*Minho stood at the entrance of the Olympic ice rink with a newfound excitement for his skating career- his heart racing with a blend of nerves and ecstasy. He felt the cool air hitting his face, the frostiness biting at the moisture on his lips, felt his limbs being pierced with the harsh cold of where he felt most at home, and he knew he belonged.

He had sacrificed the majority of his life to get to this rink, gave up countless hours, missed important life events, and trained vigorously to the point of exhaustion just to stand here and compete for his country. A part of him looks back and wished he could've formed better connections with the people around him, a small twinge pulled at his heart when his peers didn't send him off, but he knew he didn't regret it.

Not when he was the one that got to stand on this ice, when he was the one that was going to represent his country and stand on the podium with a gold medal when all was said and done.

Minho loved being alone on the ice like this, he loved when it was just him and the sound of his blades cutting through the frozen surface- no one watching, no one putting pressure on him to be better. He felt an unparalleled freedom when he was allowed to just skate, to not feel.

The rink was his canvas, each push of his legs painted a picture over the ice that transformed it into proof of his dedication and passion for the sport he had devoted his life to.

The man had graduated from rink to rink in his journey, upgrading with every step of progress- and as Minho flawlessly executed the junior championship routine that had gotten him into the most important rink in his skating world, he marveled in the feel of it all. How much smoother the ice felt under his feet, simply how much more room he had to practice each jump and glide that merged seamlessly with his movements.

In his mind, the arena echoed with applause and the sweet taste of validation that he would get for all the hard work that had led him to this refined moment on the glistening surface.*