Since he was a child, Yuri had always been called weak, not least of all by himself. But he had never felt weaker than he did as he stood drowning on the edge of the rink, staring alternately between impossibly captivating turquoise irises and the hand offered to him.

He barely heard himself over the roar of the crowd which ebbed and flowed through his senses.

"Victor?"

"I did say we would do a pair performance, didn't I? We've spent the last six weeks perfecting ours after all."

Yuri was sure he looked both shocked and mortified as it dawned on him that while he considered their practice as wholly recreational, Victor had planned it to be a publicized performance from the start.

No way. Just no way.

"Impossible! I can't skate with you!"

Victor's smile took on that genially threatening look which Yuri had become all too familiar with.

"Is there something wrong with skating with me?" Yuri jolted in fear.

"Not at all! I-it's just you're you and I'm o-only me and it would be wrong on so many levels and-!"

His breath stopped short when his hand was grasped with a gentleness that brought heat to his face and stinging to his eyes.

"Yuri." And just like that his resistance was shattered and he allowed Victor to pull him onto the ice. The announcer, the crowd, and his heart competed for dominance in his ears which he just knew were an embarrassing shade of red.

His maroon eyes were forced to connect to those amazing turquoise mirrors as Victor cupped his flaming cheeks. The crowd descended into silence as the familiar notes waltzed into being.

Before he could say anything, Victor interrupted with a laugh in his voice, "Do you hear that Yuri? They're playing our song."

Victor could mean so much by saying so little. Yuri felt his apprehension and his sensation of gravity fall away like unlocked shackles and suddenly he was brave following Victor's movements with an eager magnetism.

This feeling, this scary, suffocating, terribly perfect feeling was one he had never felt. Never until his hand was in Victor's and those eyes were never taken off of him-just as he'd asked.

What else could it be but love?

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Ne, I've tried studying the names of figure skating moves and jumps religiously but almost none of it seems to be sticking. Part of me thinks that's why this short story stops just shy of any description of the routine. But believe you me, it plays out beautifully in my head.

Thank you for reading.