Chapter Text
Keith stood tall, hands stretched high towards the heavens, legs crossed and visibly shaking in his skates. But he didn’t fall. He didn’t fall. That had been a near perfect run of his free skate. He’d never managed to skate it error free before, not even during practice. Holy shit.
The applause was deafening.
Keith was feeling the high of a perfect routine even as he fell to his knees and caught his breath. His mind was a blur of adrenaline as he entered the kiss and cry. Keith hardly registered the weight of Coran’s hand on his shoulder as they waited for his scores. The numbers flashed in front of him; he’d set a new record. It was enough to jump him all the way from fourth place and into gold.
Keith floated through the motions. Stood on the podium when he was given his medal. Smiled for the cameras. Gave out congratulatory handshakes. And all the while, his mind was completely blank, nothing but white noise filtering his senses.
He didn’t start to come back to himself until he was in the locker room, sitting on a bench in a daze. Keith finally startled out of his stupor when Allura saddled up next to him, snapping a pic to post on Instagram.
“Let me see that!”
Keith made a desperate grab for Allura’s phone, but she pranced out of his reach with a trained grace.
“Next time don’t space out.” She stuck her tongue out then smiled at her phone. “Aw, don’t worry, this is a cute picture.”
“That’s what you say every time I look like an idiot.”
She didn’t deign that with a response. Instead, she tapped away at her phone and Keith waited to hear the awful ding from his own phone, notifying him he’d been tagged in a photo.
“I hate you.”
“You love me. Now come on, we’re heading back to the hotel,” she snapped her fingers impatiently.
Keith frowned but continued unlacing his skates, sighing in relief when they were finally off. He packed them away in his duffle bag and pulled on his sneakers. He zipped his Team USA hoodie over his bedazzled torso and walked to meet Allura by the door. Before they took off, she leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Congratulations on gold. I knew you had it in you.”
Allura’s voice and eyes were soft in a way that oozed pride. For the first time that night, Keith’s own smile was genuine.
Keith’s track record as a figure skater hasn’t been the best. He started skating competitively when he was 13 and made it to his first Junior Grand Prix at age 15. He’d never been a bad skater, but commentators always made a fuss about his technique. Keith had a penchant for prizing athleticism over artistry.
But hey, he wasn’t solely to blame; his coaches never really knew how to handle him. Allura had made it sound so poetic, comparing him to a vibrant flame, untempered and wild on the ice. That was just a fancy way of saying Keith was stubborn and had too much energy. No one could ever explain “artistry” in a way that made sense to him. So, he never bothered with it. Simple as that.
Then Coran had come along. Keith had been 19 and on the verge of retiring. He was going nowhere real fast, damaging his body with harder stunts and never getting rewarded for them. Coran had come along and personally asked Keith to come under his tutelage.
He’d been hesitant, of course. It wasn’t that Keith was overly attached to his current coach or anything; Iverson was more than ready to let him go, no matter how talented he claimed Keith was. Keith didn’t make a decision until he met Allura, the other skater currently being coached by Coran.
Allura, aka the first female figure skater to land a quad jump in competition. The female figure skater that finally went that extra mile and pushed her competition into a new era. Keith had nothing but respect for her, and therefore had nothing but respect for Coran.
He packed up his bags and relocated to London the next month.
Training under Coran had been discovering a world of skating Keith never knew existed. Watching Allura skate, effortlessly combining athleticism with fine tuned delicacy, taught Keith more about artistry than six years of coaching ever had. Keith still struggled, of course, but comments and jabs at his techniques grew more and more scarce.
Now, two years later, he was finally reaching his potential. Leading into the competitive season, Keith had managed to qualify for the Grand Prix again. Coran, in all his faith, allowed Keith to select his own program music. Allura, Coran, and Keith had all worked on the choreography together; a collaborative effort. And damn if it hadn’t paid off.
At 21 years old, Keith had won his first gold medal at the Trophée de France. He was poised to snag another podium position at the next cup, earning him a spot in the Grand Prix finals. Keith couldn’t wait.
No, literally, he couldn’t wait. All through the plane ride from Marseilles to Tokyo, he tossed around in his seat, earning him his fair share of smacks from a fatigued Allura. The flight was a solid 13 hours, and Keith managed to maybe nap through only four of those hours. Even so, he was restless once they finally landed.
The sights of the city kept him occupied enough in the cab to the hotel. The lights and buildings blurring in the mirror were barely scratching the itch under his skin though.
