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“Well, bonsoir to you too, Juju.” Nicholas says against Euijoo’s lips—breath fanning over the younger’s face, body sandwiched between Euijoo’s slightly taller one and the questionable hotel room door. It’s the only hotel that Euijoo could find in such short notice. He wishes that he could’ve made it a little bit more romantic.
They don’t have time to make small talk and ask about each other’s day. Euijoo knows that Nicholas’ day has been incredible, fantastic, probably the best day of his life after the day he met Euijoo in Seoul five years ago. It’s a different kind of rush, though, and Euijoo knows it and he doesn’t want to waste any second. His phone is going to ring soon and his coach will be on the other end of the line, asking him where he is and when he’s planning to show up for briefing.
So Euijoo places his hand on Nicholas’ hips, gripping ever so slightly to try to ease the pent up frustration inside his body. Kissing his boyfriend behind a locked hotel room door isn’t enough. Their bodies are pressed against each other, his tongue is licking every soft tissue on the inside of Nicholas’ cheeks and he’s grinding his thigh against his boyfriend’s crotch but he doesn’t feel like that’s enough. He wants to be one—devour him, take him, have him all for himself.
How silly of him to think that he can have a record-breaking gold medalist for himself. Maybe he’ll ask Nico if he’s down to exchange his Taiwanese passport for a South Korean one. Could be fun. Even if Nico would be dubbed a traitor after that. Or maybe he should swap his for a Taiwanese one—he hasn’t won gold yet, it’s not too late.
When Euijoo’s hands creep up beneath Nicholas’ tee and he can feel the ridges of his abs underneath his fingers, Nicholas puts his hands against Euijoo’s chest and pushes him back a little. He’s flushed—his cheeks are red, lips slightly swollen and there’s the same hunger in his eyes that Euijoo saw six hours ago when he’s about to win his first gold.
“Woah, you’re eager today,” Nicholas says, breathless.
“It’s not everyday I get to make out with an olympic champion.” Euijoo replies with a smile before leaning down to give a chaste kiss on Nicholas’ lips, more romantic than the make-out session he’s just initiated. “Or you know—fuck one.”
Nicholas laughs. “Hm, did you watch?”
They haven’t talked about it, they haven’t had the time to. Euijoo was stuck in practice all day and when he tried to get away for a couple of hours so he could discreetly walk into where the badminton finals were held, his coach had told him to stay. He didn’t want any external distractions to get his star athlete off his game before the semis. But he watched—he had to. So he told everyone he had a stomach thing and that he needed a break from the stuffy practice room to catch a breather.
When in reality he walked outside of the South Korean dorms and sat down on one of the village benches to watch the livestream. He was a little late but Taiwan was leading—15:19–and he had to cover his mouth with the fabric from his hoodie to keep himself from squealing like a little girl whenever he saw Nico do his thing. Smashes and serves and whatnots.
And when the shuttlecock hit the floor, inside the line, and the cheers from the grandstands were so loud he could hear it in the livestream—he cried. The camera panned to Nico when the score tally changed on the big screen and his opponent sighed in defeat.
Euijoo has seen Nicholas win before. He has sat in arenas with a mask and a hoodie and a cap to see Nicholas win again and again and again. To watch in awe as Nicholas throws himself to his coach and his family—to see him pump his fist up in victory. And sometimes—when he’s lucky enough to be spotted in the sea of supporters—a flying kiss directed towards him.
But this win, this olympic win, it’s different. Of course it is. Because Nicholas was smiling so wide and he was crying at the same time and when he waved to the camera in front of him, Euijoo wished he could reach through his phone screen and give him a hug. In front of everyone—declare himself as the one who gets to have Nicholas Wang.
“Of course I did. It’s —” Electrifying. Incredible. Perfection. Pinnacle of sports. Beautiful. “I wish I was there to see it.” He didn’t mean to make it sound so sad. But he’s so proud and he’s so in love with Nicholas that the statement sounds like a confession being made in between sobs. He’s trying not to cry. Nicholas looks too hot to be consoling his boyfriend. Looks too delicious to not be ravished on sight.
Nicholas laughs again and this time, his smile lingers when he speaks. “I mean, you were there—sort of, I could feel you staring at me with that confused look on your face.”
