Ilia was used to the pressure of the figure skating world, the adoration, the limelight, the way that his name was always on someone’s lips. He was less accustomed to the growing minority of people who seemed to dislike him.

Granted, it had taken him a while to get somewhat media trained, his focus had been figure skating for so long, and it was always just a blatant display of athleticism and showmanship. Aura farming, was what the media said, and Ilia was inclined to agree.

He did however, know that the growing group of people who didn’t like him, for whatever reason, seemed to be the most vocal, focusing on his mistakes, or things he’d said in the past, that were admittedly, probably quite insulting to some.

Ilia’s blue eyes skate over the Twitter comment sections, feeling yet another pang of vulnerability. A hand fluffs up his blonde hair, as he stares at the mess. He was a two time World Champion, an Olympian, he’d worked too hard for this.