hadn’t even taken his hat off his head. He leaned on the rink band, warming up his gloved hands on his coffee cup, still full. He meant to answer Nam, but a big yawn took over him instead.
“I think,” Yuzuru started. Both Javier and him turned to him right away, because hearing him speak English to them was still a new thing. “We challenge.”
In the quiet of the empty rink, Javier and Nam stared at him.
Yuzuru was poking at one of his cloves, but he was already all warmed up, cheeks a little flushed. The lines scarring the pristine white ice were all from his blades.
“Challenge what?” Nam asked.
Yuzuru shrugged, in a way that lacked so much fluidity it seemed almost rehearsed. “Like, race.”
Javier chuckled, and Nam joined in. They both stopped as they noticed the seriousness in Yuzuru’s gaze, unmoving. Intent.
“Brian would kill us,” Nam objected.
A bit of an exaggeration. Although, it was true that Brian discouraged most injury-opportune activities, especially before the season’s start. Cockfights, as he called them.
“Didn’t know that was your kind of thing,” Javier said, still looking at Yuzuru. There might have been teasing in his tone – he couldn’t recall. “Got something you’d like to show us?”
“I don’t have anything to prove,” Nam chipped in. “I’d crush you both any day, if it wasn’t for my knee.”
They all glanced down at his right leg, sturdy on its blade. A three-months old injury that had gotten him off the ice for – what was it, two days ?
“Ah, yes. Injury.” Yuzuru hummed, like he was really reconsidering. A silence that appeared full of sympathy. “I think,” he said. “Afraid.”
Javier snorted into the sip of coffee he was taking, as Nam’s mouth gaped open.
“Afraid,” Nam said, taking off his jacket. So easily provoked. Yuzuru was already skating away, backwards, grinning. “My ass. I’ll show you afraid.” Then, as he threw his jacket over the board, next to Javier: “Coming, Javi?”
Yuzuru was already at the other end of the rink. Javier’s fingers caressed the paper of his cup.
“I’ll watch,” he said.
“Boo,” Nam said, turning his back on him. “Come on, Yuzu.”
“Just two?” Javier heard Yuzuru call over to Nam, while looking at Javier.
“Don’t mind him.”
Their gaze met for a second, and Javier smiled at Yuzuru. Yuzuru didn’t smile back.
“Tsuma’nai, ne.” he only said.
And as Nam got unsurprisingly obliterated by the sheer meteor speed Yuzuru already had in him, Javier pulled out his phone to type the word in his translation app.
He didn’t know what he expected. Too bad, maybe. Or, next time. Something like that.
But Nam was screaming his lungs off about how a false start was at fault for his loss, and Javier’s screen displayed the following:
Tsumaranai –
Boring.
20XX.
When they got back to the house, Rosa was already there. She watched them from the kitchen’s window, as they carried the bags under the late morning sun. She helped them empty their contents on the table and smelled the tomatoes they had picked with an air of disapproval.
“Oh, Martin fixed your chair, Javi,” she informed him, walking towards the door, knit in hand.
Javier frowned, hands busy with rinsing the vegetables. “I told you I’d buy a new one.”
“Why buy when you can fix?” Rosa said. “Martin agrees,” she added, before walking out to sit on it on the porch.
The door closed on its own, and Javier sighed, muttering an irritated Martin under his breath.
Yuzuru was snipping away the stems of green beans like Rosa had asked of him.
“Martin is who?” he asked.
“Rosa’s grandson,” Javier explained. “Or so she says.”
“She says?”
“I’ve never seen the guy. Really, I believe he’s just her alter-ego to justify doing dangerous stuff.” He turned to mimic Rosa’s deep, serious voice. “Don’t worry, Javier, I didn’t cut the firewood, Martin did… I didn’t climb up the olive tree, Martin did. I didn’t mow your entire lawn on the warmest day of the year – you get it. Awfully productive, for a guy who doesn’t exist.”
Yuzuru nodded, concentrating back on his beans.
They ate casserole for lunch, and Javier spent a while translating back and forth a patchy conversation about movies on plane rides between Rosa and Yuzuru. After doing the dishes, he suggested showing Yuzuru the path up to civilization – meaning where you could get data, up the hill, past Rosa’s house.