“It’s not my fault that badminton’s so confusing.” Euijoo shrugs, his grip on Nicholas’ body softens. His heart is so full he’s trying to prevent it from bursting. He still needs it for tomorrow.
“It’s literally simpler than fencing,” Nicholas retorts, “like what the fuck’s up with all those categories and their fancy sounding names? Grow up.”
When the initial sexual frustration of seeing his gold-medalist boyfriend finally subsides and common sense starts to creep in—he realizes he’s completely terrified. He never thought he’d get this far. He’s always been the underdog on the team. Sure, he’s won world championships before and he’s ranked third on the IFE’s official website and papers but it’s different. It’s the Olympics.
First time he’s ever qualified for it, first time everyone’s going to tune into Fencing and pretend like they understand what they’re seeing. In a split second, from feeling completely fulfilled and content, Euijoo suddenly feels small.
Nicholas senses the shift and he places a hand on Euijoo’s cheek, warm and comforting against the coldness of his face.
“Are you okay?” He asks.
“I’m not sure.” Euijoo places a hand in front of his chest—maybe his heart’s about to burst from nerves and not love.
“We can sit down.”
“I think we should.”
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On paper, they shouldn’t work.
If there was a map of paths that athletes should take before they could compete in the Olympics—Euijoo and Nicholas’ shouldn’t meet.
They met when Nicholas was attending a training camp in South Korea—a few blocks away from Euijoo’s training center. Euijoo never liked tanghulu; he thinks they’re too sweet and it makes his teeth numb. But on that particular shitty day, a sugar rush was exactly what he needed. So he went.
A little walk to clear his mind off the constant berating he was hearing from his coach—he played really badly and he wasn’t sure why. Burnout, maybe. It’d been years since he started playing and he was still at the bottom after every championship. He thought that he wasn’t meant for it, he didn’t have the winning mindset. And so—Euijoo walked towards the small stall at the end of the road where he knew he could find the old lady with the colorful tanghulus.
He lined up behind a slightly tanned boy who was counting the money he had on his opened palm; it sounded like he was reciting something under his breath and since Euijoo had too many things in his mind, he decided to ignore the blatant mispronunciation of Korean words that he was hearing. When the old lady asked the boy in front of him what he wanted, however, he’d blanked out.
She asked again nicely and that’s when Euijoo realized that he was probably not from around here and decided to step in. He didn’t speak English very well, he’d doze off during class and would google the answers to his homework. But he decided to give it a shot.
“Uh—she ask what you want.” Euijoo says with the best English he could.
The boy looked at him, his eyes lit up. “I want that!” He pointed at the tanghulu sticks at the back of the stall.
“Ah.” Euijoo nodded and because he wanted them as well, he ordered two. When the lady gave him the wooden sticks and the foreign boy beside him was about to hand her his money, Euijoo stopped him. He dug into his own pockets and gave her his money instead. She smiled and said thanks and he looked over to tell the boy that it’s on him. “It’s okay, I pay.”
“No—it’s okay, I can pay.” He showed Euijoo the coins in his hand—he could actually buy all the tanghulus in that stall and still have enough change to buy himself a bottle of water from the convenient store.
Euijoo shakes his head. “It’s okay, for you.”
Thankfully, he relented and took one of the tanghulus from Euijoo before saying thank you approximately three hundred times and then walking away.
Euijoo wasn’t feeling like practicing again—not yet, at least. He wanted to sulk and ruminate about his future and make new plans if this fencing thing was nothing but a dead end. He sat down on the pavement, legs crossed, biting through the hard wax, crunching it with his teeth and staring at the shadow of the dancing leaves above him. Maybe he should quit. Take dance lessons, instead, or singing. Audition for a band. He laughed at that thought.
Truthfully, he didn’t know what he wanted to do if the fencing didn’t work out. It’d been his thing. The sole purpose of his being. He wouldn’t say he loved it but there was a certain obsession he had over it—like a toxic ex he’d keep coming back to. He wanted to win so badly, break the cycle of losing and start running home with medals that his parents could hang in their house. But why did it feel like the hardest thing in the world?
