“I’m not doing it.”

Junmyeon struck him as being more willing to do a cleaning number on the skating rink than sit here in his cozy office and listen to Jongin’s complains which were more than just childish complains as his coach previously called it. Plainly outrageous the subject was. The International Skating Federation and the Olympic Committee must have lost their minds, otherwise something like this simply could not be. Jongin understood these were the Olympics, but the idea screamed of mad fangirls and that blessed anime spreading all kinds of ideas. But this was real life and it was not happening. Over his dead body.

His coach pushed the papers across the table yet Jongin didn’t bother looking over them. Such thing would make it more real than it already was.

“No,” he repeated. “Not doing it.”

“You realise people will have your head for refusing, metaphorically speaking, of course. Look Jongin, ever since word of it got out, Twitter is going mad. Number one worldwide for more than five hours. Besides, he already publicly accepted and you’re going to be the one looking bad in the end. I can’t force you, this is your choice, but as coach, you have my honest and unrequested opinion.”

“Junmyeon... I can’t just do a ing pair exhibition with Lee Taemin for the gala.”

“And why is that?”

“Because-”

Because Jongin had the sudden urge to punch a wall every time he saw the face of Korea’s Ice Prince. It didn’t even need to be in person. Internet, audio, tv, papers, anything would do. The newly crowned olympic champion for the second ing time in a row was the bane of his existence. Always there, at the top of literally every ing competition he participated, with that shiny gold medal always hanging around his neck, with his superior smile looking down at all mortals beneath first place, Jongin included.

He remembered how gold had felt as well, the junior championships, some time ago. All the praise from the media, the hype for his transition to  seniors. Not pressure but joy as he trained harder, more hours at the rink while in his spare time he scrolled down numerous articles on twitter and alike, seeing his own name, Kim Jongin, alongside the living legend, Lee Taemin. Will the Ice Prince lose his crown next season? And damn if that didn’t sound fine. Don’t get him wrong, Jongin had no real problem with the pretty skater, but he would rather see himself on top of the podium, thank you very much.

Quite far from hate, actually. Lee Taemin was… perfection,  the only word to do him justice. His jumps, his spins, the delicate hand movement, the expression on his face as he lived in tune with the music. A slim and slender constitution, Taemin appeared the prototype of a robot specially designed for figure skating. Olympic champion at eighteen, he was proclaimed as The Ice Prince, both nationally and worldwide. Dozen of fans, Jongin included. As he trained for the Junior Grand Prix Final, rewatches of Taemin’s programs were daily occurrences. And if he sometimes tried to imitate him when all the other skaters went home... well, that was Jongin’s business.

Lee Taemin was a prodigy and it was a fact not deemed for discussion.

Jongin’s first competition had arrived with a silver medal around his neck and the funny feeling of wrongness. Everybody else was smiling and clapping, Junmyeon proudly snapping pictures with his phone, but Jongin could not concentrate on anything else beside his hand around Lee Taemin’s slender waist. In his blue costume he really was the image of a prince and when the victory ceremony came to a close, all three men were escorted to the press conference.

It felt different from before, kind of bittersweet, yet Jongin had done it. Had scored the podium on his first senior competition. That counted. And then the reporter asked that question and every pair of eyes travelled to Taemin if they weren’t there before.

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