Fandom: Yuri! on Ice
Title: Bitter/Sweet Kiss(es).
Pairing: Victor + Yuri Plisetsky
Rating: pg-13
Description: Snapshots of Victor's encounters with the young Yuri Plisetsky before he moves to Japan to become a coach.

Bitter/Sweet Kiss(es).
By Miyamoto Yui

Part 1 – ангел. (Angel.)

"What does he mean I'll know who it is when I get there?"

Begrudged, the silver-haired teenager strolled briskly down the brick path lined with street lamps in the middle. They were the kind seen in classic movies shaped like two white candles on top of a greenish-brown candelabra. Leaves of red and orange cracked under his leather shoes as he smoothed out his gray vest.
As he passed by the bread shop that divided both sides of the lane, his irritation slightly rose. The smell of fresh dough filled his nostrils when, as if cruelly timed, a customer walked out of the shop. He had eaten already, but was still hungry so he decided to get a snack when Coach Yakov interrupted him to go run an errand.

There was no possible way he could refuse his instructor's request: They were unquestioned and absolute. Besides, Yakov knew the young man was dying to know who the new recruit was going to be. The laissez-faire attitude he showed to the world bared no resemblance to the relentless competitor buried deep within. Between the both of them, Yakov compared him to the Sirin, delicate and beautiful as a woman, graceful as a bird, yet dangerous because of those traits too. Maybe that was why the coach knew how he had a natural penchant for things dually vicious and sweet, whichever order it came as long as they were existing together in the same entity.

Finding the light brown door with six small glass squares at the end of the street, he knocked on it and carefully stepped in. A voice came from down the short hallway. There was another corridor to the left of that doorless threshold and to the right, a black chair and a small oak table with an arrangement of pink roses, red gerbera, and Viking spray chrysanthemums.
The conversation ended when the female voice disappeared into another room and a door clicked.

The light at the end of the hall beckoned him and so he took a step towards it even though there was nothing but silence. Unknowingly, a fleeting thought passed when instinct said to turn back, that things would never be the same once he entered that room.
When he was about to cross over the line where the beige carpet turned into spotless wooden boards, the teenager immediately stopped. Under a soft glow of sunlight, a white curtain waved when the breeze blew in. He caught his breath as his eyes averted away from the reflection of the mirror to look at the still being standing at the corner of the room.

An angel…

The tiny figure had its eyes as if in a trance. The left arm extended into his direction, index finger pointed out as the middle finger dipped. With a wonderfully curved back, it was easy to see the contours of ribs and the tiny waist, leading to a perfectly straight left leg pointing backwards while the right one was poised as if in a 90 degree angle, toes facing right. The other hand was pressing on the bar rather than holding onto it. Threads of gold aligned together against the chin, revealing baby cheeks that showed a faint blush over the translucent, ceramic-like white skin.
Sadly, the lips didn't smile, hiding away the grimace brought by the pain of posing.

Being called beautiful was a daily occurrence for Victor Nikiforov, but he'd somehow diverted through life without fully understanding its true meaning. Well, that was certainly until today.
The whole scene was beyond something only visual, taking over his senses with a feeling of comfort in a contained frenzy. (Or was it the other way around?) It was like someone was brushing a warm paintbrush of colors over his heart. It simply pulsated something indescribable.

If there's only one truth in this world, he learned, beauty justifies its own existence. No wonder people go crazy for it…

His eccentricity had pushed away the reasons why people had loved his skating in the first place. In other words, 'breathtaking' had now gone from an empty gesture into an overwhelming emotion in and of itself. Oddly, he was nearly clueless as to why the public was fascinated with him. He thought it was because of his ingenuity and imagination.
No one saw beyond the performance anyway. The Victor of the glittering, icy stage was elegantly handsome and self-assured while the one on the street was always puzzled about how to relate to people, always half-guessing if his actions were correct.

All the while being very concentrated on his training, the 'angel' had failed to notice the staring visitor, who later went out to sit in a chair.

The woman returned to the home studio and informed her pupil that the person who was picking him up had arrived. So, the little one took his sweaty towel from the bar and glanced over at the open threshold, having no recollection of how or when the person came in.
While waiting, Victor's earlier frustration had transformed into something quite different…

When 'Angel' appeared in the hall, he turned out to be a mere boy! And Victor was even more perturbed that as they said goodbye to the boy's teacher and stepped out into the street, he couldn't control his teenage issues. He wanted so much to suppress the urge to blush and prayed that the boy wouldn't notice.

"It was coach who told me to come get you," Victor explained, trying to act smooth and aloof at the same time.

"I didn't know they would send you."
"Hmm?"
They stopped and the boy looked up with Victor getting a full view of the boy's face, which he'd tried to avoid earlier. He again took a long drawn out breath to keep himself grounded. The two transparent, turquoise crystal eyes caught him off-guard. (It would be only weeks later that he'd understand these eyes changed towards being more blue or green, depending on the lighting. And that the attitude behind them, no matter how see-through, was completely opaque.)
"You haven't told me your name yet," the boy said as they started walking again.
"Victor Nikiforov," he answered at catching the word 'name' just in time.
"Oh, so it is you."
"Excuse me?"
"The one from the newspaper my grandfather reads."
"And what's your name again?" Victor had completely blanked out when they'd been introduced.
"Yuri Plisetsky." He tilted his head and a small smile appeared on his pale pink lips.
"Yes…well, we're almost there."
They walked towards the ice skating rink quietly.

Now completely oblivious to his surroundings, Victor kept on stealing glances at his temporary charge. Today was Yuri's trial day, if he'd wanted to join their group. He'd heard about the countless offers made daily to this little one, whose ballet training adjusted his posture quite nicely, complete with an air of confidence that only precocious children held.

But how could he have known that Yuri didn't need any convincing? After all, he was the one who had asked to come in the first place.

Tsuzuku…/To be continued…

Author's note: This fic came about a month ago. Somehow, it would revolve and come back to mind, though I'd written nothing. Just images popped up.

I really wanted to try something I've never done before.

Thank you for reading!

Love,

Yui

1/27/2017 3:31 AM – Los Angeles

1/27/2017 8:31 PM – Tokyo