Potential spoiler warnings for episode five of Yuri on Ice.
A Yuri on Ice vikturi AU in which the thoughts of your soulmates create constantly-changing tattoos on your skin. It takes place after the competition featured in episode five, but before the theme announcement at the press conference.
Breathe
The light scratching beneath Viktor's skin hastened as his protégé received his hard-earned applause. He pressed his creased brow into his palm a moment, considering his options. He felt Yuri's pleading eyes waiting for a sign of his disapproval. The brief pause of sensation on his arm set his priorities in order. Viktor lifted his head, stretching his hands to receive his insecure student. As the young man's eyes illuminated in relief, the scratching began to return to a more natural pace.
While Viktor watched the delighted man soar across the ice, he noticed a steady flow of blood leaking from his nose. He instinctively dodged the approaching figure skater, cautious to not stain his pristine suit before the two spoke with reporters regarding Yuri's performance. Unfortunately, Yuri's enthusiasm overrode caution, stripping him of his reactive reflexes. His toe pick caught the edge of the rink, and his body lurched past his coach to the floor beyond.
Viktor promptly pulled his student from the floor, wrapping arms tightly around his torso. He proceeded showering the dazed athlete with compliments and encouragement, determined to build his performance confidence. He could critique and lecture on technique and following instructions tomorrow. Yuri needed reassurance he could survive making mistakes not only emotionally, but also professionally. Viktor knew the scores would provide the professional reassurance; he assumed the task of drilling the rest.
Reporters, fans, friends, and family alike swarmed Yuri throughout the afternoon. Momentarily satisfied, his coach seized the opportunity to withdraw to the sidelines and peel back his right sleeve to glimpse the flesh over his radius.
I did it. I really did it!
Viktor smiled to himself, gladly allowing his student to bask in the exhilaration of competition. He remained nearby throughout the event for support and politics, but he remained distant enough to not draw attention away from the competitor's moment in the spotlight. Watching a competition from the sidelines felt more surreal than he first anticipated. Once the journalists and spectators gravitated away from him toward the skaters, he felt disembodied. As he watched Yuri, his felt himself wander to another place and time.
He remembered his mother first explaining the soulprints on his arm. He felt elated when he understood the reason for the gentle gnaw on his arm. Naturally, he demanded to see his mother's. He felt both heartbroken and fascinated when he learned the soulprints were only visible to the wearer, like a secret shared between only their souls, and revealed the innermost thoughts of one's soulmate. The sheer intimacy of the concept sent warming comfort on his darkest days. He held fast to the hope he would one day find the soul tailored to his own.
As the years passed, he watched the thoughts and feelings on his arm grow more articulate, and he pondered hobbies his soulmate might enjoy. He fantasized about his soulmate's appearance and talents. He wondered how and when the two would meet. He worried over the possibility of unknowingly passing each other during day-to-day life.
After his first televised competition, he felt his heart climb inside his throat: his own name appeared on his arm. His soulmate saw him. His soulmate knew he existed. His soulmate knew his name. His soulmate thought about him (and often)!
As Viktor studied his arm over the following years, he quickly realized whoever his soulmate was, they were his greatest fan. He knew his soulmate watched each of his competitions, and his heart swelled with joy and excitement. He gushed when he learned they learned and practiced his programs. He fought to impress them, and he never hesitated to carve out time for his fans in hopes of a chance meeting. He forced himself to not stare at his arm every moment of the day and to be discreet when he decided to read his tattoos. Meanwhile, while Viktor relished in the attention from his fans and enjoyed company of his coach's other pupils, he struggled to identify people who valued him as a person from people who only valued his skills.
One night, he felt the tattoo change and stay on one word: VIRAL?
He spent hours in worry, fearing for his soulmate's well-being. He barely slept, despite Makkachin's valiant efforts to provide warm security. When he powered on his phone after breakfast the following morning, he found the explosion of notifications from fans all over the world. When he watched the vaguely familiar competitor skate Viktor's latest winning program, he felt the night's tattoo sink into his core.
Viral. Internet viral.