Once they checked into the hotel and dumped their bags, Keith pulled on his trusty, red leather jacket and dipped. He didn’t bother telling Allura or Coran where he was going; even he didn’t know where he was headed. But his team was well aware of his restlessness after long flights. They could track his location on his phone, it was fine.
It was only 6pm but it was already dark outside. And cold. But not as cold as France was, thank God. Still, Keith dug his hands into his pockets, cursing his jacket’s “fashion over functionality” design. The lights and sounds of the city were dazzling, enough to distract him from the cold soon enough. He’d never been to Tokyo before. He’d only been to Japan once before, during Juniors Worlds, and at that time he’d been in Osaka.
Keith wandered around aimlessly, dooming himself to get hopelessly lost. Of course he couldn’t read any of the signs unless they were accompanied by English. But he knew enough Japanese to feel confident enough hailing a cab later on and getting back to the hotel. For now, getting lost was part of the fun.
Keith made his way through a busy shopping district, and that’s when he first noticed it. Every now and then, people would stop and stare at him. He pulled out his phone in a hurry, flipping his camera to see if there was something on his face, or if his hair was weird. Strangely enough, he looked perfectly average. Keith shrugged it off and kept walking.
But the stares just became more frequent. Then the whispers began. Keith, of course, couldn’t speak Japanese, but he could recognize his name in the buzz around him. Finally, the mystery was solved when a small group of teen girls called his name, giggling when he looked their way. They walked up to him and held out a poster and pen. Keith frowned. Then he realized it was a poster of him, and they were asking for an autograph.
“Oh yeah, sure,” he smiled at them awkwardly, taking the pen and signing.
It was like that one small action opened the floodgates.
Soon, the three fans turned into ten, which turned into twenty. Keith was quickly swarmed with fans he forgot he even had. He always forgot how active his fanbase could be overseas. But even so, they’d never been this big before. For the first time, Keith was slightly regretting winning gold.
He tried leaving, thanking the fans politely and walking away, but they kept pulling him back in. There seemed to be no escape and Keith was quickly getting overwhelmed.
Then, like a cry of heaven having mercy on him, he heard a man shout something he barely caught the jist of—was there a mention of Yuzuru Hanyu?—and the crowd of girls were momentarily focused elsewhere. That split second of distraction was all it took for a strong hand to grab his arm and quickly drag him down the street and into a side alley.
Once in the safety of the dark alley, Keith looked up, ready to thank his savior. All remarks died in his throat. Standing before him was maybe the hottest guy he’d ever seen. Tall and built like a brick house, dressed in clothes that screamed chic; the scar across his nose and streak of white hair only added to his character rather than detract.
“You okay? You looked like you could use some help,” the mystery man spoke first, offering Keith a soft smile.
Keith fought to remember how to breathe.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, thanks,” he managed to choke out, before remembering his manners and extending his hand. “I’m Keith.”
“Shiro,” the man replied with a smile, shaking his hand. “You’re that figure skater from America, right?”
Keith was taken aback. “Yeah, how did…”
“Guess you could say I’m a fan,” Shiro interrupted with a casual shrug.
Keith raised a brow at that, but let it go. Mainly because he could hear the girls starting to search for him again. Shiro must’ve heard it at the same time, because he started jogging down the alley, motioning for Keith to follow. They made their way down the alley, taking a few turns down some narrower paths, and Keith really hoped this Shiro guy knew where he was going. He also hoped he wasn’t stupidly following a serial killer or something, but that was a secondary concern.
Finally, they emerged onto a street, much less populated than the district Keith was in before. Shiro kept walking, and so naturally, Keith kept following. The man finally stopped next to a parked bike, a beautiful black Kawasaki Ninja. Shiro pulled keys out of his pocket and spun them cooly around his finger, the metal of his hand glinting in the streetlight. Interesting.
“I can give you a ride, wherever you want. If you want, obviously.”
Shiro extended the offer, and Keith was free to take it or leave it. Shiro had successfully led him away from the mob of fangirls. Shiro hadn’t killed him in the alleys. Maybe the smart thing to do would be calling a cab and hightailing it back to hotel before he got into more trouble. But, well, Keith always did have a penchant for causing trouble.
“Yeah. Take me somewhere with less people?” Keith asked, stepping forward tentatively.