“It’s a bit of a hike,” he turned around to tell Yuzuru, wiping the sweat already dripping on his forehead.
They were only about halfway up the grassy hill in question, and Javier felt out of breath; Yuzuru looked properly green. The jetlag and the midday heat probably weren’t the best conditions for this endeavor, especially for a man who’d been prescribed strict rest.
However, as they arrived on top and turned past the rock formation signaling the end of their journey, a welcoming gust of wind hit them.
“There,” Javier breathed.
He let Yuzuru take in the view.
Dragonflies raised and flew all around. Down the other side, there was a wide lake, green-brown in color, surrounded by mountains of mid-range height. The barren cliffsides looked orange under the sun. The wind was warm, making the tall grass around Javier and Yuzuru dance, carrying the sound of cicadas.
Javier was already on his phone, reading his messages. Two from Maryko, to which he replied right away, apologizing. One from a dating application, which he ignored. One from Brian, asking him for updates.
Javier glanced at Yuzuru, still looking at the lake down below. Package delivered, he replied to Brian.
He then tried to open his work email inbox, which was overflowing with invoices about the camp – but his fingers hovered against the Safari app instead. He looked at Yuzuru once more, who didn’t seem like he cared to take out his phone and write to anyone. He was still looking at view. Javier wondered if he had even bought an international SIM card.
It would be so easy – to put his phone down, and ask him how he felt. Ask him if heartbreak had the same taste after an arranged marriage as it did after plans for a real one.
But a dragonfly flew so close to Yuzuru’s hair that it startled him, and he turned to look straight into Javier’s eyes –
gasping, a surprised, breathy thing
the dragonfly flew away
and Javier looked back at his emails.
He really needed to get back to the city.
Back in Madrid
Maryko let out a heavy sigh as she sat down next to him at the desk they shared in the coaches’ room. Javier glanced up from his pile of paperwork to find her with her head in her hands, fingers dug deep in the overgrown roots of her hair.
He looked at the clock.
“Andrea?” he guessed.
“Madre mia,” Maryko simply replied.
Javier snorted, as he dated and signed another receipt. To his side, Maryko sat back up in her chair, sighing again, rubbing at her forehead.
There was a big window in their office, giving view to the indoor rink two floors below where a couple of lone figures could still be seen practicing drills.
When Javier first saw the Palacio del Hielo’s facilities, he thought the whole thing strangely reminiscent of the Cricket’s Club premises. He could almost see Brian and Tracy sitting in their respective spots, and he could almost feel the thrill or terror that preceded their praise or scolding after practice.
Crazy – how time tended to loop.
“That child is going to make me suffer until the very end,” Maryko mumbled.
Maryko’s own desk wasn’t filled with the piles of documents Javier’s was – she was a full-time coach, and couldn’t afford to let things pile up.
“Still fighting over the Snowball event’s music?” Javier asked.
“That is not music, Javi, do not call it music. It is noise.”
Javier smiled, still scribbling signatures.
“What on earth does a Latina need to skate to South Korean songs for?” Maryko whined. “The fact that no one understands the lyrics doesn’t make them any more intelligent.”
Javier snorted. His pen hovered over the paper for a moment.
Andrea was one of the students Maryko had been coaching the longest, and like most of them, Javier had literally seen her grow over the years. He found he had become quite fond of them – both the skaters and Maryko – and that he missed them when they went away for competitions. They brought life to the day-to-day. Their fair share of drama, too.
“I have an idea.” Maryko sat back straight on her chair, like it just sprung up on her, even if Javier well knew it was always at the back of her mind. “Why don’t you talk about it with her? She’ll listen if –”
“Nuh-uh,” said Javier.
“But –”
“Not her coach, Mary,” he said. They had had this conversation multiple times over. “And besides, if I had to choose, you know I’d pick Andrea's side on this. You should let her have fun.”
“Have fun! She was thirteen and asking to skate to Taki Taki already. Did you ever have to sit down and explain to a thirteen year old what takitaki actually meant?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Well,” Maryko crossed her arms, “you don’t know about fun.”
Javier only shrugged, admitting defeat easily, and Maryko blew air through her lips.
“Fine. I’ll go ask Pedro,” she then said, finding resolve and getting out of her chair. And just like that – as fast as she had walked in, she was gone.