Making the decision to fly to Japan and meet this man required minimal consideration. The chance he was Viktor's soulmate was a chance worth taking. He slipped into Yuri's life effortlessly, and he grew more certain of his assumption with each passing day.
Viktor continued his silent reverie through the journey back to the Katsuki family's hot springs, still absorbing the event. He glanced over at Yuri pensively throughout the trip, but the two exchanged few words. Yuri's expression appeared distant; Viktor expected he, too, needed the time to sift through the excitement. The quiet felt comfortably restful. He attempted to remember if the pair had shared each other's company in such silence before, and he recalled none. Although he felt his soulprints change, he resisted the urge to read the thoughts scribbling themselves across his skin. He chose to enjoy the moment, instead.
The Katsuki home flourished with excitement and activity upon their arrival. Yuri's mother gleefully prepared pork cutlet bowls for both men, proudly prodding for the tale of his victory. Viktor waited for his student to share the details of the competition, but his usual sheepish nature seemed to confine his energy. He seized the opportunity to prompt Yuri to share by providing a lavish retelling of the competition from his perspective, exuding the essence of a proud coach. He watched the man's cheeks flush deeper with each piece of praise, muttering the translations to his mother in Japanese, and he thought he glimpsed a few flattered smiles on his down-turned face.
After watching Yuri embody his beloved katsudon during his program, Viktor felt immense pleasure watching his protégé delight himself with his favorite dish. The pure joy on his face almost entirely distracted the Russian from eating his own meal. He was certain to keep his promise, however, and dutifully ate his supper alongside his student.
Despite not competing, himself, Viktor found himself nearly as exhausted as if he skated that day, also. He elected to keep his bath in the hot springs brief, choosing instead to retire to bed early. Practices would resume, as usual, early the next morning; he needed to be as prepared for the physical exertion of his hands-on coaching as he would if he were the one working to improve his program. He knew, if he felt this exhausted, he likely needed the additional sleep.
A few hours later, a familiar sensation dragged Viktor's senses from the dark depths of slumber. Exhaustion blurred his thoughts, and he struggled to gather his bearings. The closer he drew to consciousness, he grew to recognize the alarming burn agitating his arm. Although he was not unfamiliar with the phenomenon, the sudden attack jarred him. He swam through the bewildered thoughts to fumble in the dark to find the bedside lamp.
Unsurprisingly, the light revealed frantic scrawling coating his entire forearm. He found few coherent sentences, and the smaller words and phrases would often disappear before completion. Viktor stared blankly at the nearly-illegible scribbles overlapping and ever-changing on his arm. He usually experienced such flares in the mornings or midday, and he could not remember many middle-of-the-night episodes, if any. His sleepy thoughts fought to make sense of the broken thoughts.
Finally, a phrase caught his eye in the dim light.
Viktor hates me.
His heart sank into his stomach.
Loser. Failure. Idiot. Pathetic.
Viktor tossed his blanket aside and set out quietly down the hall, careful not to disturb the Katsuki family or other hot springs guests. He rapped his fist on Yuri's door without hesitation.
"Yuri," he called, barely above a whisper. Silence.
He tapped the door again and spoke firmer, "Yuri, you awake?"
He heard Makkachin softly whine beyond the threshold. Then he heard the rustle of fabric.
Viktor furrowed his brow. "Yuri, I'm coming in."
He paused a moment to listen for a reply before he slowly pulled the door open. He halted at the threshold while his eyes adjusted and scanned the room. Despite the closeness of the relationship thus far, Yuri's room remained uncharted territory. Finally, his gaze fell on Yuri in the dim moonlight. He found the man sitting on his bed, back against the wall, knees tucked to his chest, and face buried in his arms. Makkachin lied next to him, staring fixatedly with light wags of his tail. His form did not stir neither when Viktor opened nor closed the bedroom door.
Viktor approached the bed, but he was careful to maintain what he hoped to be a comfortable distance. Now closer, he could hear the muffled sounds of erratic breathing and see how the glowing white of the knuckles clamped around his elbows.