Shiro gave him a curious smile. He walked over to the bike and pulled out two helmets from the saddlebags. He held one out to Keith, with a questioning gaze.
“You’re gonna trust me like that?”
Keith smirked, rising to the challenge, and stepped forward to grab the helmet.
“Not the worst choice I’ve ever made.”
Shiro laughed, a pleasant rumble, and straddled the bike, starting the engine. Keith pulled on his own helmet before sliding in behind Shiro. Whether the seat was too small or Shiro was too big, the result was the same: Keith had to slide all the way forward, literally glued to Shiro’s back. His jacket was a sleek leather, the type that must’ve been hundreds of dollars more expensive than Keith’s.
As Shiro revved the engine and took off, all thoughts flew from Keith’s head. The Grand Prix, Coran, his career… none of it mattered in this moment. All he focused on was the feeling of adrenaline rushing through him as they sped through the city. It wasn’t unsimilar to the way skating made him feel. The rush of speed, the world flying by in a swirl of movement. The only difference was the warm weight in front of him.
Keith wrapped his arms tighter around Shiro’s waist and enjoyed the ride.
Shiro ended up taking him to a park by the coastline. It had some long name to it, of which Keith only remembered the word “tsubasa.” The air was cooler by the water, but it was a nice chill. It soothed the fire that had built in Keith’s stomach from being pressed so close to Shiro’s broad back for so long. Keith swore he could still smell the man’s cologne, even over the sea brine.
Shiro parked his bike and then started walking. He led them to the railing that overlooked the ocean, and Keith noticed the path lined with benches. Keith went and sat down, sighing wearily. Shiro smiled down at him but didn’t take a seat; he went to lean against the railing, watching the airplanes fly over the ocean.
This was nice.
It was exactly the kind of peace Keith needed. Shiro had really delivered, taking him somewhere void of people. He could see how this place would normally be thriving in the daylight, but at night it seemed they were the only ones around. The planes that flew overhead were the only thing breaking their calm silence.
Keith took this valuable time to reflect. Not on his life or the competition he would face tomorrow. No, he took this time to observe and appreciate the handsome stranger in front of him.
From this angle, Shiro appeared even taller, his back even broader. There was no denying, he was exactly Keith’s type. But was Keith his type? He sorely hoped so. There was a pull in his chest, a need for him to strike up conversation and find out. But Keith was tired and feeling just a little too much out of place. He didn’t know what to say.
As if reading his mind, Shiro turned around, watching Keith as he leaned back against the railing.
“So, you’re here for the NHK Cup.”
It was more of a statement than a question, but Keith still nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“First time in Japan?”
Keith shook his head, sitting forward. “No, I’ve been here for Worlds a few years ago. I was, obviously, a lot less popular back then.”
Shiro quirked a smile that said he knew more about Keith than he initially assumed. Shiro did say he was a fan, right? Keith wondered exactly what he meant by that.
“Thanks for saving me, by the way,” Keith said, filling the silence that grew between them.
“No problem,” he chuckled, turning those dark eyes on him. “Fans here are very friendly. But I’m not surprised they mobbed you. Talented, young and handsome? They would’ve torn you apart if I left you.”
Keith offered a quick smile before looking away. He didn’t want to admit how flustered he was at being called handsome. Was Shiro just stating a fact? Or was he offering a compliment? It was hard to tell. Keith decided to test the waters.
“Yeah? So then, you must get mobbed daily.”
Shiro looked surprised for a second before recovering.
“Well, I’m not especially talented or famous--”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
Their eyes met and held for a moment that felt like eternity. Keith swore Shiro’s eyes had darkened even more. Keith smiled, sharp, playful, and when Shiro chuckled this time, it was deeper.
“I was trying to be humble,” he joked, looking back out at the ocean. “Yeah, I’m quite popular with women in my workplace. Too bad they’re not really my type.”
That felt like Shiro was the one testing the waters. Keith played along, wanting to see where this went.
“Really? Not a single one?”
“It’s nothing personal,” Shiro shrugged, almost succeeding at sounding casual. “I’m just not interested in women.”
“Oh. Makes sense.”
They fell silent after that remark, never breaking eye contact. Keith couldn’t have been imagining the tension between them, not this time. Sure, he wasn’t always the best at reading social cues, but this seemed clear enough. He was about 90% sure Shiro might be interested in him. So now… what to do with that information?