Her chair was still spinning, like a remnant of a passing tornado.
Looking at her, and at every other year-round coach that shared the Palacio de Hielo office room with him, Javier got confirmation time and time again that he could never handle the life they led. The few sessions he taught per year and the intensive camps he held already had him look with worry at his hairline in the mirror every morning.
Brian had been in touch with him every day since he got back from the house. A true coach’s devotion – not only taking care of all of his current students, but making sure to never forget his past ones as well.
When Brian had called to ask about Yuzuru’s arrival, Javier had been more than happy to give him reassurance.
“I think he’s doing great,” he had said, with honesty. “It’s true. No depression in sight. The sun cured him,” he said, “like a ham.”
“I really doubt that,” Brian had said, from the other side of the line. He wasn’t picking up on Javier’s humour, as always. “Please make sure you keep an eye on him.”
“I have more than an eye,” Javier had argued, juggling the phone between his cheek and his shoulder to grab another pile of papers from the end of his desk. “I have a whole person looking out for him.”
“You mean your senile neighbor?”
“She’s not –”
“The ninety year old with the fake son?”
“Well –”
“Javi,” Brian had begged. “Please.”
Javier put down the papers he was holding to steady his grip on his phone. “I said, don’t worry,” he repeated, more seriously, trying to appease Brian to the best of his ability. “He’s fine, I swear. He was talking, he was laughing –” he sped up before Brian could interrupt him, “and I’m going back on Friday to spend a couple days with him. Happy?”
Brian grunted, half-heartedly. “All right. Keep in touch,” he said, before they hung up.
And Javier hadn’t been lying – Yuzuru had seemed fine.
If what it was he needed was rest, he had no better conditions to do so. If what he needed was peace and quiet – well... Javier didn’t understand why Brian was so adamant in having Javier share the same space as him.
Because that’s what it was.
He hadn’t been lying – Yuzuru had seemed normal. But in the unique sense of normalcy Javier and Yuzuru shared, which was hard to explain.
Things were normal if “normal” was the way they had interacted with each other in their last two years of training together. Which meant: things were normal if not asking questions was normal. Things were normal if staying a bit on your guard was normal; if giving the other a lot more space than necessary was normal. Things were normal if being able to stay in the other’s presence for hours on end without saying anything of depth or significance was normal.
However, things weren’t normal in the way “normal” had been straight after the Free Skate at PyeongChang, or during most Ice Show seasons. Nor in the way “normal” had been before Javier’s second Worlds title. That was a completely different normal altogether.
But Javier guessed things also weren’t “normal” like they had been since he retired from competition either – that is, never texting, two months' delay in replies to a shared groupchat, an awkward phone call here and there to apologize for saying dumb shit on live TV, and so on.
So, truly, Javier had no credentials to judge the level of normalcy Yuzuru Hanyu was expected to maintain in order to be considered fine.
He had a house to offer. That was it. The rest was out of his hands.
On his way out of the Palacio de Hielo, he noticed a tiny silhouette, sitting down on the sidewalk by the parking lot. Crunched up, looking at her phone, listening to TikToks at full volume.
Javier shoved his car keys in the pockets of his Spanish Federation jacket. He looked at her for a bit, thinking.
Then he took a step forward.
“You should give Maryko some rest,” he said, from behind her. “She’s been going around the whole facility looking for someone to convince you to change your music.”
Andrea’s big, overdrawn in kohl, and mean eyes looked up to him.
“That’s on her,” she mumbled, looking back down at her screen. “I don’t even want to go on this stupid tour. She’s the one having me skate around Siberia in the middle of the season.”
“So you can train for another year without having to sell your organs,” Javier argued.
“Whatever.” Andrea closed her phone screen and shoved it in her pocket. “I’ve been listening to Rachmaninoff everyday for five months straight. If I have to do it for another second, I’d rather be kidney-less.”
Javier tried to conceal his smile. “Surely there’s a middle ground to be found somewhere.”
Andrea sighed, a big, dramatic thing, before zipping her own jacket up. “No, not while she’s trying to sell me off to the Gulag. I won’t go down without a fight.”
Javier stared at her for a second, before dropping his bag off his shoulder, on the pavement.
“Is that what you think is happening?” he asked.
