The redhead watches Emil with a much moe dreamy look than the other man had observed him with, though their reasons were vastly different. Reno had gone from insulting the art to beating it into a shape all his own, while Emil was already a master. It was all the Turk could do, really. Just gaze upon what was, to him, perfection.

"Quit mooning," Ondrej drawls, making a gagging sound for effect and earning another bird from Reno, who lets himself be pulled along by Emil. His smile had faltered a moment, watching Emil land so heavily. Well, nothing he could fix on the ice. It'd take work off the rink, but he'd help if the man was willing.

"Did I do alright?" he asks, oblivious, somehow, to his own talent. Of course, someone like him wasn't going to believe he was naturally good at something like ice-skating. It was all hard-work as far as he was concerned, and that meant flawed under the scrutiny of someone you admired.

"Ondrej doesn't know the first thing about skating. He just runs the place for his grandparents. So...other than him gettin' pumped about me doin' dumb shit, I can't really say how I'm doing. No professional coaches would give me the time of day," he chuckles, shrugging as he drifts along hand in hand.

"I got backflips down last week...That frilly stuff doesn't really get me, but I like that shit, f'sure."