He’d finished his tanghulu and was chewing on the pointy end of the wooden stick when he could hear shuffling from beside him and a presence that occupied the previously-empty space of pavement on his right side. It was the boy from before and this time, he’d come prepared—a phone opened on a translator application and strokes that he could recognize as Chinese translated into Korean underneath.
Hi. Thank you for paying. I’m Nicholas.
Nicholas handed his phone over to Euijoo—he stared at him like he was expecting something. A call back from an empty chasm, an answer.
Euijoo typed in Korean and the app spat it back out in Chinese—he wasn’t sure if it’d been in proper grammar.
Hello. I’m Euijoo. Where are you from?
The passing of the phone back and forth went on for a while. Nicholas was from Taiwan and he was attending a summer training camp in Seoul. He was a badminton player. Good at it, actually, he was going to play for the junior series soon. He was staying for a month. Learning Korean was so hard because he didn’t have friends who could teach him the basics.
I could teach you if you want.
There were pins and needles on the tip of his thumb when he saw that Nicholas’ phone finally translated the Korean sentence he’d just typed in. Nicholas smiled when he read it before typing back.
I’d like that.
Euijoo’s heart leapt out of his chest when he waved goodbye and after they planned a meeting the next day at the same time and same place for the short Korean lesson.
He wasn’t sure if it was the sugar rush or something else entirely—but he won the first round of practice and then the next and then the next and then the next. And when it’d become dark and the session of practice was over, he had six wins under his belt. He wasn’t sure where that came from.
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“How did it feel?” Euijoo asks; head on the uncomfortable pillow of that cheap hotel room as he stares at the ceiling.
Nicholas is beside him, chest heaving up and down. “Like losing your virginity.”
At that answer, Euijoo jokingly punches his arm and scoffs. “Fuck off.”
Nicholas props himself up by his elbow, smiles wide as he rests his cheek on his opened palm. “I don’t know, it feels—indescribable.”
“You’re really not helping me here, Nico.”
“I’m trying!” He laughs again before looking up at the ceiling, bottom lip in between his teeth as he chews on it awkwardly. There’s that face of concentration that Euijoo has memorized and learned to adore—eyebrows knitted together, eyes darting everywhere, lips in between his small teeth. He wants to grab his face and pull him in again. “Well, as cliché as it may sound—it’s like when you told me you liked me. It feels… like everything I’ve worked for has finally paid off.”
Euijoo places both of his hands on his stomach, trying to remember the moment four summers ago when he visited Taipei on a whim and met up with Nicholas. It was really stupid—traveling to a country he couldn’t speak the language of just so he could meet his crush. The nature of when he finally told Nicholas about his feelings was also a little stupid—but it all worked out in the end. Don’t know how it did. And how Nicholas didn’t slap him in the middle of the busy airport terminal.
Nicholas is still staring at him, studying his face for every little microexpression he can see—trying to read Euijoo’s mind through every minuscule contortions on his face. He doesn’t have a good poker face like Nicholas.
“It’s sorta like that—but you’ll know what I’m talking about when you win that medal tomorrow, Juju.” Nicholas says, confidence in his voice. He doesn’t even bet on his own wins like that but when it comes to Euijoo, he almost always will put all his coins in the middle. He’d rather lose it all than doubt Euijoo for a second.
“I don’t know.” The younger sighs, feeling the skin on his stomach sink. “I have tough opponents tomorrow. I mean if I win semis, then I’ll have to face either Liu or Akimura and they’re both rated above me and I’m like—not sure if I’ll be able to even win bronze, it’s crazy. What if I’m not—”
Nicholas shuts him up with a kiss and slips his tongue in easily. Euijoo doesn’t push him off, doesn’t ask him to stop distracting him from his thoughts, doesn’t tell him that he’s rude for interrupting like that. Instead, Euijoo puts his hands on Nicholas’ hips—on the small piece of skin between his tee and his shorts and he grips at it again. Clawing for more. Wanting more.
Euijoo places his arm around Nicholas’ waist before propping himself up and swapping their positions. Now he’s on top and he’s pulling away to stare at his boyfriend. Trapped in between his thighs, dark hair framing his head like a crown, lips slightly parted from the loss of weight on them. Maybe they should stay this way for a while—Euijoo having the control for once.
As much as he tries to constantly be the selfless, all-smiley, puts-everyone-before-him Euijoo—there’s a part of him that always feels like it’s always trying to catch up with Nicholas.