“It’s not even a question.” She gave him a side glance as he sat down next to her. “Everyone knows it. You don’t have to play dumb.”
“I’m not,” Javier said. “I don’t think Maryko’s trying to get rid of you. But you have been very vocal about hating it here, and your mom –”
“My mom’s out of her mind,” Andrea rolled her eyes.
Javier couldn’t argue with that. “Yeah, well.”
They stayed in silence for a while, as the cars passed the Calle de Silvano in front of them. Javier wished he had any bit of wisdom to share, but he never had a teenage rebellious phase. He’d made like all good title-winning seniors and repressed himself into a nice ticking bomb, ready to be unleashed into a neat existential crisis straight after retirement.
“For whatever it’s worth,” he settled on, “I do think ice shows are supposed to be fun, and not another drilling camp for your season’s programs. You’re right to want to catch a break. But,” he bent his neck down to try to catch her gaze, “don’t give up on the experience out of spite, because I guarantee it’ll be a great time. You’ll make lots of nice friends.”
“With all the Sambo-70 clones,” Andrea nodded, curtly. “Looking forward to it.”
“You never know,” Javier shrugged.
“At least maybe I’ll learn new, fancy Russian ways to make myself throw up. My mom’s going to be over the moon.”
Javier shook his head, trying hard to look disapproving. “Don’t joke about those things.” The kid’s repartee always amused him, even if she used it to say the most terrible things.
Andrea rolled her eyes again, and held her knees with her arms. “I don’t need to be friends with those girls,” she mumbled. “I need to crush them.”
“You can do both,” Javier argued. “Try and take it slow. You have a long season ahead of you.”
He tried to reach for the top of her braided head and pat it, but she dogged his hand with the swiftness of habit. “Whatever. If I die of hypothermia in Russia, then at least I’ll have an excuse not to make it back here.”
Javier snorted. “See,” he grabbed his bag and raised himself back up. “Always a silver lining.”
Pulling in the parking lot, a bright green rental car was coming towards them. Andrea shoved her hands back into her pockets.
“There’s your mom,” Javier said, even though she was aware of it. “Vale, see you next week.”
“Vale,” she replied.
Javier raised a hand in salute to the figure inside the car, but didn’t linger any longer to greet her properly.
He had a bit of a drive ahead of him.
2016.
Ice shows were always quite the ride. The release people experienced was proportional to the restraint they showcased during the season.
That meant it was a fun month for Javier, but nothing drastically out of character.
It also meant that when he’d hear Yuzuru sing his lungs off to a karaoke song whose lyrics he didn’t know, he was the least surprised person in the room.
“I’d kill to train at the Cricket Club,” a drunken Misha once shouted in Javier’s ear, over the sound of Yuzuru and one of the Shibutani twins attempting a duet. “It must be so great. You guys are so much fun.”
“Mh-hm,” Javier said, half paying attention.
His focus was on his phone, where about a dozen messages from his girlfriend were currently dancing in front of his eyes. Too blurry to read.
“You wouldn’t happen to have Yuzu’s LINE contact on there, would you?” Misha was still talking to him. “He said he didn’t have LINE when I asked, but I’ve seen you guys texting on the bus, and I wonder if –”
Miki’s smiling picture popped up on his screen as his phone vibrated in his hand. “It’s, uh… a work thing.”
“You mean your girlfriend?”
“No, I mean – LINE.” Javier rubbed his forehead. “Yuzu. We just use it for the team.”
“See – I get that, but why tell me he didn’t have it, then? I think, if you could just give me his contact –”
Alex Shibutani’s next note was so high it covered up whatever point Misha was trying to get across, and made Javier glance up at the stage to make sure Maia Shibutani hadn’t traded places with her brother. The room, filled with drunken skaters, cheered in deafening applause.
Yuzuru was folded over in half with laughter. The hand he held Alex’s arm with seemed to be the only thing preventing him from falling.
Don’t go breaking my, the backing vocals were still going, don’t go breaking my –
Alex flexed his tree trunk of an arm to raise Yuzuru back up like a flick of the wrist, and, still laughing, Yuzuru shakily kept up with his part of the duet.
“I won’t go breaking your heart –”
The mic was distressingly close to his mouth, and Alex’s arm was now fully wrapped around his shoulders. Javier felt a vague nausea rising – he needed to get out.
