His first impression of Yixing is wow, he’s too beautiful to be real. 

 

    It’s pretty obvious that Yixing knows because he can see that stupid smirk all the way from across the rink as he’s practicing his quad toes. 

 

    Yifan himself is not a figure skater, he prefers the thrill of speed skating, the continuos of his long blades as his fingers skid on the ice. 

 

    It doesn’t mean he can’t admire his team mate who’s laughing with another figure skater named Lu Han or something that makes Yifan bristle. He’s got a nice smile, Yifan muses, watching the light glint off his teeth and the deep set dimple that shadows over the corner of his lips.

 

    His opponent, some guy from Canada named Henry Lau, slaps him on the arm to get him back to the moment. “Focus,” he grins in English. “He’s just a pretty face and you know it.”

 

    It’s true he supposes, there’s a hell of a lot more girls at the Olympics than he’s used to. Probably to see that Korean skater Kim Joonmyeon who looks like a doll. “Yeah,” Yifan grunts half-heartedly, skidding over to practice another lap with Henry.

 

    Yixing’s first impression of Yifan is that he’s too tall.

 

    He can see the effort that it takes to skid around the translucent lines underneath the ice, his tall stature bringing him too far to the side. He’s dressed in a tight black practice suit that’s obviously to small for him because its ripping apart at the elbow to give them all a peek at freckled creamy skin. All in all, Yifan is just too damn big. 

 

    He’s good looking though, with cropped black hair and a sharp jaw line. Henry Lau is a speck next to him as they laugh and polish their golden blades.

 

    Luhan pinches him when he stares too much and pushes him to go practice the shaky quad salchow. 

 

    He can see Yifan watching him sometimes, holding onto the sidelines and trying to accomplish a bunny jump. He manages to trip and hit his head on the railing as Henry howls with laughter. 

 

    Their interaction is kept at that until Luhan proposes that Team China goes for dinner in the cold town of Sochi.

 

    Yifan orders for them, the scratchy Russian rolling off his tongue.

 

    “You speak Russian?” Yixing blurts.

 

    Yifan’s caterpillar eyebrows shoot up. “Uh, I guess?”

 

    “Oh, that’s cool.”

 

    They don’t exchange words until dessert when they’re shoved together because Luhan wanted to sit next to Huang Zitao from downhill skiing. 

 

    “He looks like a melting panda,” Yifan observes.

 

    Choking on his cake, Yixing giggles under his breath. 

 

    “Yifan,” he says, offering his hand.

 

    “I know.”

 

    Yifan blinks.

 

    “It’s on your suit,” Yixing croaks, trying to redeem himself. “Which you should probably get fixed. It’s ripping apart.”

 

    “Seems I have an admirer.”

 

    Yixing wants to drown himself in the vodka in front of himself.

 

    “Yix-”

 

    “Yixing, I know. It’s on your uniform. Get a smaller size, it’s hanging off your shoulder.”

 

    Yixing’s face splits into the biggest smile because he doesn’t know whether he should be thoroughly creeped out or glad that Yifan knows more that his quad toes. 

 

                    ***

    On the day of Yixing’s competition, Yifan sits with Henry in the reserved stands for coaches, the older one nursing a ice pack to his arm.

 

    “You’ll pay for this,” Henry threatens, prodding at the spreading bruise.

 

    “Well someone had to come with me.”

 

    Henry whines through out most of the performances but shuts up when another Chinese boy, Zhou Mi, smiles at him in a mess of cobalt fabric and fake jewels. 

 

    “Yifan.”

 

    “Yes?”

 

    “If you get me his number, I will forgive you for everything you’ve ever done.”

 

    Yifan makes it a mental note, because the last time Henry tried to get back at Yifan, he’d ended up in the hospital with a quarter of a bottle of shaving cream in his stomach. “Done.”

 

    When it’s Yixing’s turn to skate, Yifan clutches onto Henry’s arm (the latter whimpering in pain) and shakes it excitedly. 

 

    “I’m watching dip, let go of me.”

 

    Yixing short program is perfection and everything beyond that. He smiles the entire time, the lighting making his dimple prominent and the girls scream. Thick chocolate hair is mussed up as he flies through his triple triple combo and lands with a deep bend of the knee. Yixing points at him when he’s done, winking and raising a gloved finger the sky.

 

    Yifan is caught between feeling flustered or slightly amused. 

 

    Yixing’s score is a season’s best as he celebrates in the kiss and cry, arms waving wildly to the crowd and silent thank you on his lips.

 

    “WU YIFAN LET GO OF ME, OR I WILL END YOU.”

 

    They leave the rink with Yifan wincing at the bruise on his right cheek, and Henry with a smug look on his face. 

 

    Two hours before Yifan competes next week, Yixing presses their foreheads together, although Yifan has to bend down quite a bit.

 

    “Win gold for me okay?”

 

    “Well, technically, this is just the qualifying round, I need to get through a number of opponents to-”

 

    “Wu Yifan, you are ruining the moment.”

 

    “Okay, I’ll win gold.”

 

    “For me?”

 

    “For you.”

an: yup, i'm into figure skating

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