When they first met, Nicholas was the more established athlete with a rapport that’ll easily send him to world championships. Euijoo could barely win against his club mates. Then when Euijoo finally caught up—regionals, nationals, world cups—Nicholas was scouted and broke records as a solo player. If that’s not enough, now he’s the youngest Taiwanese Olympic gold-medalist and Euijoo’s not sure he’ll even make it past the semi-finals.
He takes his t-shirt off and chucks it across the room before he leans back down and presses another kiss on Nicholas’ open mouth.
All his life, he’s been chasing after Nicholas, trying to keep up with him. Don’t blame him for closing the gap whenever he has the chance.
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When they first started dating, Nicholas was more open about it. Nonchalant. He told his coach and then his friends and he introduced his family to Euijoo two months after they’d made it official when they both had a schedule in Japan. For the most part, it was nice. Euijoo had never felt as seen and as accepted as the first few months they decided to make it official.
But when their names started making headlines in their own respective countries —it began to feel a little suffocating. They used to have the world. They could hold hands and no one would bat an eye. Once their respective careers took off and Wang Yixiang became a household name in Taiwan and Byun Euijoo signed an ambassadorship with Samsung, their relationship was reduced to quickies in the backseat of rental cars and stuffy studio apartments or corner booths in Nicholas’ favorite restaurants back home.
Euijoo remembers one of their huge arguments over the phone. He had a summer training camp and the wifi was bad but he wanted to talk to Nicholas—even if it’d end up with him frustrated in his bunk bed and his phone thrown haphazardly on the floor. It’d been a shitty day on his end and he wasn’t sure how Nicholas was. When he left, he’d just won another silver for Taiwan. Shocker (not really).
Apparently—it’d been a shitty day for him too. A reporter had asked him a personal question he repeatedly told the press he would never want to answer. He ended up walking away from the press conference and everyone blamed him for it.
“What’d they ask?” Euijoo had asked; he wasn’t sure if Nicholas had told him what the off-limit question was.
Nicholas shrugged it off. He was pixelated in Euijoo’s phone screen, frame rate low, the only thing lighting up his face was his own screen. But even then—even with the shitty network and lighting, Euijoo still sighed at the sight of his face.
“It’s not a big deal,” Nicholas replied, voice tight. He was definitely trying to brush it off but even through the grainy screen, Euijoo could see him clenching his jaw.
“Nico,” Euijoo pressed, voice softer, afraid that he was crossing an invisible barrier he wouldn’t be able to walk back from, “what’d they ask?”
Even if Nicholas wouldn’t admit it, Euijoo already had an idea of the nature of the question the reporter had asked. In the long pause that it took for Nicholas to brace himself, Euijoo could feel his heart pounding, knowing that whatever Nicholas had to say could change the dynamics they had established. Shake them to the core. Make them face the one thing they were dreading to face.
“They asked if I had a special someone I wanted to celebrate this win with,” Nicholas admitted, eyes flicking up for a split second to meet Euijoo’s gaze before looking away again. “I mean—it’s a thing, apparently, everyone’s been questioning if I have a partner or something because they think I’m hiding someone,” Nicholas continued, voice wavering between frustration and something more tender, a plea, a bargain. “So, they asked if I had anyone, you know, special in my life. And in that moment, I just wanted to tell them, I think. I wanted to say your name.”
Euijoo felt his breath hitch in his throat—heart clenching from the mix of emotions inside him. Fear. Guilt. An overwhelming softness. He knew how much it meant for Nicholas, how tired he was at hiding and ducking through alleyways and kissing in cars parked in basements. But the idea of their relationship being public. The whole world knowing he’s gay. That could ruin the career he’d tried so hard to build and solidify. He wasn’t about to let it go—not yet.
“But you didn’t, right?” He felt ashamed for even asking. He was so terrified of failure that somehow hurting Nicholas felt like a better choice to make.
Nicholas sighed before shaking his head—the connection wavered for a few seconds and then when it came back up, he was talking. “No, I didn’t but I just hate having to lie again and again. Like everyone practically knows I have you at this point. My coach, my friends, my family and they’re accepting. I just hate having to pretend that you’re not someone who means the world to me.”
