The bright light from the blitz persisted on blinding him even if the skating arena was long gone. Both this and the panicked, horrified yells. Jongin took several long breaths, in and out, in an out and repeated the motion for what seemed like forever. It was hell. Many things were, especially entering to see Taemin any time now. There was just a door separating them... that and the wait for the anesthetics to wear off after the surgery.

It felt like being aboard a lone boat stranded on the ocean in the middle of a vicious storm.

His hands shook, his head playing the same tune. Taemin. He had dropped Taemin. Taemin may have problems skating because of him. He hid his face in his palms, the memory of a Taemin close to breakdown still fresh. Tears running down his bruised cheeks, holding onto his left kneecap as he laid onto the ice.

“No no, my leg, please no,” Taemin had sobbed while an openly crying Jongin made to gather him in his arms, to meet the medics halfway, to get him help. “No!”

He withdraw his hand as if burned, Chekov and the four paramedics clad in bright red stepping between him and the other boy. The uncontrolled weeping, Jongin’s inability to form a proper sentence, the sounds of cameras, people crying… none would  leave his mind. Both this and the diagnostic. A head concussion, bruises and those two words… ligament damage. It had been brief when he had dropped Taemin, he had not seen, but the boy’s left knee had been the first to make contact with the ice. When he closed his eyes, behind his eyelids, Jongin could still hear the sound, the most vivid memory there was.

“He doesn’t want to see anyone and I will do anything in my power to respect his wish,” announced the russian somewhere after four a.m in the morning.

Not that many people were around but his eyes found Jongin’s who immediately looked down. Junmyeon was also nearby, whispering to one of Kibum’s friends who had accompanied him. The choreographer's eyes were red and puffy and he avoided Jongin like plague and rightfully so. It was my fault. I ed up. I ed him up.

After the doctor’s visit in that room with the door that never fully opened, making use of the disturbance caused by a few reporters, Jongin stilled his heart and stepped inside. The Ice Prince had the hospital salon all to himself, a gift only money could buy. Watery gaze found his and Jongin’s bravery flew out the window, his stare seeking Taemin’s injured leg. He saw nothing, the thick white sheet obscuring the lower part of Taemin’s body... yet there were other things worthy of catching his sight. The bandage wrapped around his head, the stitches from his face and arms, the perfusion bag draping above the bed, attached to his tiny hand by a tube. What bravery after witnessing this image?

Taemin’s eyes were daggers. Sharp and icy… glassy with tears, nonetheless daggers.

“Don’t you find it amusing? I mean… you must be very happy.”

“Taemin, I-“

What left Taemin’s lips was more cry than laughter.

“You,” he fumed, the slim tube trailing from the perfusion bag swaying back and forth. “You. You will leave this room and never come back. That’s all you will be doing.”

“Taemin, I beg you. Please listen, it wasn’t intentional, I would never-“

“Get out. Get the out!”

Outside, a commotion was taking place in response to the sudden shouting. People must be on their way. To save someone.

“I would never knowingly hurt you,” Jongin trailed while Taemin stared up at the ceiling, chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. Then he took his leave, painfully aware his presence was no longer desired, that he did more harm than good by being there.

Even before someone said anything, it occurred to him he may as well have destroyed Taemin’s life.

Nearly a year after the accident and Taemin was seriously back to jumping. He skated around in circles, warming up his muscles, feeling Chekov’s eyes glued to the back of his neck. In his ear, I never met a man I could trust, Sia was singing. Where did love go indeed. Taemin changed the song. He preferred The Greatest anyway.

“No quads,” his coach had warned, fatherly hand patting Taemin’s shoulder before he set foot on the ice.

But of course, at first presented chance, with the russian taking an urgent call, Taemin made to execute one. Why not? He was feeling more than fine, his knee had sustained triple axels for almost two months now, he had done spins... he had done enough during this damn recovery.

His first attempt at a quadruple lutz was a total failure. Perhaps Taemin had been off-balance since the take-off … thing was… he ended up slamming into the boards, fortunately having enough presence of mind to push his healthy leg front, taking most of the impact. He sat onto the ice for a while, considering his options. He could about it or he could try again. Taemin got up. All this for one quad… he used to do at least two in his gala performances.

Before, a tiny voice whispered back to him, viciously bitter.

And down once again, on his side, then on his . He could do this. At the forth he didn’t even made it to the jumping part. Reality crashed down on him and Taemin broke into sobs, hiding his face into his quivering hands. He was over, over, over, over. Taemin’s fist slammed down onto his left knee as he cried his eyes out. He made to hit himself yet again when a hand gently took hold of his. Chekov sat down before him, gathering Taemin into his arms. Taemin sobbed even harder.

“I’m done for,” he whispered after a time, blinking away tears, suddenly exhausted. “I’ve lost the Grand Prix title… I’ve lost so much time while everyone else did not. Worlds are around the corner and I