They both land soundly, and he won't know about perfectly until later, but there's no more time, when he's chasing the music, for the seconds that passed to take those, into the step sequence that follows. Certainty already settling in around him, as he moves into them with the absolution they were made for.
Each step of his feet weave the story of the complicated dance his life has become since he labeled it love all those months ago. His home, and his family, and Victor. The foundation under him. The support behind him. Always pushing him forward, but never demanding more than he could give. Never doubting him, even when all he seemed to do was doubt himself.
He wanted to be stronger. He could be stronger. He could surpass even Victor's wildest imaginings.
All of himself that he ever could be he pushed into it. Every sharp spin, every faster step, every sudden high-speed bracket turn, every twist of his arms and sinuous follow through with his body, while his feet moved. Never stopped moving. Faster and faster, toward what could only be one thing. No longer a question. Not when he pushes off from the ground and no part of him is questioning how it will end, is even thinking about that part.
He's slammed the ice more times than he can count in his life. They all have. It's part of this. But he never thinks about that part of it. No more than a breath in thinks about the breath out. Not even when he knows that an attempt, of this scale, in this place, without a cent of practice is certainly not going to have the miracle landing to match his earlier perfect triple flip.
Except into the ice.
Except, it wasn't even about that.
It was about the perfect expression how he felt. Beyond words.
It wasn't about fault, or forgiveness.
He wasn't mad or sad because of Victor.
Everything about Victor sent him higher and higher. Everything about Victor made him so much stronger.
All of everything else slipped away, every small and great error, the crying and yelling, every silence and every word and every thought, and it felt perfect, in the air. It was in his blood (Victor) and his ears (Victor) and his whole body (Victor). Victor in every part of him, always lifting him up, spreading him out, sending him flying higher and higher, making him want to show that he could be even more than that, could exceed every wish ever shared, dream ever dreamt, in from every darkness turned to light.
What came right after that moment couldn't hold a candle to that second twisting in air.
Not the excruciating obliteration of air as the pain slammed his hip, his side, his thigh, trying to relocate his bones into his ribcage. Not the desperate thought to get back on his feet nownownow. Not the way the whole arena, the whole world, had seem to have drawn in a shocked breath, silencing everything to a death pall, before pandemonium exploded around him.
Not when he can't look up (not yet). He can't look out (not yet). He has to follow the music, back to the center (not yet). Has to finish first (not yet).
Spin (not yet), and drop (not yet), and follow his hand right back up (not yet).
Throw them out wide, even as his heart is racing every hard thundered sprinting beat for the coming second, to match the screaming all around him, all but drowning out the end of his music, when he can finally draw his arm and his hand out across his body to look to where Victor is at his closing pose. Gasps for air demanding a focus he can barely feel and feels in every single inch of his body, more alive in this second than maybe ever before in his life.
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Date: 2017-04-10 03:47 am (UTC)Each step of his feet weave the story of the complicated dance his life has become since he labeled it love all those months ago. His home, and his family, and Victor. The foundation under him. The support behind him. Always pushing him forward, but never demanding more than he could give. Never doubting him, even when all he seemed to do was doubt himself.
He wanted to be stronger. He could be stronger. He could surpass even Victor's wildest imaginings.
All of himself that he ever could be he pushed into it. Every sharp spin, every faster step, every sudden high-speed bracket turn, every twist of his arms and sinuous follow through with his body, while his feet moved. Never stopped moving. Faster and faster, toward what could only be one thing. No longer a question. Not when he pushes off from the ground and no part of him is questioning how it will end, is even thinking about that part.
He's slammed the ice more times than he can count in his life. They all have. It's part of this. But he never thinks about that part of it. No more than a breath in thinks about the breath out. Not even when he knows that an attempt, of this scale, in this place, without a cent of practice is certainly not going to have the miracle landing to match his earlier perfect triple flip.
Except into the ice.
Except, it wasn't even about that.
It was about the perfect expression how he felt. Beyond words.
It wasn't about fault, or forgiveness.
He wasn't mad or sad because of Victor.
Everything about Victor sent him higher and higher.
Everything about Victor made him so much stronger.
All of everything else slipped away, every small and great error, the crying and yelling, every silence and every word and every thought, and it felt perfect, in the air. It was in his blood (Victor) and his ears (Victor) and his whole body (Victor). Victor in every part of him, always lifting him up, spreading him out, sending him flying higher and higher, making him want to show that he could be even more than that, could exceed every wish ever shared, dream ever dreamt, in from every darkness turned to light.
What came right after that moment couldn't hold a candle to that second twisting in air.
Not the excruciating obliteration of air as the pain slammed his hip, his side, his thigh, trying to relocate his bones into his ribcage. Not the desperate thought to get back on his feet nownownow. Not the way the whole arena, the whole world, had seem to have drawn in a shocked breath, silencing everything to a death pall, before pandemonium exploded around him.
Not when he can't look up (not yet). He can't look out (not yet).
He has to follow the music, back to the center (not yet).
Has to finish first (not yet).
Spin (not yet), and drop (not yet), and follow his hand right back up (not yet).
Throw them out wide, even as his heart is racing every hard thundered sprinting beat for the coming second, to match the screaming all around him, all but drowning out the end of his music, when he can finally draw his arm and his hand out across his body to look to where Victor is at his closing pose. Gasps for air demanding a focus he can barely feel and feels in every single inch of his body, more alive in this second than maybe ever before in his life.