It’s different, Nico. Euijoo wanted to say. They won’t berate you for being gay. It’s legal where you live, they acknowledge people like us. But it’s not as simple here. They’ll hate me and they’ll strip me of my achievements and when I die, the only thing written on my tombstone will be the word homosexual.
“I know,” Euijoo replied, “but I’m just not ready yet.”
Nicholas’ expression softened but the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable. “I get it, Euijoo,” he said, voice a little gentler, “I really do. I just wish things were different.”
“I wish things were different too.” Euijoo whispered back, the gravity of the situation dawning on him at once. He felt uncomfortable in his own bed, itching himself, afraid that the cabin walls could somehow hear him talk to his—supposed—guy friend like that. What if someone outside the window heard their conversation? “I can’t risk it, Nico, not now.”
I’m just starting to catch up with you. He wanted to say.
Nicholas nodded. “I don’t want to lose you.”
A hand had made its way into Euijoo’s chest cavity, holding his heart, squeezing it so hard he felt like it was about to pop open. “You’re not going to,” he replied, his voice firm, though the uncertainty gnawed at him from the inside.
But as the call ended, and Euijoo was left staring at the dark screen, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were running out of time, and the walls they’d built to protect themselves were slowly closing in on them.
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“12 PM sharp tomorrow, right?” Nicholas picks his briefs up from the floor and puts them on.
Euijoo’s typing a reply to his coach—telling him that he is on his way and has been jogging around town to warm up. He won’t be able to tell that the sheen on his skin is post-sex glow as opposed to the 5K run he told the middle-aged man he’s trying to finish.
“Yeah.” Euijoo places his phone back down before putting his head through the hole in his shirt and he pulls it down to cover himself up. Nicholas fake-pouts at the disappearance of Euijoo’s torso from his view. “Why? Are you going to watch?”
“Juju.” Nicholas murmurs, “did you really think I’m going to miss your first Olympic medal?”
Euijoo chuckles, there’s a hint of nervousness in his eyes as he adjusts his shirt. “I don’t know, it’ll feel surreal, I guess and I’ll feel shitty for not being able to be there for you this afternoon.”
“Hey, it’s fine, you had practice.” Nicholas assures him, smiling wide. “Plus, wouldn’t miss it for the world, you always look the sexiest when you’re taking off that Godawful helmet and your hair’s all curly and messy and you’re so sweaty I swear I’ve always wanted to—”
“Calm down.” Euijoo warns, laughing. “Just—don’t get a boner if I win and try to keep your voice down.”
“Okay to the latter, but to the former?” Nicholas laughs, eyes crinkling with affection. “No promises. But I’ll handle it.”
It feels nice. To have a comfortable bubble for themselves. Away from the chaos that is the Olympics Village. Away from the press and the athletes who are vlogging their whole experience. For a split second it feels like they’re back in Seoul—sitting on the pavement, legs crossed, teeth sweet from sugar. Their own little space.
Nicholas is stretching now, back facing Euijoo, muscles contracting and relaxing under his every move. Euijoo’s memorized it by now—has traced them with his finger more times than he can count.
“I’ll try to make you proud.” Euijoo says.
He turns around, the sunset from the window drowns the room in an orange hue. “You already have.” He replies, voice dripping in sincerity. Euijoo’s heart aches, about to burst at the seams. “Every single day.”
Nicholas is crossing the finish line, ribbon around his waist, arms outstretched. He looks back at Euijoo, waiting. Euijoo is catching up—any second now. He looks up at the timer. Maybe it’s time they finish this.
Maybe it’s time he picks up his pace.
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Nicholas lied.
It’s not like losing your virginity.
Definitely not like the confession Euijoo spat out in the departure terminal of the Taipei Airport either. It’s like. New Year’s Eve—when everyone’s anticipating the fireworks and the horns. When stages are set up in every corner and people are singing slash slurring on the top of their lungs in the streets. But instead of watching the fireworks take off, you’re the firework.
You’re speeding through the air and you’re heading towards the sky—you’re one with them, you’re exploding, invincible, forever carved in the history of that specific part of the atmosphere.
You’re invincible. One with the sky. Sitting amongst the stars. Overshadowing the gloomy moon.
