Time isn't his friend. In one minute, time isn't moving at all, and he's never going to make it to tonight, because tonight is never going to get here, and in the very next, half an hour or an hour has passed, and he's going to hyperventilate because if he blinks too many times it's going to be his turn to go back on the ice right now.
It's unnerving, and it flips back and forth in his head, as the first group of the ladies takes the ice, and then the second. As the first group of the pairs skaters take the ice, and then the second. He watches some of the earliest ones, when they end up anywhere near a prompter or a tv. Even though Victor seems dedicated enough to not keeping him incredibly close to them, or at least watching him when he's watching them.
It isn't long after that the first three of their group head for the curtain, none of them returning, and Yuri checks his earplugs even though he's been switching between them and his headphones for hours. But it's silence right now. It's just the sound of the wheels in his head spinning, around and around and around, while he gets up from having been at using a roller on the lower muscles of his thigh below his hip.
It's too close really to just stay focused. He ends up back up, walking, but even walking isn't what he wants, and he ends up standing still, hands balling into the fabric of his jacket, so they won't shake, thinking through the circuit of his routine. How many beats. The lineup. What could use more focus. Losing himself in a series of deep breaths, that even if he wants them to go incredibly slow, are still a little too fast on the tail end. But that's right when he notices the flapping, clapping hands in his vision of Jean-Jacques Leroy.
Who is staring directly at him. Mouth moving through silent words. Expression expectant and triumphant. Startling Yuri into a surprised sound as he reached for his ear plugs, apologizing. "Oh, sorry. I didn't catch that."
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Time isn't his friend. In one minute, time isn't moving at all, and he's never going to make it to tonight, because tonight is never going to get here, and in the very next, half an hour or an hour has passed, and he's going to hyperventilate because if he blinks too many times it's going to be his turn to go back on the ice right now.
It's unnerving, and it flips back and forth in his head, as the first group of the ladies takes the ice, and then the second. As the first group of the pairs skaters take the ice, and then the second. He watches some of the earliest ones, when they end up anywhere near a prompter or a tv. Even though Victor seems dedicated enough to not keeping him incredibly close to them, or at least watching him when he's watching them.
It isn't long after that the first three of their group head for the curtain, none of them returning, and Yuri checks his earplugs even though he's been switching between them and his headphones for hours. But it's silence right now. It's just the sound of the wheels in his head spinning, around and around and around, while he gets up from having been at using a roller on the lower muscles of his thigh below his hip.
It's too close really to just stay focused. He ends up back up, walking, but even walking isn't what he wants, and he ends up standing still, hands balling into the fabric of his jacket, so they won't shake, thinking through the circuit of his routine. How many beats. The lineup. What could use more focus. Losing himself in a series of deep breaths, that even if he wants them to go incredibly slow, are still a little too fast on the tail end. But that's right when he notices the flapping, clapping hands in his vision of Jean-Jacques Leroy.
Who is staring directly at him. Mouth moving through silent words. Expression expectant and triumphant.
Startling Yuri into a surprised sound as he reached for his ear plugs, apologizing. "Oh, sorry. I didn't catch that."