A/N: A birthday fic for fyerigurl :)

I hope that you guys all like this oneshot since this is waaaaayyyyy different from my other fics. Also, the writing style is also waaayyy different.

Also, this fic was based off of the American women's gymnastics team. Woo! USA won gold for gymnastics :)

I don't own Pawn Shop Blues by Lana del Rey.

{'cause it's nice to love and be loved

but it's better to know all you can know}

It's been ten years since the last time anyone has scored a perfect score! And now in the Olympics, a young gymnast proves once again that perfect is possible.

And it's been over twenty-eight years since a Japanese gymnast scored without any errors.


They had met at a bookstore.

"I love that play," she said.

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow and smiled. Most girls wouldn't be brave enough to talk to him.

"Yes, The Foreigner is a favorite of mine. I'm surprised though that anybody else reads plays." She flashed him a white smile before going to the checkout counter, her honey-colored hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail.


He forgot to ask her, her name. He had asked his friends if they had seen a girl like that somewhere before, and most of them answered no. Except for Renji.

"She's a gymnast," he told Yukimura. "She won silver for the world title at the Worlds Gymnastic competition. She's home schooled because she spends most of her time training in a gym."

"How do you know this?"

"I watch sports, and my sister likes watching gymnastics, being a retired one herself."

Yukimura gazed steadily at Renji's calm face.


"What's her name?"


He looked for her for the next few weeks, but she never came back to the bookstore.

"She's busy training, you know," Renji informed him one day when he saw Yukimura leave the bookstore for the third time that week.

Yukimura just gave him a smile and walked away.


"You're back again."

He turned around to face her for the second time. He was browsing in the American literature section, and a copy of The Great Gatsby fell out of his hand as she tapped his shoulder.

"I love that book too." She pointed towards the book on the ground, reaching down to grab it before shoving it into his hands.

"So it's good?" he managed to say.

"It's one of my favorites. I think it's nice to think that people can love for so long and for so much that they would do whatever it takes to be with the person they love."

"Is that what Gatsby felt for Daisy Buchanan?"

"Exactly." She stood on her tiptoes and reached for a book on a higher shelf, giving it to him too. "Read this. I feel like it's something you'll like." She handed him The History of Love by Nicole Krauss.

"Ah." He rubbed his thumb absently over the cover.

"What?" she asked.

"I don't believe in love."


A month after the second time they met, she was already at the bookstore before he entered.

"You're here a lot," he commented.

"Yes," she replied without looking up from her book.

"Can I have your number?"

Her head snapped up and her apple-leaf eyes widened.


"So I can talk to you again without having to wait months."

Her rosy lips pursed. "I don't even know your name."

He held out his hand. "Yukimura Seiichi."

"Asayo Kiyumi." She grabbed his hand and smiled. "Nice to meet you."

She smelled softly of clover and peaches, and he felt a slight tickling in his chest.


"Why are you so interested in her? I never would have penned her as your type," Sanada asked once.

"She's not."

"Then why do you talk to her so much?"

"I don't. I barely get to talk to her."



"How can you not believe in love?" she asked once.

They were at the park under a shady oak tree. His head lay resting on her lap as she read The History of Love.

"Listen to this line," she commanded. "'I felt my heart surge. I thought: I've lived this long. Please. A little longer won't kill me. I wanted to say her name aloud, it would have given me joy to call, because I knew that in some small way, it was my love that named her. And yet, I couldn't speak. I was afraid I'd choose the wrong sentence.'

"Isn't it perfect?"

"It's love," he said.

"He loves the character very much." She tapped the book against her chin.


"I have to tell you something."


They called him the Child of God.

And they said he was perfect.

"Are you still seeing her?" Renji asked.

"Yes, I am."




Everyone asked him that.

Why a girl that he never got to see?

Why a girl that didn't play tennis?

Why a girl who didn't even go to his school?

Why a girl who's number one priority in life would never be him, but gymnastics?


"I'm going to the Olympics," she said.

"I am too, someday." Yukimura took a sip of his tea and looked back up to Kiyumi.

"No, I'm going this year. In the summer."

He froze for a second, a sign of visible distress. He relaxed again and smiled.

"Congratulations for making Japan's gymnastics Olympic team."

She stared at him hard. His face frozen in a look of polite interest, but it was cold and impersonal. She hated it.

"I won't be able to see you at all these next seven months. I'll be training with the others in preparation for the summer Olympics. I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He went back to sipping his tea.

"I'll still be able to talk to you on some days."

"That's fine."


"We're the same," he told Sanada. "That's why I like her. We both understand that we will never be number one in each other's lives. Mine will be dedicated to tennis and hers to gymnastics."