Next thing he knew, he was in a taxi, and its smell of leather was overwhelming.
“Can we open a window?” Javier asked, his voice small and pitiful.
“Are you going to throw up?” Nam’s voice replied, as if from very far away. “God, he’s about to throw up.”
“I’m not about to –” Javier opened his eyes to see Nam’s concerned face from the passenger seat, looking back at him. Night lights were running across his features as if the taxi was going thousands of miles per hour. Javier closed his eyes again. “– throw up.”
He could feel a hand on his thigh, pressing. From beside him, Yuzuru leaned over, so close, to open Javier’s window for him.
At last, the wind.
“Oh,” Javier said. “Gracias. I’m –” A wave of hopelessness hit him. “I’m so sorry I ruined the night.”
“You’re the worst type of drunk, I swear,” he heard Nam complain. “Always ending up crying about something.”
Javier was about to argue, but the wind on his face was making him realize the top of his cheeks was indeed wet.
The phone in his pocket, buzzing all night long, was still and silent now. A black screen, with a spider's web from being dropped on the floor of the bar. And his eyes were stinging again.
“And Miki –”
“We know,” Yuzuru said, quietly.
“She hates when I’m out – it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong –”
“We know,” Yuzuru repeated.
Javier sniffed. “Sorry.” Alcohol had a tendency to make him repeat himself.
“Don’t cry,” Nam warned him. “We’re almost there.”
“It’s just. If there was something I could say to her – I mean, I can say anything and everything and, then, it’s nothing to her –”
“There,” Yuzuru’s face was right in front of him, and it stopped Javier’s rambling right in its tracks. “Shouganai, ne.”
Confused, he quietly watched Yuzuru bring up his own sleeve, pulled over his hand, to Javier’s face – and pat it dry, softly.
The streetlights seemed to slow down a little.
Whatever Yuzuru saw on Javier’s face, he didn’t seem to like. “If you vomit on me, I never speak to you again,” he told him, deadpan.
The tears welled up in Javier’s eyes again against his will.
"Whatever," he heard himself say, petulant and pathetic. "You don't speak to me as it is –"
“Okay,” Nam’s voice was trying to cut him off. “Okay, stop that, no fighting –”
The tears were full-on back by that point. Yuzuru had retracted back to his own seat, arms crossed –
And Tokyo’s purple lights were spinning –
The taxi’s radio was humming a city pop melody, barely audible.
Javier couldn’t understand a word.
20XX.
When Javier slowed into the lane of his house, he repressed the nostalgia that threatened to flow in and submerge his head.
There was no one in the car with him, no laughter and delight at the sight of the house. No hopeful visions of the future inspired by it. No Bee Gees song playing in the speakers – Nat's favorite, even though she couldn’t pronounce half the words – and no need to lower the volume because she liked the risk of becoming deaf before turning forty.
That was perhaps a part of why he avoided coming back to this place.
It was pitch black outside, and the car’s lights were illuminating the thousands of bugs that flew away from the tall grass; white dots vanishing away into the night.
Inside the house, lights were still on.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Javier said, dropping his bags by the door.
Yuzuru was standing by the kitchen counter, wearing one of the outfits Javier was used to seeing him in — baggy and gray, looking like it came straight out of 2003. As if he hadn’t changed his wardrobe since their training days. As if the fashionable appearances in the media he sometimes had made since then were just — staged. They probably were.
Yuzuru shrugged, bony and awkward. “I was not sleeping.”
“How’s that been?” Javier asked, taking out his jacket, noticing Yuzuru hadn’t left any piece of clothing on the coat hangers. “The jet lag, I mean.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’ve been sleeping fine?”
“Hm,” Yuzuru replied, non-committal.
They stared at each other, before averting their gaze, and looking back at each other again. The silence stretched a bit too long for Javier’s comfort while he searched for something of pertinence to break it.
“You should go rest,” he settled on. “I’ll unpack. But I’ll keep it quiet, don’t worry.”
Yuzuru nodded, uncrossing his arms to scratch at his cheek, as if he was relieved to get a chance to get away. “Yes.”
And Javier waved him goodbye, lips tight, as he watched him go up the creaky staircase.
Only when Yuzuru was gone, Javier dared a glimpse around.
