1. Yuri - I
A/N: Please read this before descending. First off, this short fiction was created out of a mixture of boredom and curiosity. I've read plenty of AU stories featuring this couple but nothing of this…design. Second, I was inspired by several stories including Stephen King's Misery, Killing Stalking, and another, rather notorious, fanfic called "Cupcakes." So make of that what you will. Anyway, please enjoy this triviality of insanity. And for the love of eye bleach, DO NOT READ THIS TO YOUR KIDS!
Moments before he heads into the rink to perform in front of millions, all Yuri Katsuki can think about is his silver-haired idol. The ethereal being that has conquered figure skating for years flashes an electrifying smile as he exits the rink, sending the young man's heart into frenzy. And it is his idol's warm expression that encourages Yuri to do well tonight. Should he not, he will lose his chance to ever stand before Victor Nikiforov and confess his love.
He gathers himself up from his seat and inhales deeply. His heart continues to flutter like a butterfly's wings. His face heats up. His palms and back beat sweat. His legs buckle, and he tightens the straps on his skates. Yuri knows he looks a mess. But if not this shot, he has nothing left.
I will be the most beautiful pork cutlet bowl. Just you wait, Victor.
The time grows nigh.
Yuri Katsuki enters the rink and takes his position. A blinding light blurs out the audience and hits his eyes with such intensity that his confidence wavers. If only the world weren't so cruel. If only he had prepared more. If only he hadn't let himself fall so deep.
But the world has no sympathy for him, and, without his full attention, the music begins…
It's over. His career. His life. His world. It's all over. The echo of the audience's disgust still lingers within him, and it grows like some parasite feasting on his innards, gnawing on his heart, burrowing deep inside and finding shelter there. It doesn't matter if he dies today or tomorrow. Nobody would care. Especially not Victor.
Yuri can see his face decay. His otherworldly handsome features melt away, skin muscle and blood, until a skeleton remains. The bones crack, and the skeleton dissolves into dust particles that float away with the wind. Yuri reaches to save them, preserve some part of Victor, but to no avail.
No, please don't leave me!
But there's nothing he can do.
Yuri awakes in the hot spring. How long he had slept for, he cannot tell, though his body has suffered some temporary damage. His skin feels wrinkly and hard to the touch. He deduces he's been here for at least a couple of hours. Running his fingers through his dark hair, he wonders when he had returned home. A day ago? A few days ago? It seems as if the Grand Prix Finals had just concluded. His great loss must have clouded his short-term memory.
At least Victor's death was a dream.
Yuri leaves the hot springs and dries himself off before falling into his bed and pulling the sheets over his head. The dream—no—the nightmare felt more real than any he's suffered before. Seeing Victor's fine features deteriorate right in front of him sends a chill down his spine. Yuri's heart stutters, and no amount of deep breathing can quell the excited organ. Its beat grows so loud that he can hear it in his eardrums. His knees hike up to his chest like he's a fetus in the womb. Blood pumps to his cheeks. Yuri buries his face into his pillow in a futile attempt to dissolve the problem. It doesn't.
His hand reaches under the pillow, blindly searching for something he's kept hidden from everyone. He pulls out a picture of Victor and holds it to his aching chest. It's a photo he had taken off the Internet after Victor won his fourth championship title. He's had many pictures like it. Every time Victor skates, Yuri spends all night scoping through forums and pictures of the silver-haired beauty, finding one picture that he can download and hold onto in lieu of Victor. This particular picture is of the Russian holding his medal in one hand and smiling brightly at the photo—at Yuri. Tears well in Yuri's eyes, and he shuts them tightly together. Please. Please, help me Victor! Please forgive me for failing you!
Why?
Yuri's eyes fly open, and he pulls the sheets off him. He scopes his room, searching for the source but finds nothing. His grip tightens around Victor's picture, hoping to find strength in its comfort. When it seems like nothing will come out and spook him, he drifts back under the covers.
"Victor," he says, brushing the picture with his fingers, lingering them over the Russian's pure smile. Then he presses the photo to his lips and inhales through his nose. He imagines breathing in Victor's natural scent. Letting it seep into his lungs and fill him up until the scent becomes a part of him that he can't live without, just like blood.
You did nothing wrong.
There it is again. This time, Yuri is certain he heard a voice and hops out of bed. "Who's there?"
