Chapter Text
IT WAS ALWAYS nerve-wracking before he stepped onto the ice, his brain oh so "helpfully" giving him every single worst case scenario, all the ways that he could mess up and crash out on the ice in a catastrophic meltdown of knife shoes and blood and broken bones—
Virgil Romanov took a deep breath in, held it, then let it out slowly and stepped onto the ice, wordlessly passing the skater who had just finished his routine and waving one hand in acknowledgement at the called "Good luck, Vitya!" He thought it might have been Patton, even though his younger brother was in the second group rather than first with him. It would be just like his brother to risk their coach's ire just to sneak out of the locker room to cheer for him, and he certainly couldn't think of anyone else in his group who would both wish him luck and be so familiar.
A quick warm-up lap around the rink to settle his skin a bit more and he took his position at the center of the ice, down on one knee, right arm crossed over his chest with his fist over his heart, head bowed. The moment the music started, the world fell away and he was in motion. His short program had set the stage with a quirky mash-up of "I've Got No Strings" from Disney's Pinoccio cut with N'SYNC's "No Strings Attached" and a perky routine he'd choreographed just to make his brother happy. Now it was time to go full villain mode with Metallica's "Master of Puppets", and he was on fire.
This was what he'd been saving up his energy for in the warm-ups. This was the show-stopper, the performance he knew would make or break his final score. Jolting and jerking his limbs like a marionette being hauled up by its strings, dropping and flowing into each spin and jump... The triple axel bobbled slightly, that sucked, but the triple Salchow/triple toe loop was solid. By the time he ended, pigeontoed and seemingly dangling by his upraised left elbow, Virgil was mostly confident that he hadn't fucked up terribly like his brain had tried to insist he would.
Certainly the roaring cheers from the crowd were doing an excellent job of drowning out that tiny resurgent voice trying to convince him he'd still somehow sucked. He mentally batted it down as he straightened up and bowed to the judges, then turned to bow twice more to the audience before skating off towards the side. Patton was nowhere to be seen, but Logan consented to give him a high five as he stepped off the ice and took his blade guards.
The cameras were going crazy in the Kiss and Cry, and Virgil gave them polite attention with a wave and a small two-fingered salute before giving his full focus to the scoreboard. He knew the points his routine was potentially worth, and the fact that Logan was seated silently beside him indicated his coach was pleased with his performance. It still made his face break into a brilliant, excited grin when the 189.7 popped up on the board beside his name.
Logan gave him a firm side-hug in congratulations as he led him out of the Kiss and Cry and over to the winner's circle. He'd done it. He was in first place for the free skates and stood a decent chance of being on the podium overall. There was no guarantee that his program was enough to keep him there, not with some of the others still to come including Patton, but he had done his part and done it well enough for a solid shot at gold.
For now, he could relax a bit and enjoy the high.
RELAXING WOULD BE impossible for Roman Cabrera, at least for the foreseeable future. He was in the second group and should have spent the time while the first group was out there doing some stretches or mentally reviewing his routine, but then one of the younger skaters in his group, Pavel or Piotr or something, had grabbed his arm and hissed for him to hurry or they'd "miss it". Roman might have blown him off except he caught the "ROMANOV" on the back of the skater's jacket and before he knew it he was lingering just out of sight of the cameras and staring at the ice as Virgil Romanov, his idol, practically turned himself into a captive marionette dancing on the strings of a cruel puppeteer.
It was breathtaking.
Pietro or Patya or whatever his name was tugged him away to sneak back once Virgil's program finished and Roman had been practically vibrating ever since. He may have also been a bit too effusive in thanking the guy for such an amazing gift of getting to see such majesty in person rather than through a screen on replay, at least if the younger boy's blush was anything to go by, but Roman couldn't bring himself to feel too embarrassed through the high of his euphoria.
"Hopeless," a familiar voice drawled from near his ear, and Roman turned to see his brother shaking his head at him with a look of mock-disappointment. "You're gonna bomb your free skate if you keep mooning over Virgin Romanov."
"Virgil," Roman huffed at Remus, growling when his brother just looked at him. "And I'm not going to bomb my skate. I didn't even bomb my short program, and I am much more secure in my free skate routine than I was that."
"Still fell," Remus pointed out ruthlessly. "You gotta keep your head in the game out there, bro, or you're gonna be playing catch up to your precious 'prince of darkness' for the rest of your career."
