Summary:

The arena is beautiful like this, cleared of fanfare and chaos. There’s a special kind of stillness that comes after a big game: a private warmth despite the cool of the ice. To his surprise, Shane’s already on the ice. Ilya blinks, once, then twice, mouth parting. Shane’s wearing clean, black skates— figure skates, doing laps around the rink. His skating has shifted out into something more unhurried, elegant. He’s not a professional by any means — the nature of his strides are still darting. Operating, by habit, towards an invisible puck. “Holy shit,” says Ilya. or: hollander, for all his quirks, is… hollander. rozanov, if were possible, falls a little bit more in love (now with chapter 2: shane is once again filling in for his friend at an exhibition gala and is doing a poor job of secretly practicing for it. ilya finds out and attends the performance)