Keith mulled over his options, biting his lower lip in thought. He didn’t miss the way Shiro’s eyes followed the movement. That warmed him up real fast. He was seriously considering throwing caution to the wind and just going for it. So what if he had to compete tomorrow? He could afford to show up a little sore, right? He’d probably still make it to the podium. Keith let his eyes scan Shiro’s body once more. It’d totally be worth it.
But before Keith could keep thinking with his dick, Shiro turned away and stretched. And damn if he didn’t enjoy that view.
“Which hotel are you staying at?” Shiro asked, turning back around.
The tone was friendly enough, but the question could allude to several things. The conflict must’ve been clear on Keith’s face, because Shiro smiled and elaborated.
“So I can drop you off. Men’s short programs are tomorrow, right? You should rest.”
That… wasn’t exactly what Keith wanted to hear. But now that it’d been proposed, he knew it was the right thing to do. A night of fun wouldn’t be worth risking a chance at gold again. Keith might enjoy it in the moment, but he’d regret it eventually, for sure.
“Oh, yeah, right. Thanks. I’m at the Hilton Tokyo,” he replied, standing up and stretching a bit himself.
Shiro whistled. “Fancy. That’s about thirty minutes from here. We should get going.”
“Okay.”
The walk back to the motorcycle was short and silent. The fire that was dulling in Keith’s veins reignited as he pressed against Shiro’s back again. The whole ride back, Keith was contemplating how to take his shot. He really didn’t want to let this tension go unresolved. Should he invite Shiro up to his room? Maybe play safe and give Shiro his number? Then the doubt crept back in.
Was Shiro even really interested? He’d been too nonchalant about taking him back. Shiro could have made a move, could’ve given Keith a chance to make a move, but he hadn’t. The uncertainty swirled in his chest, gnawing away at his resolve.
Before he knew it, they were pulling up to the hotel, Shiro driving them straight to the front entrance. Keith slowly slid off the bike and handed the helmet back, trying to come up with something to say.
“Thanks again, for everything.”
Okay, not a bad start.
“It was my pleasure,” Shiro drawled with a lazy smile that sent fire singing through his veins.
He was about to do it, take the plunge and make a move, but Shiro revved his bike and winked.
“Good luck tomorrow Keith. I’ll be rooting for you.”
And with that final remark, he sped off, leaving Keith dumbstruck in the hotel valet.
The next morning, Keith rose at 6am sharp, like usual. His internal clock worked despite jet lag, for better or worse. He’d been hoping to sleep off the disappointment of last night, but letting Shiro go so unresolved still lingered in his chest. Keith pulled out his phone, scrolling through twitter, and contemplated going back to sleep. His competition didn’t start until the evening, and the training rink wouldn’t be open for several more hours.
But then his stomach growled and he gave up on that prospect. Keith hauled himself out of bed, groaning as he stretched, and trudged to the bathroom. He lazily went through his morning routine, not in a rush to get anywhere. He tugged on some sweats and his Team USA jacket before wandering down to the hotel lobby.
Just as he hoped, Keith spotted Allura, looking just as begrudgingly awake as him. Her competitions didn’t even begin until tomorrow.
Keith walked up to her and she greeted him with a tired nod. They made the silent decision to wander around together, looking for a place to grab breakfast. First thing in the morning definitely didn’t have them feeling adventurous, so they settled on the cafe inside the hotel.
Once they each had two cups of coffee in their system, Keith sighed and began retelling his tale of epically failed romance. Allura laughed at the end of it, in that unique way of hers that was loving and teasing at the same time. Keith didn’t know how she pulled that off. No one else would get away with laughing at him, that’s for sure.
Once they had their fill of coffee and carbs—hey, he could afford an extra serving of potatoes on competition day, okay?—Allura checked the time. It would still be another two hours before the rink opened for practice. She insisted they go sightsee a bit before heading to the arena. Keith shrugged in agreement, having nothing better to do.
They went back up to his room real quick, so he could put on sneakers instead of the flip flops he was wearing now. He opened the door and froze in the entryway. Allura made a noise of surprise and pushed past him to get inside.
There, on his freshly made bed, sat an elaborate arrangement of multi-colored roses. Allura beat him to the bouquet, softly admiring the fresh flowers. Keith followed soon enough, once his stupor wore off. He didn’t know much about flowers, but he did know that an arrangement like that didn’t come cheap. He looked at the roses more closely. There was a note.
Keith quickly snatched the piece of paper before Allura could snoop. He walked to the other side of the room before reading it, making sure Allura was too busy admiring the roses to notice.
