Small hands trembled in excitement as a cardboard box was torn open. The packaging peanuts bounced out of the box and onto the mattress of a boy who just turned twelve a few days ago. This would be none other than Yuri Plisetsky, one of the top junior male figure skaters in Russia. With short blonde hair and mint green eyes, staring at the contents lurking underneath the remaining plastic wraps. Fingers tilting down into the box, carefully removing the plastic cover.
"Grandfather this is the best birthday present."
Said Yuri, as a few sniffs escaped his lips as this package made everything make sense to that very strange phone call with his grandfather two months ago. Revealing a bundle of shiny posters. With professional photographs of a black haired man with deep brown eyes, clad in eloquent figure skating costumes and a few other posters where the male figure skater was clad in ordinary clothing. Young fingers gingerly slid off the restraints holding the bundle of posters together.
The invoice fell to the bedroom floor a top five to six Russian figure skating magazines strewn chaotically, the invoice was covered in two languages, the first one being written in Japanese and secondly in Russian.
And the approval stamp of the Russian customs. "Yuuri Katsuki..." Yuri muttered in awe as his hands traced the lines of the ink that outlined the form of his favourite Japanese figure skater. This time the Japanese Yuuri was clad in a ninja costume, it had to have been taken during the twenty-year old's free skate, from the US national skating championships.
Yuri remembered staying up during the night to see the live stream directly from that American sports channel. Even if Yakov had given him an earful the very next day at the rink. Even with Viktor's failed attempt at shielding the then eleven-year-old Yuri, from the more scathing turrets of colourful Russian swears, that would be more fitting in one of the pubs at the harbours of St Petersburg. Then to trying to scold an eleven-year-old for staying up after curfew. To watch a competition live instead of waiting for the recording. That would have been viewed after the morning practice.
A tinge of faint red crossed the green-eyed boy's cheeks. Yuri absently shook his head free of those thoughts; "I cannot be on the same ice as you now. Bu...but you better wait for me!? When I'm good enough to enter the senior division!" Yuri held an accusing finger toward another poster closest to the wall near his bed. His green eyes darkening with the seriousness of his personal goal. A knock on the door echoed inside the bedroom and a female voice filtered through the cover of the wooden door;
"...uri. Yuri, what is going on in there? I heard your shout all the way down to the common room. Are you hurt? Come on Yuri answer me or I'll come inside"
Mila Babicheva fifteen years old and one of the older female figure skaters in the junior division at their home rink. In St Petersburg, Mila's red hair covered her cobalt blue eyes. Voice laced with worry as her legs, had sprinted up the stairs. She might have been inclined to ask Georgi to check up on their youngest rink mate. That was until she recalled that Yuri had made Georgi shed tears only two days ago. Yuri was frozen solid this was so embarrassing he had not been aware his voice had reached all the way down to the common room.
His cheeks flared bright red as he heard the door knob click and twist absently, Mila was trying to get into his room. "No, Mila I'm fine!" Yuri replied quickly, but to be certain his body whirled against the door shutting it firmly back to closed.
"No old hag's allowed in my room!"
Yuri shot right back before Mila could find another reason to enter his room, no one was allowed to see his secret displayed across his bedroom walls. Official posters, news articles in English and Japanese, old competition interviews and Yuri knew that surely would ruin his reputation as the *Russian Punk*.
Mila's eyes drained of colour until they could resemble the dark ice floating along the river Neva this time of the year. Breathing through her nose slowly taking a breath before she could retort;
"Ohh Yuri!? Since you are such a brat. I swear I'll devour your birthday Shashlik!"
"You would no...!" Yuri was about to yell straight back before Mila added the last threat;
"...and those steaming hot Pirozhki right out of the oven...!"
Yuri's mind reeled back in panic, those were specially made for his 12th birthday. No one took his absolute favourites of Russian cuisine, Yuri roared as the cackles of Mila running down the hallway and jumping over steps on the stairs. Yuri grabbed the nearest hoodie which had, the seams showing and the strewn threads of a roaring leopard emblazoned on the back. He was quick to lock his bedroom door before he sprinted after Mila shouting insults all the way down to the dining room.
Two years later Grand Prix Finale Sochi:
Yuri Plisetsky was not known to be patient nor showing kindness. He had long ago established one persona off the ice and another persona on the ice. But now that mask was faltering altogether, as his entire body shook with teetering restraint. Yuri supported his back against the wall not far from the men's toilet booths.
Often he could easily revert back, but the one he had trailed behind was different. If it had been any other possible rival on the ice for the next season. *Russian Punk Yuri Plisetsky* Would have been ruthless as soon as they were off the ice. But this particular figure skater had held a special place in Yuri's tender heart since that fateful evening seven years ago.
The other Yuuri had been so out of his usual flow. Fall after fall missing the most basic rotations. Yuri Plisetsky let out a hallowed intake of air body swinging in the direction of the men's toilets. He needed to make sure the Japanese Yuuri, would get back on the ice...
AN: My attempt at Yuri Plisetsky has had growing feelings for one Katsuki Yuuri for a few more years than we learned of from the anime. This is currently a one-shot, let me know what you think below?