It's me, Yuri.
His brow furrows, and something in his gut tells him to look at the picture for guidance. "Victor?" He swallows hard.
Yes, I'm here.
His eyes widen. The blood and his face drains. "Wha-what is this?"
What's it look like? It's me, Victor. Your idol. I'm here now. You can talk to me. Don't be afraid.
Yuri licks his lips. A part of him can't help but feel jubilance overflow every fiber of his being, while the other part worries he'll wake up at any moment. But Victor's eyes glimmer in the photo, and his smile seems to widen with reassurance. Yuri reflects the expression as several stray tears slide down his cheeks. One lands on the picture, and Victor's smile disintegrates.
Why are you upset?
"Because I lost."
Lost, what? The Grand Prix? Victor's voice scoffs. There's no such thing as losing, Yuri. You've put that in your mind, and your body reacts to your mind's mental state. You haven't lost. You just think you have.
Yuri blinks. "I think I have?"
Yes. Losing is just a word that holds no meaning. But it's up to you whether you want to be a slave to that word or not. So are you a slave Yuri?
Yuri shakes his head vehemently.
Good boy.
"But I told myself that if I lost…if I didn't win the Grand Prix then I'd never be able to meet you in person. You wouldn't have wanted to meet me anyway. I don't deserve your attention." He clenches his tight chest.
The picture seems to move, and Victor's head tilts. My little, Yuri. Do you really think I'd be speaking to you now if that were true?
Yuri's grip on his chest weakens. "I guess not."
For the majority of the night, Yuri converses with the photo of Victor until it has learned things about him that not even his parents know. Yuri has never rambled on about himself to anyone before and with such ease. All the pain in his chest dissolves, and his heartbeat returns to a comfortable rhythm. By the time he realizes it, it's already after midnight. His eyelids droop, but Yuri fights off the fatigue, fearing that if he falls asleep, Victor will leave him. He doesn't want their time together to end. Not now. Not ever. He has spent a lifetime following the silver-haired beauty from behind a computer or a television screen. He's never had the courage to stand in the same room as the Russian prince. For this ethereal being to come to him in such an unorthodox means seems too prefect to risk losing. Yuri holds the picture close to his heart.
"Don't leave me," he begs. "Please, Victor. I don't want you to leave me alone ever again. I don't know what I'd do without you."
I won't. I promise.
Yuri stares at Victor's beaming expression. "Really?"
Of course. Go to sleep.
Yuri fights sleep for a bit longer, still unsure. But as Victor's genuine words sink into him, his eyelids fall over his eyes, and he gives himself over to his body's natural needs.
The next day, he awakens with a spring of confidence. Yuri pockets the photo and throws on his workout gear, tightening his shoelaces and brushing back his normally messy hair. With a splash of water over his face, he feels like a new man. He hurries out the door.
The air is fresh and cold, but the chill does little to sway his newfound jubilance. It's hard to believe all he needed was Victor's voice and encouragement, and now he feels so…rejuvenated.
Yuri arrives at the skating rink, Ice Castle Hasetsu, operated by his dear friends Yuko and Takeshi Nishigori.
"Yuri," Yuko opens her arms to hug him. He gives her a perfunctory hug back. Normally, this closeness would irritate him, but today he can forgive her. "What brings you here?" She asks that every time, and every time he responds with the same obvious answer:
"I'd like to skate, please."
Yuko's gaze lowers. "But I thought you said you were done skating."
"When did I say that?"
"Right when you got back home about a week ago. You seemed pretty serious about it this time."
This time? How many times had he threatened to quit the sport? A familiar tingle arises in his chest, but Yuri shoves a hand into the pocket with Victor's picture and forces a smile for her. "Forget what I said. Can I please skate?"
"Of course."
Just then, three balls of stubby legs and arms and colorful hair decorations rush into him. Yuri narrowly avoids falling to the ground and hitting his head on solid concrete as the triplets latch onto his legs like leeches to blood.
"Uncle Yuri, Uncle Yuri!" they chime in unison.
"Girls, leave him alone!" Yuko frowns at them.
