Frayed puffs of smoke raised from the icy surface of the skating rink, the cold eliciting shudders in Viktor's back now and then. He ignored them, preferring to move over to the luminous spot under the great windows, enjoying the warmth of the spring afternoon sun on his limbs. He wouldn't comment on the cold, he wouldn't complain. After all, it was his choice having to spend six hours a day in that rather shabby ice rink.

In front of him, the reason behind his discomfort danced with graceful movements. He made it worth it, all of it; having to stay in a foreign country where he couldn't understand much with his basic Japanese notions, the modest lodgings without some of the luxuries he was used to, not seeing much of his friends and family… He was really worth it.

Watching Yuuri twirl and slide across the rink you wouldn't say he was moving on skates, he made it look effortless… But of course Viktor knew better. He knew how hard it was to make their performances look so easy and ethereal; gravity counted all the same when you were skating, and those damned ice skates were heavy, they weighed you down, especially when you were already tired and wanted no more than lying down, even if it was on top of that freezing surface. The fact that it was hard didn't make Viktor miss skating less, though. But right then he had to stay at the other side of the railing, and stand still in his tracksuit while he studied Yuuri's movements, in search of details that could be improved.

Yuuko approached him from behind with two cups of smoking hot coffee on his hands and a wide smile.

"I thought you could do with something to warm you inside… I'm sorry I don't have any vodka, haha," she chuckled.

Viktor smiled back and took the cup, gladly.

"I don't drink while skating or coaching! But it's true that this side of the railing is cold, I never noticed when I was the one skating."

He cupped the mug with both hands, enjoying the way the warmth spread through this hands and seemed to alleviate the chill inside his bones. Yuuko rested her forearms on the railing and watched Yuuri's fluid movements.

"Of course! Once you have warmed up it feels alright in here. Look, Yuuri is even sweating! How's he doing?"

Viktor copied her stance and sipped his coffee, with care.

"He's gaining confidence in his jumps. Besides that, he was always good, he just needed a little push."

"Oh, there he goes!"

Yuuri started executing a Lutz, but Viktor couldn't feel his heart at it, and he landed on the wrong edge.

"Oh," Yuuko commented with a disappointed voice, "edge violation, that was a Flutz."

Mediocre, Viktor thought, nibbling his lower lip. But he yelled some light-hearted encouragement at Yuuri all the same, and Yuuko did it as well.

"Well, he has been at it for hours now…" he reasoned aloud. "I will suggest a break in a moment."

"You two make such a good team," the girl smiled, her brown eyes glowing with fondness. "I can see you really care for Yuuri, he is so happy… Saying he has always admired you would be an understatement, you know? I think he only went for professional skating for your sake."

"Really?"

He couldn't take his eyes from Yuuri and the way his body swayed and span. It was almost magical.

"I'm saying too much, hahaha! But yes, he really followed your very step and adored you… As a fan, I mean, of course."

He realized Yuuko was probably expecting an answer, any kind of it, so he finally whispered:

"Of course."

After a long silence, where only Yuuri's skates scraping the ice could be heard, Yuuko said she was going back to the office, and Viktor hummed an absent-minded reply. A minute later, Yuuri came closer to the railing. He was sweating, as his friend had commented, and featured a rather unsatisfied face.

"What's with that face, my dear?" Viktor asked in a cheerful tone. "Time for a break! You must be exhausted by now, right?"

Yuuri stepped out the ice rink and sat down on the first bench, pouting.

"Can't we just go home for today? I'm just wasting my time, and what's worse, your time as well."

"My, my! Why would you say that! But of course, if you are tired, we can call it a day, why not?"

He kneeled down and helped Yuuri out of his skates, as it had started to be their daily ritual. The Japanese boy sighed. Viktor looked up at him, without a word.

"I've just… Have you seen that Lutz?"

"More like a Flutz." The coach bit his lip, but it was too late: he hadn't wanted to say it aloud, not to Yuuri's face.

