Taemin’s coach already awaited at the rinkside next morning when Jongin and Junmyeon made their entrance. No second time olympic champion to be seen as the middle-aged russian man extended his hand for both of them to shake. Grisha Chekov with his silver hair, high cheekbones and impressive built was an intimidating man even if you made abstraction of his olympic and world title from eight years ago. 

“Good morning,” he drawled into a heavy accented english.

This morning was anything but good.

At least Junmyeon and Chekov knew each other, sparing the awkwardness, and proceeded to discuss the details as Jongin took the ice for the warm-up. The relationship between the two coaches was a formal one, work buddies so to say. No, that was wrong. They were rivals. Even now as this unusual partnership loomed about them all.

It was a little short of nine a.m. when the elegant silhouette of Lee Taemin appeared, followed by another male. They were caught into a lively conversation with many hand gestures from the unknown man. 

Jongin watched Taemin extend his hand to Junmyeon before coming to meet him on the ice. They regarded each other in silence. For a time.

“You said yes.”

“Why would I say no?”

He had the petty satisfaction of seeing Taemin’s jaw clench before the unknown man gestured for them to return by the rinkside, presumably for talking.

Here went nothing.

The man’s name was Kim Kibum. Jongin had of course heard of him, yet never had the chance to meet the famous choreographer. Kibum was in charge of Taemin’s routines since Sochi and the partnership kept going strong till today. Beside the wonderful artistry and technical difficulty, one thing was known about Kim Kibum’s services. The cost.

Luckily or not, this time the payment was handled by the Olympic Committee so they dived straight to the most pressing part.

“No,” The Ice Prince refused when he suggested using the Weeknd as their music.

“It's a gala,” Jongin reasoned in a flat voice. “What would you choose? Chopin?”

The nasty edge in his tone did not escape Taemin’s notice.

“As a matter of fact, I do think it’s a far better choice.”

Jongin was saved by Kibum’s divine intervention.

“Jongin’s right. No need to use such dramatic soundtrack, we don’t have the time for it.” He cut Taemin when the Olympic Champion made to protest. “And no, Taemin, you’re not going to use Swan Lake either. This is a show, you two need to bring it to the table, that’s why you were paired. People want a real spectacle not boredom. Now, can I hear some actual suggestions this time?”

Jongin and Taemin exchanged a long look.

“Bruno Mars?” he offered. 

“Absolutely not.”

“We’re gonna be here for a while,” Junmyeon mumbled in korean from behind the choreographer and Jongin could not agree more.

The russian simply watched.

They were somewhere between the twenty-fourth and twenty-sixth option when Kibum snapped, phone in his hand.

“The gala is in two days. If you two can’t agree upon a choice, I’ll make it for you. Now, a close friend of mine sings this song...”

He searched for it either on the internet or in his phone’s library. When the music played Taemin and Jongin listened. 

They needed to hold hands.

That much had been obvious from the beginning but somehow it settled in only now. Jongin sneaked a look at Taemin’s slender fingers cladded in black gloves and averted his eyes before he was discovered. Kibum was talking into the background, the two coaches quietly observing from the side.

The problem of whom lifted whom hadn’t really been a problem. One only had to gaze at Taemin to see it for themselves. Jongin was in charge of the lifting part but doing so involved a small and crucial element. Touching. Sounded kind of dumb considering how many sweaty hands Jongin held in absolutely every event as the skaters greeted the public. Mandatory ga