This is the sort of work he understands, the kind he loves. The sort that leaves his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his feet and ankles and knees and hips and back aching in a way they never used to, ten years ago. Skating is quantifiable. Even when Yakov is having him do compulsory figures or laps or stretching for hours at a barre, he at least knows what's expected of him.
(It would be difficult not to, when Yakov is forever reminding him exactly what sort of legacy he's carrying on his shoulders. No wonder his back is so sore.)
Now, he blows at a piece of his bangs that's sticking over one eye, and tries to shake it out of his vision to give Yakov a sardonic smile. "Only once? You do want me to take a break. Do I really look that tired?"
He feels tired. Even more so with Yuri Plisetsky wandering back in and dropping into the sort of stretch Victor hasn't been able to do since his own fifteenth birthday.
Annoying little shit. But talented, and he can't ignore that, and he even likes Yuri, for a given definition of the word. Well, as much as he likes any of his rink mates. Those who manage not to burn out in the first few years ... and Yuri is only stoking that fire, not succumbing to it.
However, his own annoyance at growing older doesn't make Yakov any less right, or that step sequence any less in need of attention, so he pushes off after tightening his laces, and glides back to the center of the rink to pick up at the beginning again.
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(It would be difficult not to, when Yakov is forever reminding him exactly what sort of legacy he's carrying on his shoulders. No wonder his back is so sore.)
Now, he blows at a piece of his bangs that's sticking over one eye, and tries to shake it out of his vision to give Yakov a sardonic smile. "Only once? You do want me to take a break. Do I really look that tired?"
He feels tired. Even more so with Yuri Plisetsky wandering back in and dropping into the sort of stretch Victor hasn't been able to do since his own fifteenth birthday.
Annoying little shit. But talented, and he can't ignore that, and he even likes Yuri, for a given definition of the word. Well, as much as he likes any of his rink mates. Those who manage not to burn out in the first few years ... and Yuri is only stoking that fire, not succumbing to it.
However, his own annoyance at growing older doesn't make Yakov any less right, or that step sequence any less in need of attention, so he pushes off after tightening his laces, and glides back to the center of the rink to pick up at the beginning again.