Yuri peels himself from the triplets' surprising grasp to excuse himself and head toward the locker room. Inside, he opens a locker and sets down a bag containing his skates. He inspects the blades underneath to ensure they are sharp and absent any dents or scraps that might hinder his experience. He needs to be perfect today. His mood cannot falter. Victor is with him. He demands to see Yuri skate. Even if not for millions around the world, Yuri has his idol's crystal eyes. That's all he wants, for this is a performance belonging only to the two of them. Nobody else. Victor's smooth voice echoes, I'm here. I won't leave. I promise.
Yuri removes the photo from his pocket. "Watch me, Victor. I promise I will make you proud." He nuzzles his face into the paper. "Don't leave you eyes from me for a second. You here?"
And the voice answers, Never.
He inhales deeply, imagining the taste of Victor's shampoo. It's sweet and buttery, almost like roses but not quite. There's passion in the scent at first that masks something soft underneath, almost like a coconut.
The rink is bare, having been cleaned recently. The white ice is so shiny that Yuri can see his reflection. He almost feels guilty for stepping onto it. But the knowledge that this is for Victor swiftly extinguishes any negative feelings. Yuri lifts himself on the ice and glides across the smooth surface for a few rounds, warming up his body and calming his mindset.
Yuko stands at the edge of the rink, leaning over the side. "Do you want me to take those from you?" she asks, nodding to his glasses.
Yuri had almost forgotten he still had them on. He sets them down into her outstretched hand.
"Please watch," he says, and the expression on Yuko's face implies he means her, but he doesn't. This is between Yuri and his inspiration. The rest of the world morphs into a tunnel where Victor stands on the opposite side. A stretch of ice sits between them. The silver-haired beauty waves and flicks his hair as he swirls around and skates off.
A voice so tranquil and pure enters Yuri's ears, ridding him of any lasting doubt. Yuri. Give it your best.
The tunnel begins to collapse, but Victor's silhouette never fades from view. As the walls around him crumble, Yuri propels himself forward, gracefully dodging falling stone and rock. A piece lands in his wake, and he swiftly kicks off the ground and spins four times, landing safely on the far side. Another few rocks fall into his path, and he leaps and spins again, landing as proficiently as the first time. He weaves and bends his body through the flurry of debris as Victor's silhouette grows in size and shape. Yuri's movements are sharp and refined. His heart beat never rises above its usual thumping as it pumps adrenaline through his body. Not even deadly obstacles like a deteriorating tunnel can keep them separate for long. In what may be the first in his life, Yuri knows he will succeed. It seems impossible or arrogant to someone else, but to him, it's confidence.
As the final few rocks drop in his path, forming a barrier that begins to cave in from all sides, Yuri seizes an opportunity to carve himself out of the darkness. He kicks off hard with one foot and drops into a sitting position with his other leg stretched out. The blade acts as a knife to slice through the rock with ease. His quick momentum helps hack away at the granite until light peels through the crevices. Yuri pushes himself off again and breaks through the wall to reach the other side. Victor stands there, arms wide open.
But before Yuri can embrace him, the music ends and someone starts clapping, breaking him out of his reverie. Yuri turns to Yuko's beaming face. Her cheeks are red with awe.
"That was so freaking cool, Yuri-kun!" Her hands slam against the side of the rink. The impact sends his glasses cluttering onto the ice. "It was just like watching Victor! Amazing! Absolutely stunning!"
Her complements continue to fly through the air until three heads pop up from behind the rink.
"Yuri's so fat though!"
"You need a girlfriend!"
"Are you still going to stop skating?"
"Enough, all of you!" their mother roars.
Yuri evens his breathing. "I think…I think this'll be my last performance." He bows respectfully. "Thank you for letting me use your rink, Yu-chan."
"Wait, what? But you just said you didn't want to retire."
"I said I wouldn't stop skating. But I think from now on, I want to do it just for myself." Well, technically for Victor, too. "Doing it for anybody else would defeat the experience. I realized recently that I stopped enjoying it a long time ago because I'd let people judge me. From now on, I want to be in control of my life."
And it's that attitude that lands Yuri in the worst situation of his entire life. For unbeknownst to him, his performance had been recorded by the triplets and spread across the Internet for all to see. The one thing he had sworn to keep for between Victor and himself had been taken and distributed. The copious amount of attention he gains grows too much to handle, and Yuri spends the next few days confined to his room.
