Yuri doesn’t want to come off the ice, but the time is dwindling, and almost everyone has now, and he knows, he does.
It’s more nerves and drive than it is sense. He wants to stay out there. He wants to do it full out. He wants to stay even in some part, because looking out at that vaster and vaster expanse of carved up ice, and the last people on it, and the open space, and the seats around it, makes everything in his nerves and his bones ice. In his head, in his memories. He wants to fly in the face of it, because it makes everything shake. The flavor of that fear running beside his will.
His past, that could be his future. Can’t be. Might be.
Victor’s right, most likely. That there isn’t much more he can do. Here, and in general. It’s all jumping nerves because it is so close. The actual performances. The actual GPF. It’s all so close, and he’s either ready this time, or he isn’t. There’s no time left to change which one it is.
The last lap and last focus passes too fast and then all there is left is to listen. To come off the ice. To clean his skates of the excess ice carved on to his blades. To cover them, while staying balanced and listening to Victor’s voice over the pace of his heart still slowing. It, too, makes sense. But he’s been thinking about this, too. Last night, while he was the only person of everyone who had stayed in ...
… and he's counted down to this one last weekend. In so many ways. These last few, seldom days after all of these months, from the other side of the year. Slid through his fingers and faded behind them. Crystal pristine and yet still gone so fast. Almost, but not yet. Still the competition, still this weekend, still Barcelona. Still Victor looking at him like this, carefully and considerately — like Yuri is the only concern, the only focus, and like Yuri should be treated gently lest anything break or upset him now, right before.
It’s right, more than right, touching even in being the answer, but it’s not what Yuri’s been preparing himself for here either.
“Don’t start being a model coach now,” Yuri tosses at Victor as he finally lets go of Victor’s shoulder and settles his weight on his guarded-blades safely. “This is my first time in Barcelona. Take me sight-seeing.”
He knows it’s not what will be expected, and it turns his mouth toward a smile, delivering it without faltering. Like he knows it’s a surprise, and he throws in a wink. One last good (hopefully long) day, full of new (hopefully good) things, things Victor would (undoubtedly) love — of Victor — before … everything else coming, too.
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Yuri doesn’t want to come off the ice, but the time is dwindling,
and almost everyone has now, and he knows, he does.
It’s more nerves and drive than it is sense. He wants to stay out there. He wants to do it full out. He wants to stay even in some part, because looking out at that vaster and vaster expanse of carved up ice, and the last people on it, and the open space, and the seats around it, makes everything in his nerves and his bones ice. In his head, in his memories. He wants to fly in the face of it, because it makes everything shake. The flavor of that fear running beside his will.
His past, that could be his future. Can’t be. Might be.
Victor’s right, most likely. That there isn’t much more he can do. Here, and in general. It’s all jumping nerves because it is so close. The actual performances. The actual GPF. It’s all so close, and he’s either ready this time, or he isn’t. There’s no time left to change which one it is.
The last lap and last focus passes too fast and then all there is left is to listen. To come off the ice. To clean his skates of the excess ice carved on to his blades. To cover them, while staying balanced and listening to Victor’s voice over the pace of his heart still slowing. It, too, makes sense. But he’s been thinking about this, too. Last night, while he was the only person of everyone who had stayed in ...
… and he's counted down to this one last weekend. In so many ways. These last few, seldom days after all of these months, from the other side of the year. Slid through his fingers and faded behind them. Crystal pristine and yet still gone so fast. Almost, but not yet. Still the competition, still this weekend, still Barcelona. Still Victor looking at him like this, carefully and considerately — like Yuri is the only concern, the only focus, and like Yuri should be treated gently lest anything break or upset him now, right before.
It’s right, more than right, touching even in being the answer,
but it’s not what Yuri’s been preparing himself for here either.
“Don’t start being a model coach now,” Yuri tosses at Victor as he finally lets go of Victor’s shoulder and settles his weight on his guarded-blades safely. “This is my first time in Barcelona. Take me sight-seeing.”
He knows it’s not what will be expected, and it turns his mouth toward a smile, delivering it without faltering. Like he knows it’s a surprise, and he throws in a wink. One last good (hopefully long) day, full of new (hopefully good) things, things Victor would (undoubtedly) love — of Victor — before … everything else coming, too.