Ilia had decided he’d had enough of all the negative media attention. The pressure of them had been the reason why he hadn’t done well in the men’s single skating in the Winter Olympics anyway. So, he had cooked up a new routine, a blatant middle finger to everyone piling on the pressure, to an NF song.

His blue eyes are focused, as he ruffles his blonde hair, focusing on pulling out his backflips, his quads.

Internally, he knew there was a lot still going on in his mind, years of baggage he had kept to himself, kept quiet, and this performance was partly to try and explain that in the only medium he truly could, with his figure skating.

Ilia was desperate to show the world that he was going to be better, going to be bigger, this wasn’t over. But the fear lingered.