DORIANMANCE WEEK -::- DAY 2 -::- Yuri!!! On Ice AU
Pavellan. Dorian Pavus x Varlen Lavellan (approx 2.8k words, most under the cut) <3
Varlen gritted his teeth, hands gripping the wall of the
rink, his long hair falling in tousled disarray to either side of his head. He
breathed hard, exhausted. Frustrated.
Not for the first time, he found himself wishing that he had more to offer than, according to the judges, a few toe-loops and a ‘winning smile’.
A winning smile.
He snorted derisively, reaching up to rub his eyes with
cold fingers. Actually winning
for once would be pretty nice, too. Hell, at this point, he’d just settle for
beating his personal best. But he knew the truth; it shared the same
sinking feeling as sitting in the kiss-and-cry at the last Grand Prix Final. That utter disaster. He was in a slump. No, not even just a slump. A complete stall. He wasn’t necessarily getting any
worse, but he had stopped improving. And he needed
to improve. He needed to push past that chest-clenching anxiety that flared up every time
he stepped out in front of a sea of cameras and unfamiliar faces.
He was running out of time.
But just wanting
something? Well, that wasn’t enough. He just… couldn’t. It was too hard to force himself out of his own head.
Sure, he could berate and curse his shortcomings until he reduced himself to
tears, but it never made any real difference. Never helped. On the few times where he’d found
the courage to go to his friends with his problems, they just tried to console him. Lied
with kind smiles and said that he was good.
That it would pass. That everyone had slumps and he just had to believe in himself. But it had been over
two years and nothing had passed. Nothing
had changed. He was hopeless. Useless.
Blinking back a frustrated haze, Varlen nodded tightly,
straightening and releasing the wall. He kept his head down as he skated back
out to the centre of the rink, each sweeping movement weighed down by a kind of
numb acceptance. He was a failure. Before, his issues had only really surfaced
in competition, not in training. But now, even in a place that was more a
home to him than his own house, he
found his mind absent. His concentration muddled. His body uncooperative. His
skates weren’t an extension of himself anymore. They were just two bits of metal
strapped to his feet, awkward and unwieldy.
All of a sudden, standing alone at the heart of the ice,
Varlen wanted nothing more than to rip them off.