Chapter Text
4 years ago:
It wasn't something that happened often, but Leo was known to beat Sangwon here and there in challengers and even at a Grand Prix Junior once.
They had different skating styles from the start, and Leo's more modern take on the very classical and traditional sport wasn't always appreciated by the figure skating community. Where Sangwon was all clean lines and balletic extension, Leo moved like music lived in his bloodstream. Fluid, unconventional, constantly pushing against the edge of what skating was supposed to look like. Different.
Judges didn't always know what to do with him, his scores verging from +0 to +4 in the same element, more inconsistent than Leo himself had ever been on the ice. The coaches tried their best but since moving to Seoul, he’s changed teams a couple of times. And the fans, well, some loved him, devoted and loudly while others only waited to tear him down when the results didn't match their ideas of what good skating was supposed to be.
The results, per se, never bothered him. He got frustrated just like anyone else when he did poorly and he felt an unbelievable pride from winning gold, from standing at the highest possible place in the podium, so it was usually the conversation surrounding his wins that got to him.
It was that deep, aching feeling of never being enough, or worse, being told you only won because of something superficial. The height of his jumps, the technical difficulty. Not his emotions, not the way his entire body molded to fit the choreography, how he bled feeling into every step, every edge, every transition. It was as if he were speaking a language no one wanted to understand. As if all the work he put into creating something so personal, something that showcased the best parts of himself was invisible because it didn't look like what they were used to seeing.
Sometimes he tells himself he doesn't care, that the medal around his neck is real, is his, and no one can take that away from him. But when he's alone, the words hit harder and he starts going places in his mind that he desperately wishes didn’t even exist.
At other times, he feels that the worst part is knowing Sangwon hears the whispers too, that some people see Leo's wins as nothing other than Sangwon's own failure, as if they can't coexist, as if they weren't always meant to rise together.
That's what hurts most.
Not just the accusations, but the fear that maybe, deep down, Sangwon feels them too. That maybe Leo's not really good enough, that even with the gold, even with the higher scores, even with all he's given to the ice, his truth isn't welcome in this sport. That he'll always be too different to be respected, but too good to be ignored.
Undeserving. Subpar skating skills. No artistry, only jumps. Empty programs. He's heard it all and as he leaves the kiss and cry after Sangwon's results come back, placing him in second, just under Leo by two points, he knows he will hear it again. In the form of whispers at the rink from people who love to give him fake smiles, or read them online late at night, breaking his promise to Sangwon that he wouldn't scroll through social media looking for comments on his win.
Still, Sangwon comes running to Leo as soon as they are both back inside, out of the public and journalists' eyes, a proud smile lighting up his entire face as they hug in the hallway, surrounded by the buzz of staff and fellow competitors, none of which seem to exist in that moment. It's instinctual, the way Sangwon reaches for him, like he's been holding back the whole time, waiting for the moment they could be just them again.
"You were great, congrats, hyung" he tells Leo, his eyes clear and his voice steady, and Leo knows he means every word.
Every doubt that haunted him in those few minutes alone, every whisper, every cruel comment he was already anticipating, vanishes like smoke, like they were never real in the first place. Or if they were real, they just were not strong enough to stand up to the weight of Sangwon's unwavering belief.
And that's the thing, Sangwon believes in him. Not conditionally, not when he wins, not only when the audience cheers. Always. Leo has lost count of how many late-night texts, quiet pep talks and post practice nods he's gotten from Sangwon when he couldn't even look himself in the mirror. Leo remembers well when he used to fear winning, a lot more than Sangwon did, like his success would put a wedge between them, as if one shining would cast the other into the shadow, but it's never been like that.
Sangwon's support was never performative. It’s full of pride, one that runs deeper than medals or scores. It’s love, plain and simple, and Leo feels it most in moments like this, in the warmth of Sangwon's arms, when his voice is certain like he just knows every answer to questions Leo never dared to ask. Sangwon's belief in him feels like safety, a constant reminder that he is more than just his scores, more than the whispers and doubts that haunt him. It's a love that transcends the ice, but still something Leo carries with him every time he steps onto the rink.
