When the name Nakahara Chuuya was mentioned, two things came to mind: figure skating and unmatched passion. No one doubted that he was the best in his craft– he embodied perfection in every move. Each spin and jump was accentuated by his strikingly bright hair and glamorous confidence; he moved across the rink like an untamed wildfire, slicing the way forward with destructive, godlike beauty.

Chuuya could argue that he was the same person now as he was three years ago– bright-eyed and exuding enthusiasm, haplessly loyal to his sport of choice. Back then he’d go to sleep dreaming of gleaming ice and the swish of his blades. But it was getting increasingly harder to keep up that particular mental debate when everything had changed. Slowly but surely each step on the ice had his once-beating heart in shackles; the position of first place seemed more like an obligation than anything else. His art, just another dragging step forward in his daily routine. He knew the rink like litany. Knew the intricacies of every move. Knew what his coach would suggest to improve his routines– and he always followed through. Step by step by ruthless step.

Chuuya was bound to his worship on the podium, his name put down in splendor. He might have felt something once upon a time when he earned his first gold medal, maybe, but he sure as hell wasn’t paying attention when he automatically stepped his way up to receive the honors a week ago. When you’ve fixated on one thing for more than half your life, it was pretty obvious you were bound to memorize routines. Chuuya had seen through the rise and fall of hopeful new skaters, and he could only pray one of them might drag away the spotlight from him so he could finally be a person.

Which was precisely the reason why you stood out like a sore thumb the moment he laid eyes on you. Pair skating wasn’t his forte but your talent on the ice had him speechless– you whirled like something deadly, a bullet loaded but yet to be fired. God, Chuuya wanted to be the one to handle you. He wanted to take aim and shoot at his ledger of gold till he could set down the weight of the sky; he looked at you like he wanted you to cleave open his chains with the silver blade on your skates. He looked at you like you could prove that he was human.

The smile he smeared across his face as he skated languidly towards you might have been described as cocky, but he was never one to understate his talent and his notoriety.

“Y’know,” he started, his voice low and confident– as one would expect someone like him to behave. “I’m not one to do this kind of thing… ever, really.”

A small huff left his lips when you turned to look at him. It could almost have been something genuine, but he knew his untouchable front gave him at least some authority.

“But if I were to ask you to be my skating partner for pairs in the next tournament, would you say yes?”