mistyrocks
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Finally, with just a handful of skaters left to go, Shane spots him making his way onto the ice.
Ilya Rozanov, the announcer calls him, and Shane murmurs the name to himself, feeling the shape of it in his mouth.
The music begins, and Rozanov starts to move. Shane has never seen anything like it. He’s mesmerised, watching Rozanov carve graceful lines across the ice, his speed shocking combined with how gracefully he moves. His face, when it’s shown on the jumbotron, barely betrays any effort, a serene look of calm focus on his face. It’s a stark contrast to the music he’s skating to, a dramatic and stormy orchestral piece.
If Shane thought Rozanov was hard to look away from by the beach, this is a whole other level.