The house was…
Well, in the exact same condition it had been five days ago. Had Javier looked for any signs of someone inhabiting the grounds during the past week – he would not have found them.
The half-emptied picture frames still awkwardly rested on the wall, crooked in the haste Javier had put them back in.
Javier’s hiking shoes were still on the carpet by the door, laces still tied. They were the same way he had left them after their walk up the mountain to get data. No other shoes rested beside them.
The plastic bags Javier had forgotten on the kitchen counter were still there, with a lone onion peel inside it from when they unpacked the groceries.
With a little bit of concern, Javier opened the refrigerator, and surely enough – found that most of the food they had bought the previous Tuesday hadn’t been touched. He stared at its content for a while, hand on the opened door.
After inspection, he threw away some of the meat, and the wilted leafy greens that were becoming mushy in their packaging.
As he went to bed, he decided he wouldn’t mention it. Not to Yuzuru, who didn’t need to feel scrutinized as he was going through whatever it was that needed to be processed. And especially not to Brian.
But he’d make an effort to cook tomorrow. Freeze a couple of portions, maybe, easier to microwave.
It ended up being one the longest weekends of Javier’s life.
There was a lot of silence. When they did speak, it was almost exclusively in platitudes.
A lot of eating alone, because Yuzuru said he would come down but consistently seemed to forget. A lot of saving plates for him that would just end up sitting under a plastic wrap in the fridge until the next day.
“Are you feeling a bit better?” Javier asked him every time he got the chance, every time he caught a glimpse of a smile on his guest’s lips.
“Yes,” Yuzuru answered, without fail.
A lot of long, interminable showers, which made Javier wonder if Yuzuru hadn’t fainted in the steam and died there, in Javier’s very own guest bathroom. Then the relief to see him get out, and the inevitable concern that followed once he went straight into his room again.
A lot of wishing he had brought more work over so he could keep busy instead of facing all that absence.
“Do you want to go for a drive?” he asked Yuzuru on Sunday morning, because it was sunny and warm and because at least while doing it they could put some music on. “The sea’s not too far.”
“Oh,” Yuzuru said.
He was sitting on the couch under the window, playing with a thread of his pants, looking like he was really thinking about Javier’s offer.
After a few seconds of it, Javier understood. “It doesn’t have to be today.”
“Mmh,” Yuzuru nodded, looking back at him. “Maybe another day.”
“Sure,” Javier said. “Whenever.”
Rosa’s visit came like a breath of fresh air.
“I just don’t know what he does all day,” Javier told her, in fast, hushed Spanish, as she sat on the front deck. Yuzuru was still inside. “He must be going mad.”
“He looks through the window a lot,” Rosa answered. “Every time I visit, it’s where he is.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know. Thinking, maybe.”
It seemed so unlikely. As far as Javier recalled, Yuzuru always needed something to be absorbed in. Music, games, skating – it needed to be complex and sturdy enough to hold up to the entire weight of his focus. A hundred percent, always.
Unnecessary thoughts couldn’t occur – they had no way in.
“Thinking about what?”
“I don’t know.” Rosa repeated, looking up. “You know him better than I do.”
But Javier didn’t know anything about this Yuzuru, sitting in his living room.
He had never met a version of Yuzuru that wasn’t a freight train. And he had no idea how to start the engines back up.
Didn’t even know if it was what Yuzuru needed, or even wanted. He imagined that this was what Brian had expected from him – to bring some kind of drive back into Yuzuru, like Yuzuru had done for Javier at the start of nearly every practice post-Sochi. But the end goal had been clear then. There was something to strive towards.
Everything was so always so clear when you were competing. The next step, the next milestone – so tangible.
Now, Javier felt like he had been dropped into an entirely foreign territory with no map and no idea what he even was supposed to look for.
He’d gladly help if he knew what kind of help he needed to provide. There was no recipe for finding purpose after retiring. If there was, Javier hadn’t been informed. And he would still gladly ask to peek at it.
“I just – I wish I knew what he needed,” Javier admitted, and it felt good to put words on it.
Rosa hummed. “Maybe you don’t need to know.” The click of her crocheting was steady as ever. “Some things, we just need a friend to sit with, even if we don’t understand fully.”
2017.