"Aaaaargh, even you say so…" Yuuri messed his hair, upset. "I am so sorry… I feel as if I'm not going to get any better, ever. I'm stuck in this… mediocrity and will never improve. After all the effort and time you are putting in it!"

Viktor blinked and concealed a tired sigh. He took the hands of his protégée on his slightly longer, paler ones.

"Never underestimate your own effort in this, Yuuri," he told the young man. "You are doing great, believe me: you have good days and average days, but that was to be expected. However, you are slowly getting there, to the place you belong, to the heaven of the Grand Prix skaters." He stood up and shook off the ice dust on his trousers, letting go of Yuuri's hands. "Trust in me. I wouldn't be here anymore if that wasn't the case."

And he started to walk away towards the exit, leaving a very shocked and frustrated Japanese skater at the ice rink.

That evening they had a very comforting and plentiful dinner. If Viktor had to be honest with himself, Yuuri's mother's cooking and that delightful onsen made do for all the luxuries he had to leave behind at home. Yuuri didn't seem to enjoy his meal that much, though, and afterwards he took a sudden liking to the sake bottle his father had left for them on the table. Viktor kept casting worried glances in his direction, but his friend ignored and drank until he fell, half asleep, on top of the table. His mother chuckled and patted a very shocked Viktor on his back.

"Oh, don't worry, he does that sometimes, when he is stressed or overthinking something. Would you mind to take him to bed?"

Viktor nodded and whispered an 'of course' and slithered and arm around Yuuri's back and under his armpit.

"Come on, Yuuri, lean on me… Ouch! You are heavier than you look."

Yuuri groaned but threw an arm around Viktor's shoulders, allowing his coach to help him to his feet and drag him upstairs, to this room. It was a tough climbing, with Yuuri's almost dead weight, but Viktor managed somehow. He was really happy to let go of the young man at last on his bed. Relieved, he sat on the bedcover in order to rest for a moment and regain his breath. He looked around, studying the bare walls and the still present suitcase. It always surprised him a bit, the fact that Yuuri had been living there for months but his bedroom still looked half empty, as if he was still on the move, with most of his personal belongings from when he lived in Detroit still in cardboard boxes. In fact, Viktor's room looked more lived-in, and he had arrived to Japan only two months ago.

Yuuri had all but collapsed as soon as his head hit the pillow. Viktor studied him with fondness: he looked like a kid, his round face so juvenile and innocent. Even with those big hazel eyes closed, Yuuri emanated candor, purity. Viktor reached out to caress his cheek, but changed his mind and decided to be more practical: he took Yuuri's glasses out, folded them carefully, tucking them inside their case, and then removed the boy's slippers and tracksuit jacket. He would be comfortable in his t-shirt and sweatpants, he thought. The Japanese groaned at being manhandled, though, and for a moment he seemed to rouse.

"Viktor…" he mumbled.

"Hmm?"

Yuuri opened one eye while Viktor tucked him in with a smile.

"Don't… Don't open the first drawer, please."

The coach chuckled with fondness.

"Why would I open your drawers, Yuuri? Now, close your eyes and sleep, my dear. You need your rest."

"Yes… Good night."

Yuuri's words were slurred and barely audible, and he was snoring softly almost before finishing speaking. Viktor grinned at this and stood up from the bed.

His intention was heading for the door and going to his own bedroom, of course, but his eyes stopped for a moment on the first drawer of the chest beside the door. Was that the drawer Yuuri was referring to? Must have been, since he couldn't see any other set of drawers. He walked towards the door, but felt compelled to stop when he already had his hand on the knob.

