𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄
The world had given up on me but I don't want the world to give up on you. I'm not giving up on you, Heeseung
Park Sunghoon had it all - world-renowned, unstoppable, and reigning as the best figure skater for as long as anyone coul...
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STOP
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The night stretched endless around them, caught between the dying breath of one day and the reluctant birth of another.
On the frozen lake, past the witching hour when the world belonged only to shadows and secrets, they lingered—two figures carved against the moonlit ice like sculptures of memory itself.
Their laughter rose like golden smoke into the frigid air, each shared moment a coin tossed into the wishing well of time.
Sunghoon treasured these fragments, hoarding them like a miser counts his final coins, because beneath the surface of their joy lay a truth sharp as winter's bite: their journey was bleeding toward its end.
He had already done what he came to do—guided Heeseung's brilliance to the Grand Prix Finals, polished his raw talent until it gleamed like starlight on ice.
Yet the words that would sever their bond remained trapped behind his teeth, too heavy to speak, too necessary to swallow.
The confession could wait. Just a little longer. Just until this perfect ache of almost-goodbye had run its course.
Some endings are written in the language of silence, spelled out in the spaces between heartbeats.
Heeseung aslo knew — that their partnership was destined to crumble like autumn leaves. Sunghoon understood this was mercy disguised as cowardice, that prolonging the inevitable was both kindness and cruelty intertwined.
The night wrapped around them like a shroud, cold air biting at exposed skin, yet something warm pulsed between them—the dying ember of what they'd built together.
"Don't go too far, coach!" Heeseung's voice carried the lightness of someone still believing in forevers, his skates cutting graceful arcs across the ice as he moved beside Sunghoon's wheelchair.
Sunghoon's response came wrapped in studied nonchalance, a shrug that carried the weight of countless unspoken words. "I know the ice well."
The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.
Did anyone ever truly know ice?
Did anyone ever truly know when the ground beneath them would give way?
With careful hands, Sunghoon pushed away from his champion, his wheelchair carrying him across the frozen surface as he attempted small spins—pale echoes of the movements that once flowed through his body like second nature.
He closed his eyes and surrendered to the ghost of muscle memory, letting the winter air kiss his face like a lover's farewell. For one crystalline moment, he was whole again—not the broken thing he'd become, but the skater he'd once been.