It’s in moments like this that Leo knows, without question, that there is no version of their lives, of their careers, where they are not rooting for each other with everything they have. When one of them rises, the other is not left behind. They are pulled forward, supported by something stronger than rivalry. If Leo wins, Sangwon is next. And if Sangwon wins, Leo will be the first to cheer. Their paths are not the same, but they run side by side and always have.
So Leo lets himself smile, lets himself bask in the moment without guilt, because this victory, even if flawed or doubted by outsiders, is still theirs. Not just his alone, but part of something bigger.
He presses his forehead gently to Sangwon's for a moment, hidden by the hum of the hallway around them, and whispers, "It means more when you say it," because it does. Because Sangwon knows every part of him, he knows the fears, the frustration, the way he shapes his programs like confessions and, still, he looks at Leo like he's everything Leo never dared to believe he could be. For him, this feeling is higher than any score.
That's why Leo decides to tell Sangwon he is in love with him. He's doing it tonight, once they are back in their shared hotel room, because there is hope that Sangwon might feel it too.
It lives quietly in Leo's chest, buried beneath the layers of friendship and years of shared ice, but it pulses every time Sangwon smiles at him like that, like he sees through Leo's walls and loves him anyway.
It's the kind of hope that feels dangerous to hold, too fragile to say out loud, like if he names it, it might shatter. But still, it burns bright and it grows, persistent and alive, curling around his ribs like something he's always known but never dared to touch.
Because maybe if he confesses, all of it could become something new. That maybe, the past three years of silent understanding, of subtle glances and unspoken comfort, of hugs that lingered too long and nights spent side by side sharing pieces of themselves no one else had ever seen, were all a foundation that had always been leading them here. Maybe best friends could fall in love. Maybe the closeness they've shared, the kind that has carried Leo through every bruise, every doubt, every win and loss, has been love all along, just wearing a different name. And maybe Sangwon knows it too. Maybe he's just waiting for Leo to say it first.
If he does say it, if Leo lets his feelings out once for all, there's a chance everything could change without falling apart. That Sangwon would look at him with that same neverending warmth and say "Me too", not just out of kindness, but because he means it, because he's felt it growing between them too. Leo’s hopes are big enough to believe that Sangwon’s been holding on just as tightly, afraid of losing what they have, just not ready to take the leap yet.
And, instead of breaking the bond between them, the truth could finally set it free, transform it into something deeper, something lasting. Something more than Leo ever thought he was allowed to hope for but did anyway.
It's all planned out, and Leo is sure he can pull it off. The only thing he isn't counting on is Sangwon beating him to it.
They're in Leo's bed together, tangled limbs as they do, completely ignoring Sangwon's own bed in favor of sharing each other's warmth, of being protected by each other's embrace, when Sangwon looks up at Leo with scared eyes and blurts out, "I think I'm in love with you." His voice is barely a whisper, as if speaking it too loudly might break whatever fragile, sacred thing they've built between them.
Leo feels the words hit him like a soft collision, like a sudden, breathtaking and impossibly gentle crash.
But instead of freezing or faltering, Leo smiles, not his usual grin or playful smirk, but something smaller, a bit surer. He lets his fingers trail slowly along Sangwon's jaw before leaning in just enough to allow the warmth of their closeness to settle between them.
"You think you're in love with me?" he teases with his voice low like he doesn't want to disturb the moment, his tone almost amused. "Is it thinking or do you feel it, Wonie?"
Sangwon lets out a shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, and Leo dips his head, pressing their foreheads together like he always does, but right now, he means it a little more.
"Because I know I'm in love with you," Leo says, softly now, the teasing melting into something real, something steady. "I've known for a while and I believe you did too."
