That triple axel is as clean as he's ever seen it, and the crowd cheers, only to explode in appreciative applause at the flawless quad salchow that follows. Victor's own hands hurt from clapping, and he knows Yuri can't hear him, but he can't stop himself from calling it out: "Yuri! Amazing!"
Even better than his performance in Shanghai, and as much as Victor expected it, was certain of it, he feels a certain sense of vindicated pride to see it happening, to hear the response of the crowd. They love it, just like he told Yuri they would, but he can't care too much just yet, is getting too carried away on Yuri's jump sequence. Every element is perfectly clean, gorgeously executed. Eros –– indeed, Yuri –– has never looked this good.
(He's hardly recognizable as the skater who collapsed under the pressure of the Grand Prix Final two years ago. Not only in the difficulty of his program or the cleanliness of his execution, but his confidence. He isn't hesitating for a single second.)
The vibrant strings of Eros seem to lift him up, up, further up, twirling him like a partner, spun out again on the lines left cut by his skates into the ice.
(No matter how many times Victor sees this, he's never found a way to resist it.)
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That triple axel is as clean as he's ever seen it, and the crowd cheers, only to explode in appreciative applause at the flawless quad salchow that follows. Victor's own hands hurt from clapping, and he knows Yuri can't hear him, but he can't stop himself from calling it out: "Yuri! Amazing!"
Even better than his performance in Shanghai, and as much as Victor expected it, was certain of it, he feels a certain sense of vindicated pride to see it happening, to hear the response of the crowd. They love it, just like he told Yuri they would, but he can't care too much just yet, is getting too carried away on Yuri's jump sequence. Every element is perfectly clean, gorgeously executed. Eros –– indeed, Yuri –– has never looked this good.
(He's hardly recognizable as the skater who collapsed under the pressure of the Grand Prix Final two years ago. Not only in the difficulty of his program or the cleanliness of his execution, but his confidence. He isn't hesitating for a single second.)
The vibrant strings of Eros seem to lift him up, up, further up, twirling him like a partner, spun out again on the lines left cut by his skates into the ice.
(No matter how many times Victor sees this, he's never found a way to resist it.)