He didn’t even realize he’d won until the crowd yelled. He’s on his knees when it finally dawns on him. He won. He’s a gold medalist. A winner. A real fucking Olympian. Euijoo’s fall towards the floor is cushioned by the mattress underneath him, his foil somewhere by his body, he grabs the edge of his helmet and pulls it away from his face and when he’s breathing in more air than a few seconds ago—the crowd’s cheers become so much louder that his ears start ringing.
Euijoo doesn’t even know whose arms are around his body and who’s whispering the congratulations in his ear. He’s a firework destined for the sky. A long-anticipated climax. It’s not the end of his journey, not yet, but this is the culmination of everything he’s worked so hard to achieve.
Is he crying? Probably. His cheeks are warm and his vision is blurry—can’t even remember which part of his opponent he’s touched. The uniform feels all too suffocating and he’s bursting at the seams. There’s a relief and a tension all at once.
Euijoo scrambles back up to his feet, he looks around the arena, his face is on the jumbotron alongside the scoreboard. He’s won. Euijoo BYUN. The screen says. It fades to the three animated medals and his name is written beside the gold one.
He takes off his gloves and hands them over to the staff who’s been standing idly beside him, waiting for him to snap out of his trance. To be perfectly honest, he’s still in it. All of his movement feels animated and rehearsed, like he’s a giraffe learning how to walk for the first time. Doesn’t help that he towers over the people who are surrounding him.
Congratulations. They all say.
Thank you. Is the only thing he can choke out—he’s not even sure he’s speaking English, his brain has stopped working.
He’s wobbling as he walks towards the edge and he rubs his face in an attempt to wipe the tears from his cheeks. But he’s crying and he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop. If a heart could burst without killing its host, he’s probably the example.
His mom leans forward, body pressed against the barrier, arms looping around Euijoo’s neck as she pulls him closer. She’s crying too—full on—mascara stains on her under eye, cheeks red, hair flat against her forehead. The only thing she can say through her sobs are: Congratulations, Juju, you’re a winner, you always have been.
His father’s a little bit reserved when it comes to emotions and so he only gives him a couple of pats on the shoulder and a kiss on the top of his head.
It feels like he’s heard all the congratulations from everyone except from the one person he wants to hear it from the most. Euijoo detaches himself from his parents for a bit, tells them he’s searching for someone. It’s not going to be easy—trying to find Nicholas’ face in the middle of the crowded arena.
The lights are blinding, the cheers defeaning and he’s going to be pulled aside for the medal ceremony soon. But he can’t have that medal around his neck yet—he hasn’t even thanked Nicholas.
His heart races as he navigates through the sea of people—it pounds against his ribcage relentlessly that it almost hurts. Reporters are starting to swarm towards him, begging for statements and acknowledgements and whatnots but he doesn’t want to stop searching.
Then, through the chaos and the blur and the constant chatter around him—he finally spots a familiar face. Nicholas is out of his athlete kit. He’s in a nondescript white tee with an ‘I LOVE PARIS’ cap hiding his face from the crowd and the cameras. But Euijoo spots him and he’s smiling. So wide. Crinkles by his eyes, cheeks full, teeth in full view.
Euijoo makes a beeline towards him—jogging, sprinting, he’s one step away from the finish line. Nicholas opens his arm, legs pressed against the barrier—waiting for a hug, an acknowledgement, a shout out to their friendship. Euijoo stops just before he can crash into the banner that separates the audience and him. Nicholas waits for his hug. Euijoo steps into the finish line. He cups Nicholas’ face and kisses him instead.
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(“Nico, we’re not fucking on this stupid cardboard bed.”
“Oh, c’mon, I heard it’s fun.” Nicholas whines against his lips. “Although the sheets are so plasticky.”
Euijoo laughs, the full kind, unafraid. If his dorm mates hear, he doesn’t care. He’s just won gold for fuck’s sake, it’s not his fault he’s madly in love with his boyfriend and it’s definitely not his fault that his boyfriend wants to test the sturdiness of the Olympic Village beds.
“Juju—c’mon.”
“Ugh.” Euijoo relents. “Fine.”
Euijoo’s spent half of his life trying to catch up with Nicholas—now that he has, he’ll spend the rest of his days hoping there’s no more finish lines to cross.)