Sangwon only nods and then there's silence, not an awkward one, not uncertain, just full of everything they hadn't said until now. Leo watches Sangwon's eyes flutter shut for a second, his lips parting just slightly and that's all the permission he needs. Their mouths meet in a kiss so brief it could almost be missed, but it carries the weight of years between them.
When they pull apart, Sangwon is still in his arms, still looking at him like Leo hung the moon and stars just for him to admire. And Leo thinks, this, this was worth every whisper, every doubt, every aching hope because now he's not hoping alone.
The first kiss leaves them both content, sharing tiny smiles in the too small hotel bed, but it's not enough. Not after everything, not after all this time dancing around what this was, not after the ache of wanting, of wondering, of waiting. Leo watches Sangwon's face closely, so when he sees the flicker in his eyes, he closes the distance again, this time with no hesitation. The second kiss is deeper, fuller. Sangwon melts into it with a soft gasp, his hand curling into Leo's shirt like he's afraid he might slip away. Leo, in turn, kisses Sangwon like he's memorizing the moment, like he's been holding it in his chest for years and can finally set it free. There's a rhythm to it, slow but sure, a rhythm that makes time feel irrelevant, like the world outside the four walls of this room has stopped entirely.
When they finally pull apart, breath mingling in the quiet space between them, Sangwon doesn't move right away. His lips are swollen, his eyes glassy, and for a long moment, he stares at Leo, really looks at him, like he's seeing everything for the first time and realizing it had always been there. Then, in a voice that's almost too soft to hear, he asks, "What… what do we do now?"
Leo smiles, still close enough to feel Sangwon's heartbeat against his own.
"Now?" Leo presses his thumb lightly over Sangwon's cheek, bringing out another soft smile from Sangwon. "Now we continue to do what we always did, but knowing we are in love. We take it slow if you need to. We figure out the pace, what we are comfortable with, but we do it together."
Nothing really changes after their confession.
There's no dramatic shift, no announcement, no sudden redefining of what they are to each other. They don't start dating in the traditional sense, they don't start holding hands in public more than they already did before, or even label anything. It's as if the moment was quietly folded into their relationship, absorbed into the space they'd always held for each other. The love becomes a constant undercurrent, not ignored, but definitely never directly acknowledged again.
They move through their lives and careers with that quiet knowledge between them, carrying it like a shared secret. It becomes part of the way they speak, the way they listen, the way they choose to be near each other in crowded rooms.
They kiss a few times over the years, soft, lingering touches that happen in moments when the world feels too heavy. After hard skates, after injury scares. Once, after a particularly rough Grand Prix result for Leo, when he's curled on the floor of their shared hotel room, spiraling into the dark place he rarely lets Sangwon see, Sangwon kisses him without a word and Leo holds onto it like a lifeline. But they never talk about it. Never follow it with confessions or questions. The kisses are never meant to lead anywhere, not to something more physical, nor to more defined feelings. They're just comfort, just presence. Just love, in its simplest, most vulnerable form.
Still, that love seeps into everything. The physical closeness between them grows in subtle ways, from the way Sangwon tucks himself against Leo during long flights to the way Leo reaches out absentmindedly to fix Sangwon's hair when they’re hanging out with friends, or to adjust his collar before a competition. The way they share hotel beds without ever needing to ask. There's a kind of intimacy that doesn't need a reason to exist, but it's not like they allow themselves to explain.
And Leo doesn't quite know what to do with that. With a love so present, so real, but held at arm's length. He's used to putting emotion into movement, into skating, not into words, not into relationships. So he has it the only way he knows how, quietly, fiercely, without asking for more.
Part of him is afraid that if they name it again, it'll change something. That the fragile balance between them, between love and ambition, the comfort and the distance, might collapse under the weight of wanting too much.
So he doesn't press, he doesn't ask. He just allows the silent love to live in the space between shared victories, long nights and gentle touches, and he hopes that maybe someday they'll be ready to let it speak.