That single word stays with him, even once his skates are on and his badge is off. Over and over, it repeats. In the click of the gate opening. In the sound of others stepping out. The first glide of his own skates, chill air rushing through his hair and flipping about his collar. It only builds with each turn about the ring, warming up in a handful of laps.
Forbid.
I forbid.
I forbid you.
When he only has six minutes, and it matters. Those six minutes. Because even if everything feels bogged down, it's only six minutes. It matters because he needs to go back over every part that didn't work this morning. It matters because he won't have another chance to warm-up out on the ice in his skates. It matters because he needs to make sure he's ready. It matters because it has to be perfect in an hour. It matters because holding back and floundering is all he's been doing, all his head wants, and that has to stop, he has to make it.
(It matters because when he slams the ice, smacking his side, and then his back, and then his other side, and then his front, all in the space of a second, still caught up in the momentum of the spin, even right down into the ice, he can't help but think those words first when he catches traction enough to push back up. That maybe Victor had known all along. That he couldn't do it, and he shouldn't even try, or try to pretend, he could.)
He'd done all of it yesterday. Somehow. When yesterday felt a million years behind him somehow. Impossible. Untouchable. Something that only ascribed itself to his name and his likeness, but wasn't him at all. Like the rest of him didn't seem to belong to himself anymore. He circles the rest. Some of it is step work. Some of it is nothing but his feet moving forward and forward and forward.
He doesn't try another jump after that. He doesn't try for any of the quads. He doesn't even do his triple axel.
When the announcement comes, it's not soon enough, and but it's, also, that everything is suddenly too very much right then. As soon as the ice clears the first person will be sent out, and it'll all start. No stopping the rapid descent of everything that is only coming faster and faster now. He's as reluctant to come off, and he is glad this part is over, even more worried about what's to come. All of it, circling, circling, circling, as he takes the skate guards from Victor's hands without even looking up.
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skylark_photos
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Date: 2017-04-08 05:37 am (UTC)Forbid.
When he only has six minutes, and it matters. Those six minutes. Because even if everything feels bogged down, it's only six minutes. It matters because he needs to go back over every part that didn't work this morning. It matters because he won't have another chance to warm-up out on the ice in his skates. It matters because he needs to make sure he's ready. It matters because it has to be perfect in an hour. It matters because holding back and floundering is all he's been doing, all his head wants, and that has to stop, he has to make it.
(It matters because when he slams the ice, smacking his side, and then his back, and then his other side, and then his front, all in the space of a second, still caught up in the momentum of the spin, even right down into the ice, he can't help but think those words first when he catches traction enough to push back up. That maybe Victor had known all along. That he couldn't do it, and he shouldn't even try, or try to pretend, he could.)
He'd done all of it yesterday. Somehow. When yesterday felt a million years behind him somehow. Impossible. Untouchable. Something that only ascribed itself to his name and his likeness, but wasn't him at all. Like the rest of him didn't seem to belong to himself anymore. He circles the rest. Some of it is step work. Some of it is nothing but his feet moving forward and forward and forward.
He doesn't try another jump after that. He doesn't try for any of the quads. He doesn't even do his triple axel.
When the announcement comes, it's not soon enough, and but it's, also, that everything is suddenly too very much right then. As soon as the ice clears the first person will be sent out, and it'll all start. No stopping the rapid descent of everything that is only coming faster and faster now. He's as reluctant to come off, and he is glad this part is over, even more worried about what's to come. All of it, circling, circling, circling, as he takes the skate guards from Victor's hands without even looking up.