He crawls beneath his covers, barricading anyone from entering with a locked door. Should someone come inside he'd do anything in his power to kick the invader out. Even though his stomach aches with hunger pains, Yuri doesn't leave. He doesn't want anybody to comfort him but his silver-haired prince. He presses his forehead to Victor's picture and pleads for him to come and take him away from this madness. The world can shrivel away as long as his has his idol to protect him and tell him everything is okay.
On the third day, after it seems like his hope may die along with his mental state, a voice jolts him awake.
Yuri.
"Victor!" He grabs the photo and wrinkles his face as tears well in his eyes. "Victor, thank God. I thought you left me. I'm so scared. They took a video of us, of me, and posted it everywhere. I don't know what to do."
Isn't it obvious, Yuri?
He blinks. "What?"
You take back what they've stolen from you. You can't allow them to take what is yours.
"I don't understand. There's no way I can remove the video now after so many people have seen it already."
I'm not talking about the video, Yuri. The photo seems to shift, and Victor's smile sinks into a scowl. Even such a profoundly disgusting expression fails to mar his beauty. Get revenge on those who've ruined you. Who've ruined us.
Yuri's chest forms a knot until it feels like his heart is being crushed beneath an inescapable weight. "I-I could never."
Are you calling yourself a failure?
"What? No! I…"
Are you a coward?
Yuri shakes his head.
My precious, Yuri. No failure or coward would back down from this. If you truly love me, if you truly wish for us to be together, then you must eliminate those who seek to come between us. Who seek to control us.
But Yuri's brain cannot wrap around the thought of doing something so horrific to the people he cares for. "They're my family."
Then what am I? Am I not worthy of you?
"No," he says before the voice completes the sentence. "You're Victor. You're everything to me. Everything."
Do you love me, Yuri?
The question hits him like a bullet. It's painful and precise. "Yes," he answers through trembling lips.
Then do what must be done.
An inexplicable force seizes him. Yuri's mind goes blank. He calmly slides the photo back underneath his pillow and shrugs away the blankets. Stepping off his bed, he collects something from the back of his closet. A pair of old skates he once wore as a child. The blades are rusted but still sharp. He presses his thumb against one to test its potency. A small line of blood draws across his skin. With enough force, this'll do well.
Yuri takes one skate and wedges it between the back of his pants and skin. He hides the other one beneath his long sleeve and clenches it in his hand. When a knock comes at the door, he swiftly stands and says, "Who is it?"
"Yuri-kun, it's your mother. Please come out. I've made your favorite. Pork cutlet bowl."
He shifts his weight. To think his mother who'd be the first. Yuri's grip tightens on the skate until his knuckles grow white. The blood in his face rises. His other hand reaches for the doorknob and turns it until it snaps unlocked. He creaks it open a sliver to peek through.
"Just leave it on the ground there," he says.
His mother's soft eyes grow solemn. "Yuri, please let me in."
"I can't do that, Mom." If I do that, you'll…
"Yuri, you can't stay in there forever," his mother argues. "One of these days, you have to come out." Her face advances closer to the door, practically into it. She's too close. "Now please let me—"
"No," he shouts, startling her and nearly sending the hot bowl flying out of her grasp. "I told you to leave it!" He slams to the door so hard and fast, that neither of them could have expected what would transpire.
An agonizing scream sends shockwaves through him. Yuri forces the door open again and finds his mother writhing on the ground, her hands clapped over her face, and pork cutlet spread across the carpet.
Yuri drops the skate to the side and falls to his knees to help her. Blood trickles from the cracks in between her fingers, spilling onto the carpet and mixing in with the aroma of food. He can tell just by looking that she's holding together her nose. Should she remove her hands, her skin will peel off.
"Oh God! Oh God! MOM—!"
His father and sister come running, having heard the commotion. His sister screams upon seeing their mother drowning in her own blood. Yuri's father bends down and tries to console her, but he too is overwhelmed with immense fright and shock. All he can do is order Yuri's sister to call the ambulance.
The entire ordeal feels like a nightmare—a hellish encounter Yuri wishes he could awaken from. Emergency personnel arrive and hoist his mother to the ambulance. His father chooses to drive to the hospital, asking his sister to come along but ordering Yuri to stay behind. The look he gives his son is a mixture of disturbing and resentment. It's a look Yuri hasn't seen for years. He remembers a vivid memory of having dropped an expensive plate and watching it shatter across the floor. His father responded with striking his hand across Yuri's cheek and giving his son a long lecture. Yuri had repressed that memory and many like it so well with figure skating. But now it had found an excuse to return after a long hibernation.