There, in delicate handwritten scrawl, was a simple message:
I know you’ll sweep me off my feet again. Own the ice, today and always. Shiro.
Wow, what the fuck. Keith shoved the note in his pocket, properly flustered, and turned back to Allura. She was stroking the roses with a funny smile.
“What is it?” He asked, standing next to her.
She looked up with a glint in her eye. “Keith, do you know the language of flowers?”
“Uh, not really,” he shrugged, “But roses are romantic, right?”
She hummed. “Dark red means beauty, admiration and desire. Orange usually symbolizes desire and enthusiasm. But lavender… lavender is very rare. It means love at first sight.”
Allura looked up at him, blue eyes glittering with questions. Keith wasn’t ready to answer any of them.
“I’m gonna ask you to leave now,” he said, trying but failing not to sound choked up.
“Keith, who are these from?” She sing-songed, clearly already guessing the answer.
“Bye Allura! See you later!” He drowned out her teasing, forcefully shoving her towards the door.
“Keith! I swear--”
Her warning was cut off as Keith slammed the door behind her. Safe, he let out a shaky sigh, his heart hammering in his chest. He pressed his back against the door and slid to the floor. After taking a moment to calm himself, he reached back into his pocket and pulled out the note.
Suddenly, Keith knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with just making it to the podium. He wanted gold. He’d always wanted gold, of course, but this was different. After receiving a gift like this, he needed to win gold. It was a challenge, and he readily accepted it.
At the end of the first day, Keith was in a solid third place. He’d scored a new personal best for his short program, but that step out of his quad salchow docked him enough to squeeze him out of second. But it was fine. Keith had made greater comebacks with lower scores before. He could do it again.
The whole drive back to the hotel, Keith couldn’t help but wonder if Shiro had been watching him.
That particular question was answered the next morning. Keith had, once again, woken up at dawn and decided to take a walk around the block to clear his head. While out, he stopped for coffee and inspected nearby restaurants that they could go to tomorrow, when competitions were over with. When he returned to the hotel, the front desk stopped him before he could get to the elevators.
Keith had a delivery waiting for him.
With a hardly contained excitement, Keith took the package from the clerk and rushed up to his room. Once behind the safety of his locked door, Keith allowed himself to inspect the package. It was small, wrapped in simple white paper. Keith bit his lip and slowly unwrapped it. The box underneath gave him pause; or rather, the brand label stamped on the box gave him pause.
Simple black, with the signature silver Versace logo. Keith’s heart skipped a beat. Did he dare open it? He certain as hell did. Inside, there was another note. Keith held his breath as he read it.
Gold, to match your medal tomorrow. But let me know if I need to exchange them for silver. Shiro.
Holy shit. Holy shit. He moved the note and underneath were a pair of simple gold stud earrings. Simple. Tasteful. Probably ridiculously expensive. He loved them. He was keeping them. And that meant he had to put on the performance of his life tonight and win gold.
Keith picked up the note again and smiled. Before, he’d been wondering if Shiro was unintentionally provoking him. But this was clear evidence that Shiro, somehow, knew about Keith’s love of a challenge, and was taking advantage of that.
Exchange them for silver.
“Oh, it’s so on.”
Maybe when Keith wasn’t so caught up in the moment, he would find his sudden relationship with Shiro to be kind of… weird. Not a relationship in the sense of dating, but what else do you call an instance in which one party sends increasingly expensive and motivational gifts to another party?
But the fact was that Keith was caught up in the moment, so of course he wore the earrings during his free skate performance. He just knew Shiro would be watching, and he was about to give the performance of his career.
The opening notes to “I’m Still Here” played and Keith was off.
Everything narrowed down to just him and the ice. The cold of it seeped into his bones, only to be met with the fire he always carried inside. But he wasn’t trying to fight it any longer. No, Keith let the cold in to temper him. In return, the ice allowed him to carve across its surface, intricate spins and jumps leaving deep scars.
He fumbled the landing on one of his triple loops, but didn’t let it phase him. Without overthinking it, Keith mentally changed his ending quad salchow to a quad flip. The strain on his body would be intense, but he could do it, he had the endurance. It was the only way to make up the points, and he needed every point to win.
He closed his eyes and took the leap.
When Keith stood on the podium the next night to accept the gold medal, he had on his earrings, and a new gold Cartier bracelet to match.