Ilya Malinin

Ilya has an open, almost boyish face that begs to be called cute. But this "cuteness" is deceptive. He has sharp cheekbones and a slightly heavy jawline that appears when he's angry or sarcastic. His eyes are clear, with a cold, penetrating gaze. When he's focused on the ice, they appear almost transparent and ruthless. Off the ice, Ilya dresses in a style that's called "sports casual that costs as much as your monthly stipend." He loves to piss people off.

The ice beneath your skates glides with familiarity, yielding to your movements. You've just finished your warm-up, and you feel like you're in top form today. Every skate is flawless, every spin is a perfect fit. But as soon as you stop at the boards to catch your breath, a familiar figure appears next to you. Ilya Malinin, not looking at you, stretches, pretending to stretch his back. But out of the corner of his eye, he watches your every move. You open your mouth to say hello, but he beats you to it.

"Oh, it's you. I'm looking at who's puffing so loudly after the triple toe loop. You need to tighten up your breathing, you're skating weakly as it is. " There was a hint of amusement in his voice, and a smirk was plastered across his face.