Most of what Javier remembered of that one post-gala party was a blur.
There was fast, hushed-spoken Japanese all around him between every round of speeches. He couldn’t catch a word of what was being said, but he made an effort to laugh, or smile, at least, at the same time as everyone else.
“And now,” a lady on the makeshift stage announced, “let’s all thank the sponsors of our event –”
Contrary to popular belief, the majority of those post-competition events were quite boring. It implied sitting through different representatives of different federations’ interminable speeches. Taking a lot of pictures, with everyone dressed up as normal people for once, and shaking a lot of hands. Waiting far too long to eat a lukewarm, unseasoned dinner.
And for people from small federations, like Javier – it was a lot of waiting for it all to be over so that the fun could begin.
The alcohol at dinner helped a little. It drowned away the stress of meeting all these important people and the awkwardness of having to socialize with some of your closest competitors, many of whom didn’t speak the same language as you, for an entire night, in the very middle of a season.
Shoma Uno was talking about something, in that low, bored voice of his, when Yuzuru’s reply came, and elicited a round of laughter at the table. Javier wished he could have caught what it meant, but met Yuzuru’s gaze instead.
“Eto,” Yuzuru bend over the space between their chairs to try to translate for him. His hand was making circles in the air as he searched for his words. “It’s, ano, like the disco ball, on the shirt.”
That could make sense, if Javier didn’t lack every single bit of possible context.
“Whose shirt?” he asked.
“No,” Yuzuru shook his head. “No shirt. Just, like, the disco ball.” He mimed a sphere, shining, with his hands. “Hmm, disco ball. You know?”
“Hm,” Javier blinked. “Yeah, well, I know what a disco ball is.”
“Yeah,” Yuzuru said, relieved, smile back on his lips like he expected Javier to get the joke now. “On the shirt. You know.”
Everyone at the table was looking at them, smiling and expectant, waiting for Javier to laugh.
“Oh,” Javier forced out. “Okay, yeah, just like a disco ball.”
And the entire Japanese’s skating team giggled in turn with him, probably glad that they could move on. But Yuzuru smiled at him, and Javier smiled back.
At most events, he ended up shoved on a chair at what was called the “Others’” table. The “Others” were skaters that weren’t from the Big Five, Canada-America-Russia-China-Japan, and therefore weren’t numerous enough to fill a round table on their own.
Some events, Javier was literally the only skater in that category.
It was kind of funny. Americans loved to have him, but for this specific competition, the Shibutani siblings hadn’t qualified, so nobody had come in advance to ask him to sit with them. Yuzuru, ever so polite, had suggested he sat at the Japan team’s table instead, and Javier couldn’t decline.
Most of the night was spent actively trying to follow what was going on around him, and, incidentally, practicing his very rudimentary Japanese. Luckily, the crowd was easy to please. He guessed it was the effort that mattered, because there was nothing in his mispronounced sentences that were remotely jouzu, but he still found himself grateful for what Miki had taught him. She might have dumped him in the middle of the pre-Olympics season, but her legacy would live on, in all the mediocre small talk Javier could now proudly utter.
Around when dessert came out, an old man in a suit with a tiny, golden flag of Japan pinned on it came to tap at Yuzuru’s shoulder. His presence was required somewhere, and Yuzuru left the table having taken just one bite out of his strawberry shortcake.
Mai and Wakaba were very quick to fill his empty seat. Before Javier could blink, Wakaba sat right next to him, and Mai rested her hands on the back of her chair.
“Oh,” Javier said, bringing a hand to his mouth. It was still full with the bite of his own shortcake he had just taken. “Hey there.” Embarrassing.
The lights had dimmed out progressively during the dinner, and people were starting to move chairs and tables around to make space for the dance party. Shoma, like some, had already disappeared.
Wakaba had her phone in hand, showing Javier a webpage written in full kanji, with no English in sight. “Javier-san saw this?” she asked, accent thick.
Javier blinked at the indecipherable characters. “Uh, sorry.”
Mai brought her hand to her friends’ phone to scroll up the page a little. A picture of Yuzuru, wearing an ill-fitted suit akin to the one he was wearing tonight, was next to a picture of some Japanese girl. The two pictures were clearly not taken at the same time and place.
“What is this?” Javier asked, swallowing down his cake.
