You Are Unstoppable
By: TG
Summary: He hears Wakana gasp -the noise echoes through the rink, silent but for the scrape of his blades against the ice and the sound of his measured breaths. She recognizes the routine.
Disclaimer: I don't own daiya or yuri on ice
Warnings: alternate universe -yuri on ice, pre-relationship
AN: this is for cutiepiehinata on tumblr/ao3 for the daiya hols exchange!
"With a combined score of 189.67 it looks like Sawamura Eijun will miss the podium in this year's Cup of China and subsequently will not make it into the Grand Prix Final."
"How could he have done so badly? I'm sure there were plenty of alternates who would have jumped at the chance to compete in his place."
"That's too bad, he came into the Grand Prix series with so much promise."
"He should just retire already."
Eijun grits his teeth and hunches a little further over his phone and lets the first tears fall onto the bathroom floor. Chris-senpai had told him not to look at the news after his lackluster free skate program but he had to know. The words of strangers only confirmed what he'd already known walking out of the kiss-and-cry.
He'd failed.
"Oi."
Eijun jerks, surprised at the sound of a voice he's not sure he wants to hear. Miyuki Kazuya stands just ahead, hip cocked and lips stretched into his patented cocksure grin. It's almost like Eijun's staring at one of the many posters that line the walls of his room back home in Nagano, except, much to his chagrin, the real thing is much more handsome. Despite his slightly disheveled appearance, and despite the tiredness that shows in the corners of his eyes, Miyuki cuts a gorgeous figure.
And the fact that he's standing there and looking like that at Eijun is – well .
Warmth creeps over his cheeks and he gets the urge to duck his head, which he roundly ignores. Instead he holds his head up high and looks his rival in the face, because he and Miyuki have just competed –the Grand Prix Final, one of the stepping stones to Worlds, to Four Continents, to more , something Eijun's been chasing after and dreaming of since he began following Miyuki's career more than a decade ago. Miyuki's grace on the ice and beautifully choreographed routines were the reasons Eijun had laced up his first pair of ice skates. He's kept every newspaper clipping and spent every waking moment boasting loudly and resolutely that someday, somehow, he would take to the same ice as the legendary Miyuki Kazuya and they would compete as equals.
And here he is, looking at Eijun with a mischievous glint in his eye that no poster could possibly replicate, and Eijun's stomach twists up in knots. Despite his poor performance, Miyuki Kazuya is looking at him , for the first time; it's a moment suspended in time, like the grasping of a dream in the time between sleeping and waking.
Miyuki's grin softens, and Eijun's heart beats beats beats, and he opens his mouth –
"Commemorative photo?"
-and he falters, because Miyuki is speaking to him like he's –well, like he's a fan. Like he's nothing. Like the last season of work and sweat and hope and heartbreak and waking up at four in the morning for practice hadn't happened –like they'd been erased.
Eijun had just shared the same ice, the same press conferences, the same hotels as the man in front of him, but –he'd failed, hadn't he. He'd failed, so what right does he have to expect Miyuki to notice him when all he does is fall and under-rotate and step out –when all he does is spend his kiss-and-crys staring vacantly at his skates because he's too disappointed in himself to look at the numbers on the screen?
Eijun can't stop the stiffening of his shoulders any more than he can stop the heat of the shame from flooding his cheeks, and that in itself is humiliating enough.
"Eijun?"
Eijun had made gold at the Grand Prix Final his goal, and tonight he'd had to watch that chance go to someone else. What reason does Miyuki have to look past the podium and see him?
Chris-senpai reaches out to touch his arm, but Eijun puts his head down and shifts away. Out of the corner of his eye he sees him try to follow, but instead he pauses, his handsome face troubled but thoughtful, and for that Eijun is grateful. He turns his back on him and on Miyuki and on the reporters clamoring for answers on the subject of his retirement. He doesn't want the comfort or the questions –he just wants to be left alone with the feeling of growing disappointment. Later he will think about how to get better, stronger; tonight is for recovery, but tomorrow is for change.
He walks out of the rink with his back straight and his eyes staring straight ahead, and misses the considering sweep of brown eyes as he leaves.
Kuramochi shifts at his side, but Kazuya's eyes remain focused on the kid's back as he walks away from him and pushes out into the soft, snowy evening. Kuramochi always gets antsy at press conferences –it's something Kazuya has grown accustomed to since they've begun competing at the same level. Kuramochi is still new enough to the high-caliber, high-stress lifestyle, but for Kazuya it's just tiring –an adrenaline rush turned chore.
He used to genuinely love it –the sounds, the smells, the furor of competition and the stillness of early morning practice. He'd been told from an early age that he was special, that he had the talent and the drive to win, so that's what he'd conditioned himself to do –to win, and keep on winning. There was a time not long ago that the acclaim and the applause had been a drug, an addiction, and he'd worked harder and harder for the high.
But he's burning out, and he's been on the verge of something new and different for a while now. He doesn't know what that something is yet, but, watching the kid walk out with his back and shoulders straight, he thinks maybe he's almost got a grasp of it.