"Please go," he strained.
He ignored the request. "Yuri, can I sit down?"
The sounds of strangled respiration filled the air and, as Viktor began to think he would not receive an answer, he heard a choked, "O-Okay."
He crawled carefully into the bed to sit next to him, opposite his dog, continuing to preserve space between himself and Yuri. As his back touched the cold wall, he realized he thoughtlessly abandoned his robe in his rush, but he pushed the development from his mind. Once settled, he asked, "What's the matter?"
After a few rattling breaths, Yuri surrendered and jerkily shook his head in reply.
Viktor waited for Yuri to catch his breath. "Is this about the competition?" he prodded slowly.
He watched Yuri curl in tighter on himself before his head twitched in an attempt to nod.
"Hey," Viktor soothed, "you did fine."
"I screwed up," Yuri gasped. His rigid shoulders heaved as he fought for oxygen. "I d-didn't listen!"
Viktor waited in silence as Yuri struggled to speak. He noticed the man's legs quivering in the darkness and Yuri's arms coiled tighter around them like a snake stifling prey.
Makkachin whined and pushed his nose under Yuri's right arm, forcing his face between the man's thigh and chest. He eventually coaxed the arm to loosen enough to allow his head to rest in the narrow space. He whined again, wiggling his body to burrow closer with a worried thump of his tail.
"I'm sorry," Yuri mumbled.
Viktor scanned Yuri's form to decipher if the apology was intended for him or the dog.
"I'm so s-sorry," Yuri hiccupped.
"We'll work on it," Viktor reassured.
The persistent poodle bobbed his head with a more insistent whine. Which each bob, he managed to pry Yuri's legs from his chest by a small fraction. When he seemed satisfied with the space he created, he proceeded to lick his lips with distress and waggle his tail expectantly. When Yuri eventually surrendered a hand to slowly weave his fingers through his fur, he finally quieted.
"I'm sorry, Viktor," Yuri wept. The tears glistened at the tips of his eyelashes before they cascaded down his cheeks. "I'm a bad student. I don't d-deserve y-y-you."
"Yuri…"
"I'm sorry," Yuri repeated, screwing his eyes shut.
"Yuri."
Yuri began to curl in on himself once again. "I'm so sorry."
"Yuri!"
He flinched away and sniffled in a weak attempt to quiet himself.
Viktor slowly opened his arms toward him. "Come here."
Viktor felt Yuri's thoughts continue to race fervently over his skin as he contemplated. Once he saw Yuri motion toward him, he concluded he received permission to touch him. Viktor slid closer to Yuri and carefully enveloped his shaking form. He felt Yuri's lungs heave as he choked back his cries.
"Yuri," he said softly, "can you put your legs down?" After several seconds of silence ticked by, he prompted, "You need to breathe."
He willed his cramping muscles to move, but Yuri discovered his legs uncooperative and his breath hitched with effort. "I c-han't," he gasped.
Viktor kept his right arm protectively wrapped around Yuri's shoulder and hand tenderly resting on Yuri's hair. He used his left hand to gently apply pressure above Yuri's knees to stretch the spasming muscles loose, to provide more space for his ribcage to expand. Makkachin quickly eased himself further into his lap, Yuri's fingers still weaved into the curls on his neck.
Yuri's free hand reflexively rested at his abdomen, ever self-conscious of his weight and desperate to hide any rolls of fat. His hand alternated between his abdomen and covering his face as each ripple of panic tore through him anew, restarting his broken record of apologies. Viktor chose to keep his hand at Yuri's legs, because his knees rose defensively with each wave crashing to the shore of his insecurity. He could hold off the vise easier than he could open the clenched muscles. His legs retained freedom to move, but Viktor firmly refused to allow them to suffocate his charge.
The night ticked by and Viktor felt the anxious energy slowly drain from Yuri's body, but his arm continued to burn. Viktor shifted his head to draw Yuri's to comfortably rest under his chin. Yuri's body felt cold and damp; his sweat-drenched hair clung to Viktor's neck.
"It'll be all right," he assured softly.