He didn't want to intrude on Yuuri's personal life, but… now he couldn't help but wonder what the hell was inside that drawer since even in that state the young man had asked him not to look. What could he possibly hide from him? Viktor already knew everything about his pupil, or so he thought. Then? He scratched his head, sighing. He looked around: there wasn't anything personal in the room, apart from the trophies, so he was starting to feel too curious for his sake. Was there where Yuuri kept his childhood memories, perhaps? He imagined photographs of a chubby child in some birthday party… Or perhaps he kept some kind of memento of a girlfriend? He had said he never had one, but that wasn't probable, was it? He was surely just trying to change topics when he said that. So some embarrassing letters or even photographs of the girl made sense, yes… Did Viktor want to see that, really? He dragged his finger along the rim of the drawer, considering his options. He wouldn't deny a pang of jealousy was already drilling his stomach at the thought of seeing the face of Yuuri's ex-lover. He could save himself the trouble and just ignore the damn drawer. But in the end curiosity was stronger, and he pulled open the drawer completely in one go.

His own eyes looked at him from a hundred pictures, startling him.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered.

The contents of the drawer, full to the brim, started scattering out onto the floor. Viktor cursed and kneeled down, placing the drawer on the floor and starting to collect the photographs and magazines that had fallen out. Most of them were old numbers of International Figure Skating, but there were also some other sport magazines which had featured Viktor on the cover or in an interview… There were tons of posters, specially from his teen years, but he could also see some reviews clippings with remains of cello tape. He put everything inside the drawer again, careful not to fold or rip anything, and then restored the drawer into the piece of furniture. He looked around himself again, dumbfounded and more than a little dizzy, and then he noticed it for the first time, the marks on the naked walls where those posters, photographs and magazine clippings had been stuck for years. Yuuri must had taken them down in a hurry when he appeared at his family house, embarrassed.

Viktor felt so giddy that he needed to sit down for a bit. He did so on the bed, careful of Yuuri's legs, and studied his pupil's face again with a tight knot in his guts. Yuuko's words of that same afternoon danced in his head.

Okay, so Yuuri was his fan, he more or less knew before, right? Nothing wrong with that. Perhaps he didn't expect that level of enthusiasm, but that was then and they were past it. Yes, true: Yuuri knew him for real now, so that fanboying phase was buried in the past.

Then, why the hell was that knot so painful? He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, trying to calm down. He felt better after a short while. He stood up, feeling more like himself, and petted the sleeping Yuuri's head before turning to the door and leaving the room.

He couldn't help a last glance to that damned drawer, though.

Viktor didn't comment on it the next day, of course. He had given it some thought during the endless hours he had needed to get finally asleep, but he still couldn't understand his own reaction. But, wasn't it normal to feel overwhelmed in front of that kind of worship coming from a person close to you? Even if it was in the past? A part of his mind kept nagging him: 'Was it really only in the past? What does Yuuri feel for you right now?' His pulse raced at that thought. What did he wish for Yuuri to feel? Ah, that was the real question! He studied the contents of this miso soup during breakfast, unable to look at Yuuri's honest eyes while thinking about that kind of things.

Luckily for him, Yuuri was so deeply embarrassed and had such a hangover than couldn't really notice if Viktor was more silent and thoughtful than usual. If anything, he clearly thought that Viktor was upset with him.

"I'm… I'm sorry for last night, Viktor," he apologized for the tenth time.

The Russian sighed, for once unable to chuckle at Yuuri's words.

"Don't worry, I didn't mind dragging you to your bedroom. But in exchange, you must promise to give your all today, yes?"

The young man nodded, his round cheeks lovely reddened by embarrassment. Viktor had to repress the urge to caress them. He cleared his voice and looked aside.

Despite the promise, the training wasn't as good as it should have been. Viktor already expected it, of course, with Yuuri's hangover. He was far from his best physical condition and his twirls felt a bit clumsy. He discouraged the boy from trying jumps that day, and the Japanese guy didn't comment on it, didn't complain, but his face showed his regret. He was such an open book; that was something that always had Viktor in awe.

They were at it for two hours in a row, with almost no pauses, and by the time Viktor insisted on a break Yuuri looked exhausted and frustrated. He sat on a bench and sipped from his water bottle avoiding Viktor's eyes. The coach, though, didn't take his eyes off him. When Yuuri wiped his mouth and finally looked at him, he found Viktor's eyes fully focused on him. The skater looked aside with embarrassment and sighed.