Figure skating wasn't the true reason he made it through his childhood and adolescence.
It was Victor.
The first time Yuri witnessed the silver-haired prince skating at the junior championship, a sense of freedom poured into him. That freedom gave him the strength to pick up the sport as an escape. Victor's charismatic smile and graceful movements could rival an angel. Yuri had found his savior not in some divine, disembodied being, but in another human.
Yuri retreats into his room after cleaning up the mess caused by his impulsiveness. The smell of pork still lingers in the air, even after he has sprayed the area.
He falls onto his bed, sinking into the mattress. He wishes for nothing more than to sink so deep that he actually falls through it and into another dimension. At least then he'd be away from this chaotic existence.
A few hours later, Yuri hears the familiar sound of the front door open and footsteps enter the house. One pair of footsteps is loud and slow, signifying his father, and the other is short and soft, signifying his sister. No third pair of footsteps. Tightness swells in his chest as a knock comes at his bedroom door.
"Yuri," his father's hoarse voice pries through the door, making his heart lurch. "I need to talk to you."
Yuri hesitates.
His father pounds on the door, and Yuri worries the hinges might break off. "Yuri! Open the damn door. Now!"
Yuri slides off his bed and reaches for the doorknob. He turns it until it unlocks. All of a sudden, a great force bursts through, and his father's hand snatches his collar before Yuri even has time to process what's going on.
"What the fuck did you do?" he snaps, shaking his son. "Because of your little tantrum, your mother almost lost her nose, and now she has to spend the next few days in the hospital to make sure she can still breathe through it. Do you know what you have done? Do you know what this is going to cost me? Do you?" He shakes Yuri with even more force.
Yuri's head grows foggy from the shaking and the increasing tightness in his chest. It feels as if someone is squeezing him, preventing him from inhaling deeply. His fingers and toes go numb. A prickling sensation crawls up his back. His father's still yelling at him, his face red and puffy, but Yuri can't hear him for whatever reason. Has he gone deaf? It isn't until his father strikes him and a stinging pain burns his cheek does Yuri snap back into reality. He's on the ground with one hand rubbing the side of his face. Something glimmers in his peripheral vision. It's the one of the old skates he wore as a child hiding among a pile of clothes and skating magazines.
His father reaches for him. "Get up, you good for no—" The words are cut off by a gurgling sound that erupts from the back of his throat. Yuri's father drops to his knees and his hand instinctively clasp his neck where a thick laceration has pierced his skin and flesh and severed his jugular vein. As hot blood oozes from the cut, Yuri crawls back toward the wall and releases his hold around the skate. His mouth gaps open watching his father swing his arm blindly through the air for several excruciating moments before his body slumps forward, motionless.
A scream reverberates through the entire house. Yuri first mistakes it for his own, but it's too high-pitched to belong to him. He follows the scream to a figure standing at the doorway. His sister has her hands clapped over her mouth. Her bulging eyes stare down at her father's corpse.
"Mari."
She falls back and scrambles into the kitchen. Yuri follows and finds her picking up the phone. Fear consumes him. He's upon her before she can dial the numbers to call the police. His fingers coil around her neck like a python and his weight slams her to the floor, cracking the back of her head against the tile.
Yuri digs his nails into her skin as she claws his face to try and force him off to no avail. Her legs flail and kick him pathetically. Yuri leans all his weight and anguish onto her. His sister's face grows from red to blue. The color in her eyes wanes. Foamy saliva slips down the side of her mouth. Yuri shuts his eyes as the life drifts out of her. Soon, nothing but a dead body rests beneath him.
Yuri sits up and rolls off the corpse. His heart pounds, and he dabs sweat from his forehead. He can still feel the warmth of her skin between his fingers. They tremble uncontrollably. A wave of unprecedented emotions crashes over him, drenching him in a blanket of uncertainty. He stands and ambles back to his room where his father's body remains slumped. Yuri crawls into bed and pulls the covers over his head. The photo of Victor finds its way into his arms. He holds his idol close.
A voice so serene and forgiving whispers, It's okay, Yuri. I'm here. I'll always be here for you.
A soft smile crawls up Yuri's face and sleep comes more naturally to him than it had ever before.