"Sorry," Yuri weakly whimpered.
Viktor squeezed him tenderly for a moment, feeling the silent tears leak onto his chest. He heard Yuri's breath slowly level, but he felt the remaining tension in his chest labor each motion. After minutes of deliberation, he quietly shooed his pet, extended his arm to hook under Yuri's knees, and folded his own legs to pull the man into his lap. Yuri offered no resistance to the transition, but he moved stiffly and kept his arms tucked to his abdomen. His forehead came to lightly press against Viktor's jaw, the Russian's arm continuing to cradle his head and neck. He entwined his fingers with the hair atop the man's clammy head, absently stroking the scalp. Viktor rest his left arm across Yuri's lap, wrapping his arm to the small of Yuri's back.
"You're tired," sniffled Yuri apologetically.
"It's okay."
"It's not."
"Why do you think so?"
"I keep screwing up," Yuri whined. "It's hard for you."
"I can handle it."
Yuri shook his head, trembling. "You shouldn't have to."
Viktor lifted his left hand to cup Yuri's face and steady the motion with a light hug. "It's why I'm here. I'm here for you."
Yuri's hands slithered to his face, hiding as a fresh wave of sobs crept up his throat. "I'm sorry, Viktor. I'm so sorry."
Viktor moved his hand from Yuri's face to touch his coiled fingers. Yuri allowed Viktor to take one of his hands, which lowered to his chest. He clasped Viktor's hand like his personal lifeline, his entire frame shaking with the force of his quiet sobs. Viktor could feel Yuri's heart pound against the back of his hand, and he rotated his wrist slightly to poke his fingers in between Yuri's.
Viktor closed his eyes while he waited for the wave to ebb, listening for patterns in the man's breath and feeling the fluxes in muscle tension. When he felt satisfied he would be heard, Viktor ventured, "Yuri?"
His breath hitched in response.
"What made you think I hate you?"
"I messed up, I didn't listen, I didn't-" he rambled.
"Slow down, Yuri." Viktor rubbed his thumb soothingly over the back of Yuri's hand with a calming shush, determined not to induce another wave of panic. "More specific."
Yuri fought to collect and organize his thoughts. "You were quiet." His aching muscles tried and failed to retract his core defensively. "You stayed away."
He sighed. "I wasn't mad," Viktor answered simply. "And I'm still not."
"But…"
Viktor cut off his desperate stammers by lifting their hands to press his lips to the base of Yuri's thumb. "It was your day, not mine," he explained.
Yuri coughed a sob and, still holding their fingers together, Viktor brushed his thumb under each of Yuri's tearstained eyes before lowering their hands to Yuri's lap.
Throughout the ordeal, Viktor provided soft words of reassurance when prompted. He kept his voice low and his words simple, and the burn of his soulprint cooled. Gradually, Yuri quieted and his head lolled to repose against the crook of Viktor's neck. He waited until he heard Yuri's breath grow slow and even before freeing his fingers. With careful grip, Viktor rotated the two of them to comfortably lie the length of the bed. Yuri's body posed no protest to the movement, though he drowsily roused.
"I'm sorry," Yuri breathed with a whine crawling into his throat, all energy drained from his aching body.
Viktor felt a tear spill onto his bicep. Moments later, Makkachin's fur tickled the flesh of his arm as he wedged himself between Yuri's back and the wall, providing additional comfort and security for the young man.
"It's all right," he repeated.
He felt Yuri numbly drag his arm from his abdomen to drape over Viktor's waist.
Viktor quickly turned on his side to pull Yuri flush against him, entangling their legs and enclosing his torso inside both arms and replied into his hair, "I'm right here, Yuri."
He felt Yuri's aching arm twitch in an attempt to gratefully embrace him, and Viktor answered with a knowing squeeze, "I'm right here."
[AN] I hope you enjoyed my first YOI fanfiction! I'm considering writing more YOI-related fics as I wait for more episodes to be released. I'll probably use whatever reviews/feedback I get to help me decide. I'm excited to see what comes next in canon! [/AN]