[ after his temporary disappearance to be with shane in montreal, the amount of contact between them diminishes significantly.
larus had known there would be consequences for it, for being selfish and taking that time to deepen their relationship, but in reality, it had been much harder and far worse than he could have predicted. after returning to iceland, he'd been put on an intense rotation of practices to the point he could barely remember his own name by the end of the day. his body hurt. his heart ached. before leaving, he'd tried to explain it to shane, had ended up writing him an actual letter he'd tucked into one of the pockets of his hockey bag, and still, the distance cuts through him like his blades on the rink, far too easy without much resistance.
the texts are minimal, the calls even more scattered than before. larus drives himself crazy with the thought of it, wishing he could go back to before the olympics when the possibility of anything with him didn't exist. just stolen moments, brief interludes to breathe one another in. now, he's suffocating, his attention to skating distracted and a little sloppy. sun has him doing the same jumps over and over, displeased to the point he forces larus to run through drills he hasn't touched since he'd been a teenager, and the breakdown is beginning to climb through him one day into the next.
he leaves shane a voicemail a week later that says "I heard you were going to be training at the same place we first met. I'll be there too." and tries not to cling to the hope they can find some time to be together.
the facility itself hadn't changed much; newer equipment, more maintenance. but it's still the same, still has the same feel to it that it had when he'd been seventeen, and it's almost ironic that the first glimpse of shane he gets in over two months is on the outside rink where he'd kissed him and run away. his coach is off to the side, the early hour and time difference playing with larus' lack of sleep, but every so often, their eyes meet. like lightning, a spark of desire that tugs at the core of him, and larus has to shake his head, quietly mouth the word 'stop' at shane before sun decides to bitch at him about his foot placement.
it goes on like that for almost an hour when the first signs of failure creep up on him. he barely lands a double axel and pushes forward through it, circling the rink and picking up speed for the triple lutz that's supposed to follow, and almost immediately, he knows it's wrong. he's gone into the rotation on the opposite foot, distracted and tired, and the spin is uncharacteristically wobbly, his landing broken by the tilt of his skate as he crashes hard against the ice. first his knee, then his elbow. he barely manages to keep his head from the impact, but it hurts, steals his breath to the point of tears.
maybe he blacks out for a moment. he isn't sure.
all that he knows when he blinks back to himself is the fact sun is standing over him and yelling at him to get up. to do it again. again, like he'd purposely ruined his routine by falling and could easily shake it off. ]
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larus had known there would be consequences for it, for being selfish and taking that time to deepen their relationship, but in reality, it had been much harder and far worse than he could have predicted. after returning to iceland, he'd been put on an intense rotation of practices to the point he could barely remember his own name by the end of the day. his body hurt. his heart ached. before leaving, he'd tried to explain it to shane, had ended up writing him an actual letter he'd tucked into one of the pockets of his hockey bag, and still, the distance cuts through him like his blades on the rink, far too easy without much resistance.
the texts are minimal, the calls even more scattered than before. larus drives himself crazy with the thought of it, wishing he could go back to before the olympics when the possibility of anything with him didn't exist. just stolen moments, brief interludes to breathe one another in. now, he's suffocating, his attention to skating distracted and a little sloppy. sun has him doing the same jumps over and over, displeased to the point he forces larus to run through drills he hasn't touched since he'd been a teenager, and the breakdown is beginning to climb through him one day into the next.
he leaves shane a voicemail a week later that says "I heard you were going to be training at the same place we first met. I'll be there too." and tries not to cling to the hope they can find some time to be together.
the facility itself hadn't changed much; newer equipment, more maintenance. but it's still the same, still has the same feel to it that it had when he'd been seventeen, and it's almost ironic that the first glimpse of shane he gets in over two months is on the outside rink where he'd kissed him and run away. his coach is off to the side, the early hour and time difference playing with larus' lack of sleep, but every so often, their eyes meet. like lightning, a spark of desire that tugs at the core of him, and larus has to shake his head, quietly mouth the word 'stop' at shane before sun decides to bitch at him about his foot placement.
it goes on like that for almost an hour when the first signs of failure creep up on him. he barely lands a double axel and pushes forward through it, circling the rink and picking up speed for the triple lutz that's supposed to follow, and almost immediately, he knows it's wrong. he's gone into the rotation on the opposite foot, distracted and tired, and the spin is uncharacteristically wobbly, his landing broken by the tilt of his skate as he crashes hard against the ice. first his knee, then his elbow. he barely manages to keep his head from the impact, but it hurts, steals his breath to the point of tears.
maybe he blacks out for a moment. he isn't sure.
all that he knows when he blinks back to himself is the fact sun is standing over him and yelling at him to get up. to do it again. again, like he'd purposely ruined his routine by falling and could easily shake it off. ]