"I'm so sorry, Viktor… I'm sure I'm such a disappointment for you…"

"What are you saying… Of course not!"

He reached for the boy's shoulder and squeezed it.

"I… I promised you we would win the gold at the Grand Prix, but look at me! I'm unfocussed and clumsy most of the days, and my jumps don't improve! If things keep being like this, I will make you look bad in front of the skating community and that… I cannot allow it!"

A smirk pulled one side of Viktor's mouth up.

"That won't happen, Yuuri. These last days have been exhausting, but you are a great skater. I told you, you have a great potential."

"…But if that potential doesn't become reality before the Japanese final competition and I don't end up being the number one in Japan, then you will leave me and will come back to Russia, am I wrong?"

Viktor didn't have an answer for that, but the knot in his guts made its appearance again. It tightened painfully throughout his whole insides when he noticed the way Yuuri's shoulders started to shake. The young man was sobbing, covering his face with his hands, and Viktor rushed to embrace him tightly, horrified.

"Yuuri! Don't, please!"

"I can't allow that, Viktor! I don't want you to go!" Viktor had a 'Then I won't' at the tip of his tongue, but Yuuri went ahead of him and added, in a broken and low voice: "I love you, Viktor." His heart jumped at the words, so high that Viktor could feel it in his throat. "I have always loved you, since the first time I saw you on tv, when I was just eight and you were the brightest new face in the Juniors. I don't think skating would have ever been more than a hobby for me if it wasn't for you. It's… embarrassing to admit, so please don't laugh at me…"

Viktor didn't feel like laughing. At all. He tightened again his hold on Yuuri's shoulder and torso so he couldn't see his face right then. Inhaling the soft aroma of shampoo on silky, black hair, he finally deciphered the meaning of the pain that had been gnawing at his insides since the night before, so opposed to the peace and quiet happiness he usually felt when he was by Yuuri's side. 'Oh, Yuuri, why?' he thought, 'why have you opened the Pandora's box? I was glad and content just watching you, helping you, living with you. Being your coach was enough for me, so why this? There's no going back once you have said the words aloud. This can only move forward now. And yet, and yet…'

He let go of Yuuri all of a sudden and stepped on the skating rink, sliding on until the initial impulse died and he was almost at the center of the icy surface. Once then, he turned to look at the surprised face of the Japanese skater, whose cheeks still showed traces of tears, and raised a hand with a smile, asking Yuuri to join with his gesture. The boy hesitated, but then he returned the smile and wiped his tears with the back of his hand and rushed to join Viktor. There was still uncertainty on Yuuri's eyes before he finally linked his fingers with the stretched hand offered to him, but Viktor's smile was reassuring. Sweet.

They started to slide together, gracefully, hand in hand, and then Viktor let go of him for a moment and slithered his hand around Yuuri's waist. A soft, attractive blush appeared on the Japanese's cheeks, and Viktor couldn't help but chuckle.

"Don't laugh at me…" Yuuri begged.

"Never," Viktor pledged. "I promise."

He intertwined the fingers of his free hand with Yuuri's and then, all of a sudden, the first notes of a waltz startled them. The two of them turned their heads to look at the cockpit, where Yuuko offered them a thumbs up. Nodding, Viktor smiled and sped up, making Yuuri slide along, their bodies so close they could feel each other's warmth. They skated to the music, feeling the rhythm with their whole bodies, expressing it in twirls and dance steps, sliding together. Every time their bodies parted was a little pain, and only the promised reunion made it worth it, the joy of linking again their fingers, of feeling again Yuuri's warm eyes barely inches from his, his mouth so close that he would only need to tilt his head to kiss him.

But no. 'Not yet,' he sighed to himself. 'He's not ready, not ready as a skater and not ready for me yet. A part of him still sees me as his childhood idol. But I can see it in his eyes, in his stance, in the way he skates… One day, I will be off the pedestal and he will be able to see me as I am, no more, no less. And that day will arrive soon.'

And, with a silent promise to himself, he kept guiding Yuuri through the waltz, putting in the rhythm all the love he had to offer.