"Will you watch her on TV?"

"Of course."


They had won nationals again, for the fifth time. They never lost again after that defeat from Seigaku.

Every team whispered about the Child of God, and every girl at school talked about how perfect he was.

He was perfect. Of that everyone was sure, and sometimes, he was sure of that too.

Until he looked at Kiyumi and saw how fast her career was moving.

He was the best, but it wasn't enough. He was the Child of God, but it wasn't enough. To everyone, he was perfect, but it wasn't true.


Yukimura watched her of course. He watched as she led Team Japan to a silver medal, and he watched her qualify to be in the women's individual all-around.


And then he saw how perfect she could be. How she was just like him.

She had hurt her ankle from landing when she vaulted, and her coach was going to pull her out since the last event of the evening was beam. He could see her shaking her head furiously. How she gritted her teeth and begged to go, and he let her.

Kiyumi jumped onto the beam and did two backward somersaults until she was at the edge of the beam. Her face was pulled tight in concentration as she ignored the obvious pain that was shooting out of her ankle. She performed a layout during her aerial and then into a roundoff. She lowered herself on the beam and did a straddle split. She got up again and did one more aerial, then ran across the beam, jumping up and doing flipping three times with her legs straight before landing on the mat beside the beam, sticking it perfectly.

Her coach had to carry her back to her seat because she couldn't walk.

He watched her face pinch in anticipation of her score. She was the last to go, and she would need a score of 15.223 if she were to get gold.

Every gymnast had their eyes on the scoreboard.


Her coach erupted into cheers and patted her back. Her hands flung up to her mouth and tears flowed freely down her face. A Ukrainian gymnast who was in the lead burst into tears and sank onto the ground, shoving away anyone who tried to comfort her.

It was a perfect score.


"How does it feel to win gold?" a reporter asked.

"It feels great," she panted. "This is what I've been working towards my whole career and it feels like I've just completed everything I've set out to do."

"How does it feel to know that you're the first gymnast to get a perfect score since 1992?"

"Well, ever since the new scoring system in 2006, I don't think there's ever been a 'perfect' score since a perfect score is a ten right? And now everyone has different starting values, but it feels great to know that I've done a routine that had absolutely no errors."

"Haha, that's basically a perfect score though isn't it?"



"Thank you."

They stared at each other. The first time they had seen each other in over eight months.

Her ankle was in a cast and she used crutches to walk.

"It's a fracture," she had explained.

"I'm sorry to hear about that."

"Yeah, well, I've got a gold now."


They didn't see each other for another few months when he started college. He didn't try calling her, and he didn't know why.

He just couldn't.

He shared a dorm room with Sanada, and Yanagi had got accepted into Oxford in England.


"Do you hate her?" Sanada grunted.

"No, of course not," Yukimura replied.

"Are you two still dating?"


She had phoned him five months after they last met and asked to meet at the park. He had reluctantly said yes, and was sitting on the grass underneath an oak tree.

She walked up to him, her ankle healed.

"Are we dating?" she asked.

He didn't reply.

"Are we?" her voice raised to a high pitch.




They still barely got to see each other. After her ankle healed, she started training again to win the World title.

Yukimura went to the national competition to watch her, sitting in one of the front rows.

Before her last event on vault, she looked up at him, and he smiled, waving at her.

She ran at the podium, jumping up on the springs, her hands connecting with the podium before they slipped and she landed on her right shoulder.


"Stop it! Just leave me alone!" She pushed his flowers away, smashing the vase on the ground.

His smile faltered as he looked at her in her hospital bed.

"You cost me the national title," she hissed, angrily wiping away tears. "You're distracting me!"

His hands were limp against his sides.

"GET OUT!" she shrieked, throwing her food tray at him.

He dodged and walked away.


"I'm going to go train to be a professional tennis player," he told Sanada.

"Took you long enough."


Yukimura had packed his bags and was leaving on the the two o'clock plane to America.

He called her, and asked to meet up.


Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, and her nails were chewed down to the quick. It had been over six months since her injury at the national competition. Six months since either of them had heard from each other.

"I'm going to America."

Her apple-leaf eyes widened.

They both stood in the park for a few minutes. A wind picked up and blew a piece of her hair in his direction. She still smelled like clovers and peaches.

"Oh." Her head drooped slightly.

"I liked being in a relationship with you," he confessed. "I thought I loved you."

Her lower lip quivered, and she bit it, refusing to look into his eyes.

"It feels nice to be in love," Yukimura said.

Her green eyes glittered from unshed tears.

"It feels nice to be loved too."

"I know," she whispered.

"Good bye."


They were too similar.

And she had distracted him too.