RL: What Would Brian Boitano Do? (Russia and America)

[insovietme]

[Russia tightened the laces of his skates. Snugly. As tight as possible. So they wouldn't come undone. And so he wouldn't trip. He's not worried. He very rarely trips. Still, America is America, and who knows what could happen? Russia has a good idea. He has visions of silver, of podiums past, and he smiles absently as he finishes tying knots. He's gotten better at tying knots. Making everything tangle together. He still smiles as he enters the rink in Moscow. The moon is shining brightly in the dark. The stars fading behind the glow. He looks up and tries to count satellites as he enters and adjusts to the ice, already scratched and worn from the people from before. Just people. Nothing special. But you couldn't skate the way he can without their groves staining the surface.

The coat is gone. The scarf remains. The sweater he wears is red and worn, but fits snugly. His eyes shine like satellites as he lopes around the ice, just once. Simple. Easy. Like riding a bike. You never forget. Not even when the flag is different. White, red, blue. America's colors, only not.]

Are you ready?

[He asks, not looking over his shoulders. Not even once.]