"¡Chingate!" Roman snapped, shoving his brother's shoulder. "Go out to the stands if you're just gonna heckle me."
"Nail your program and I won't heckle," Remus said, though he did get up to leave the green room. "Better yet, nail the vir—"
"Out, Remus!"
"Should I have kept him from getting in here?" another skater asked hesitantly. Roman was pretty sure his name was Kenjirou. He sighed.
"Nah, he only ever wants to mess with me, and I can handle his mess," he said, glancing at the clock. Group one would be filtering back about now except for the skaters in the top three. His time was almost up before he had to go out there and kill it slaying the Dragon Witch.
It was second nature to check the scoreboard as he and the rest of group 2 skated out onto the ice for a brief warm-up. Seeing Virgil's name and that seriously impressive score up on the board set Roman's heart racing. He dropped into a quick sit spin to release a little of the energy bubbling under his skin.
Focus, he scolded himself. You're a noble prince about to do battle against the fearsome Dragon Witch for the hand of your true love, not some lovesick schoolboy plucking daisy petals!
A surge of cheers brought him back to himself in time to hear his name being announced as the first contestant of group 2. The rest of his group was beginning to clear the ice, so Roman skated over to the center and took up his starting pose, feeling the beginnings of a flush trying to stir as he realized how similar his being down on one knee with hands at his left hip might seem to—
A fanfare of horns opened the music he had chosen for this skate, and Roman "drew his sword" and saluted the crowd before shoving away every thought but the routine. The music blended the orchestral theme from the original "Superman" movie with snippets from "Night On Bald Mountain", making for a truly dramatic battle sequence as Roman dipped and spun his way around the ice, fast footwork in the step sequence leading him into a triple axel/double toe loop/triple Salchow that had his leg muscles twinging from the effort. The flying camel spin was practically a break after that, which was good because he had one more jump—
He absolutely nailed the triple lutz, launching himself into the spin on one dramatic beat and landing on the next two seconds later! The rest was footwork, another spin, and then he was taking his final pose, imaginary sword held aloft in victory, chest heaving as his blood roared like a dragon in his ears... wait... that was the crowd that was roaring.
Exhausted and elated in equal measure, Roman took his bows before skating towards the side, detouring to pick up a red stuffed dragon that had hit the ice near his exit. The plushie had a neon green collar with silver spikes on it, which made Roman smile. Remus must have decided that Roman had nailed it hard enough to deserve the present.
"I think that's the best I've seen you do that routine yet!" his coach, Thomas, congratulated him as he stepped off the ice.
"Watch me do even better at the Cup of China," Roman promised with a grin. "Finals is in the bag this year!"
He couldn't seem to stop grinning even as he sat in the Kiss and Cry waiting for his scores, weirdly grateful for the dragon plushie to grip so he wouldn't fidget or pick at the gold braid on his prince costume. The grin finally fell from his face when his score was announced, jaw dropping in shock. 190.4?! He had scored higher than Virgil Romanov?! He nearly stumbled and fell on his face as Thomas led him over to the winner's circle, barely noticing anyone else as Virgil himself looked up and they locked eyes.
"Good job," the older skater said as Roman dropped into the seat next to him, the short English words sounding gruff and brusque in his deep voice.
At least he didn't call you 'kid' this time, a voice that sounded a lot like Remus jeered in his mind as he tried to swallow past the lump of Complicated Feelings caught in his throat to respond.
"Y-you too," he managed, more breathless than he probably ought to be even after the workout his skate gave him. Virgil nodded shortly - either in thanks or simply an acknowledgment of a fundamentally true statement, Roman couldn't tell - and looked away, turning his attention to the big screen where that other skater (Patton, his name was Patton) was just about to begin his routine in something pale blue and sparkling.
Roman, however, was distracted with doing some mental math. His short program had gotten him a 77.4, even with the fall, which brought him up to 267.8. Virgil's short program had earned him a 78.6, which combined with his free skate brought his total to 268.3. Roman was less than a point behind Virgil Romanov, and unless someone else came in and swept past them both, then Roman would be accepting silver on the same podium as Virgil would be awarded gold.
Remus would make fun of him until the end of time if he knew that Roman's only thought at that realization was that this was the best day of his life.