Sawamura Eijun has something special, too, but unlike Kazuya he's probably never known it.
Kuramochi mumbles something under his breath –probably rehearsing what he's going to say to the press in a few moments –but Kazuya ignores him. He's busy compiling an image of Sawamura Eijun in his mind –of his long thin fingers and the way they'd curved so delicately toward the sky during his spins, and the arch of his back as he'd fallen into his Ina Bauer, and the power and passion he puts into his jumps. It's hard to reconcile the person he's known on the ice with the one who'd sat emotionless and empty in the kiss-and-cry.
But, well, there'd been a glimmer of that fire and fierceness in Sawamura's eyes just now, hadn't there? Isn't that interesting.
He turns away from the place Sawamura had disappeared when their minders tell them it's time to go into the conference room and tries to ignore his friend's perceptive gaze.
He hears Wakana gasp -the noise echoes through the rink, silent but for the scrape of his blades against the ice and the sound of his measured breaths. She recognizes the routine.
Eijun moves into a layback spin and thinks about how there's something beautiful and freeing about skating something that doesn't belong to him. Muscles which have long been stiff under the pressure of performance loosen up; the ice doesn't feel quite so alien as it had in the days after his failure.
He kicks his leg up in an death drop and in the precious moments where his blades don't touch the ice he feels more connected to it than ever. He's learned over the years that the ice is both an extension and a reflection of himself, and lately he hasn't been happy with what he's been seeing when he takes the time to look.
But now, here, skating to Miyuki Kazuya's free skate routine, he's without judgement, without pressure, without the ever-pressing need to be better faster strong perfect. It feels good , and he thinks that maybe, with time, he can recover that feeling of awe and reverence that used to fill him each time he passed through the doors of the rink. He's spent too long missing the comfort of home in the tough times that he's forgotten no matter where he goes ice and the scent of worn, cold leather always smell the same.
As much as his loss in Sochi had hurt, Eijun knows something had to give. He's spent enough time feeling guilty and angry and depressed.
Now it's time to be hungry. Now it's time to grow.
He just has to figure out how.
Kazuya gets a text message from Kuramochi just a few days after Worlds, consisting of just a link to a video and nothing else. Intrigued, he opens it to find Sawamura Eijun's face staring back at him.
The video is called 'Sawamura tries to skate Miyuki's free skate routine,' and in it Sawamura is beautiful. He's the boy that Kazuya remembers, all strength and grace and wild beauty, and he dances on his blades like his body is made of sunlight. The routine is Kazuya's –he could recognize the program even without the strains of music filtering through loudspeakers- but Sawamura's taken ownership of it. It's unrefined but perfect in its resonance, and Kazuya watches every flicker of earnest expression, every beautiful line and curve that Sawamura creates with his body, and thinks yes, this is what I'm missing.
Sawamura smiles into the camera, and the expression is so bittersweet and full of feeling that Kazuya has to look away. His heart beats and his lungs fill with air and he feels more alive than he has in a long, long time, and Sawamura's routine ends –because it's Sawamura's now, it is –Kazuya tips his head back and laughs.
His phone dings –another text from Kuramochi.
dont stagnate , it says. grow .
He pulls up his phone's contacts and types in his coach's number, but his finger pauses over the call button. He expected a hesitance or a moment of doubt between the precipice and the fall but there's only the pause –a short moment of acceptance, maybe, a brief burst of fear because what he's doing is ridiculous by all accounts –
And then he finds that it doesn't matter. It's time to do something unexpected for once.
When Eijun's mother said he had a visitor, he'd been expecting Wakana, or Nobu, or maybe even Haruichi, coming to console him all the way from Detroit -
Instead he opens the door to Miyuki Kazuya.
His jaw drops and his face immediately bursts into flames. He's shocked, but perhaps it's not wholly unexpected considering Nobu had filmed him skating Miyuki's routine and posted it to YouTube. He should have figured the GPF winner wouldn't let it go.
Nerves give way to embarrassed anger and he points a finger right at that smug bastard's face and says, "what are you doing here?!"
Miyuki throws his head back and laughs for a long moment, and Eijun is left wondering if he's missed some punch-line.
"Would you believe it if I told you I'm here to be your coach?"
"I -what?"
Eijun's got so many questions. How did Miyuki find him? He vaguely remembers that Miyuki's friend Kuramochi hangs out with Harucchi's brother, but that doesn't answer why Miyuki's here, standing in the snow at his front door.
He must see the skepticism in his expression, because Miyuki drops the smirk and shrugs one-shouldered. Without his pretenses he looks kind of -
Pretty; young; nervous. Whatever .
"I saw the video," he says. Eijun waits for more -an explanation, an excuse, an accusation, anything -but nothing is forthcoming. Miyuki's pretty eyes meet his, and they say volumes, and for once Eijun feels seen .
"What do you say we slay next year's Grand Prix series together, partner?"
an: death drops and layback spins are cool. i also wanted miyuki's routine to have a hydroblade bc those are badass but in the end i didn't want to overload the story with moves so ye. follow trumpet-geek or katsukifatale on tumblr for more soft weebing.