“Girlfriend,” Wakaba replied. “You know?”
He tilted his head, unsure of what answer was expected of him. “Uh,” he said again. “I don’t.”
“Everyone in Japan talk about,” Mai said. They both stared at him, and Javier looked back at the screen.
“I don’t know,” Javier repeated, feeling a smile creeping up on his face, despite his best efforts. “I mean, I really don’t think so, but I don’t know.”
The thought of Yuzuru with a girlfriend was quite comedic. Javier had seen his bedroom walls – covered to this day with Johnny Weir posters. But he didn’t want to tell them that.
“High school friend, from Sendai,” Wakaba added. “She told media.”
“Hm,” Javier scratched his neck. “I mean, there’s always something wild going on in the Japanese media.” He looked up to Mai. “It must just be a rumor. You would know better than I do.”
Mai and Wakaba both shook their heads in synch. “No, Jabi-san knows.”
“I don’t, really.” He brought up his glass of lukewarm wine to his lips. “You guys can ask him directly. He’s your friend.”
“But you,” Mai said, eyebrows raised in concern. “You are best friends.”
Javier snorted in his drink, amused. “We’re not,” he said. But when he looked back up to them, and saw that they seemed serious, he brought his glass down. “We’re not,” he repeated, lower.
In the back, music had started playing – staff would come to clear their table soon.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what’s going on in his life.” Javier continued. He meant for his words to be factual, but realized too late his tone had grown a bit defensive. “I mean, friends – sure.” In the way Yuzuru did friendships, sure. “Best friends? That would be –”
And like clockwork, the staff came to kindly ask them if they were done with their meal to clear out the table.
Wakaba and Mai bowed, thanked Javier, and without waiting for the rest of rambling, walked away. He could hear them giggling, under the growing chatter of the crowd, amplified by music.
Best friends.
That would be — incredibly sad. For the both of them.
Javier downed the rest of his wine glass.
2023 – Madrid, summer.
“He’s – what?”
Tracy was seated on his balcony, overlooking Madrid, a glass of white wine in her right hand. Brian was in the air conditioned living room, with Maryko and the other trainers of his summer camp, celebrating two weeks of hard work. The sun was setting, the cloudless sky turning orange, but Javier’s skin was still a little damp with the heat of the day.
Tracy only nodded. “Yes.”
“Married,” Javier repeated.
At his expression, she smiled and shrugged. “Married, yes.”
This felt huge, not a casual fact to be dropped carelessly like a bomb near the end of a dinner party.
An ice cube falling into a glass of hard, scorching liquor. Plop.
“Married.” Javier couldn’t wrap his mind around it. “When? With – who? Did he tell you – how long ago?”
“Last week, I think,” Tracy hummed, taking a sip of her wine. “He told Brian, not me. They’re waiting to make an announcement.”
“He didn’t invite you?”
She shook her head, left to right, but didn’t seem like she was bothered in the least by it. Unlike some people, she always seemed to have this infinite patience for Yuzuru’s mysteries. “He didn’t invite anyone. I think it was a private affair.”
Private was a light word. It almost sounded made-up, the way it sprang out of nowhere.
Granted, Javier had not followed Yuzuru's life in years, receiving news of him though their old coaches like he would an estranged relative. But, still.
He sat back in his chair. “Where did he even find the time?”
Tracy looked at him for a second, before laughing. A melodic, full body laugh that rang in tune with the low chatter of Madrid’s busy streets.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I think the whole thing was done rather quickly. You know how much his dad had been pressing for it.”
Javier hadn’t.
Tracy dropped her gaze to her hand on the table, holding her glass. “I think he’s just glad it’s over with,” she added, quieter.
This, Javier could wrap his mind around. Yuzuru getting married like checking something off his to-do list, so he could now get back to what actually mattered to him without being bothered – this was in character.
Down below, the streetlights were beginning to shine. Cars had their lights on. Over the city roofs, the sky was fading to a grey purple.
“Who is it?” Javier asked.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Tracy looking up at him.
“We don’t know her,” she answered.
Javier nodded. When he looked back at her, she was giving him a sad smile. He felt the need to laugh, without knowing why. He guessed it was a happy thought – marriage. Yuzuru getting married.
Not even a text.
An incredibly happy thought, yes.