He's watching Yuri skate back towards him when it starts: at first, just white noise blocking out the trickle of applause as the other skaters exit the rink. It's low at first, then louder, and when he finally recognizes it, he supposes he should have known it right away. He's heard it enough times, after all: a loud, rhythmic chant that swells until it fills the arena, bouncing off the ice and the walls.
Vik-tor! Vik-tor! Vik-tor! Vik-tor!
It's as familiar to him as his own pulse. A rising tide of sound he once would have directed from the center of the ice, arms raised, waving them on until the entire arena rang with his name, shouted by hundreds (sometimes thousands) of thrilled fans, each believing they could lift him to new heights simply by the power of their love.
It's as impossible for him to ignore it as it would be to ignore the sunrise. His whole life, he's been accustomed to loving his fans back the way they love him, to showing his appreciation for everything they've supported and helped him through. Even now, even without skating, still it rises, and rises, and rises, until he has to half turn and wave to them, laughing, and for just this moment, there's nothing but this. Their love for him, and his love for them.
Even when he isn't skating. They might be disappointed, but they still call his name, clapping, chanting so loudly it's almost impossible to hear anything else. It's a swell he rides up, and up, and still further up, a pleased flush on his cheeks, his gloved hand waving in wide sweeps as a response:
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Vik-tor! Vik-tor! Vik-tor! Vik-tor!
It's as familiar to him as his own pulse. A rising tide of sound he once would have directed from the center of the ice, arms raised, waving them on until the entire arena rang with his name, shouted by hundreds (sometimes thousands) of thrilled fans, each believing they could lift him to new heights simply by the power of their love.
It's as impossible for him to ignore it as it would be to ignore the sunrise. His whole life, he's been accustomed to loving his fans back the way they love him, to showing his appreciation for everything they've supported and helped him through. Even now, even without skating, still it rises, and rises, and rises, until he has to half turn and wave to them, laughing, and for just this moment, there's nothing but this. Their love for him, and his love for them.
Even when he isn't skating. They might be disappointed, but they still call his name, clapping, chanting so loudly it's almost impossible to hear anything else. It's a swell he rides up, and up, and still further up, a pleased flush on his cheeks, his gloved hand waving in wide sweeps as a response:
I hear you.
(He can't say he hasn't missed it.)