Invisible
By Spunky0ne
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Victor Nikiforov is a legend, a skating god. Everyone knows his face, his bright smile, his charismatic wink and his perfect quadruple flip.
How could a person like that feel like no one sees him at all?
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Chapter 1: On Top
Well before dawn, with lights off and in a Saint Petersburg ice rink lit only by the moon, Victor Nikiforov danced alone on the ice, with no one watching, and to music that only he could hear.
Practiced feet moved and his golden blades melted the ice, making that soothing sound Victor loved more than just about any other sound in the world. His focused, blue-green eyes softened and grew dreamy as he laid back and spun with his arms curved above him. He straightened and skated backwards, building speed, then moving into a spread eagle position. Turning, he executed a lovely triple axel and landed easily.
I should use that move in my next program.
His feet slowed, and he continued to skate backwards, but his brow furrowed and his usually smiling lips frowned.
But what should my theme be?
What story do I tell this time?
What would people find most surprising?
His feet shifted and he came to a stop in the middle of the empty ice rink. His soft breaths were the only sound as he considered.
This used to be easier.
I used to immediately think of a thousand things to choose from, and as soon as I had the theme, I would start to see the perfect costume. I would hear the music well up in my head. I would have the moves in mind before my composer finished the song. I've never needed to struggle to find inspiration.
Why don't I feel motivated now?
He forced out a determined breath and started moving his feet again, but his frown deepened at sensing a heaviness that had settled over him. It came with a feeling that seemed like boredom.
But, I'm not really bored, I am frustrated. The things that have always worked before have stopped working. I need to think of something new to try, but after twenty years of skating, maybe I've just exhausted the list of more obvious things. I need to dig deeper. I need to find something new, a fresh story to tell.
But, what?
Suddenly, the rink lights clicked on, and Victor felt loosed a sigh of relief.
"Good morning, Yakov," he called out cheerfully, outwardly showing no sign of the frustration that had just been nagging at him.
Yakov muttered a gruff answer and headed into his office. Victor chuckled and skated to the edge of the rink to start his music.
Stay Close to Me.
He lowered his gaze for the opening, then raised it again as the music began. His body moved easily and confidently, though in truth, his mind was far from the Saint Petersburg ice rink.
This is even more beautiful than I originally thought it would be. It took me by surprise. My heart was really in it. It's the last time I felt that way.
I wonder if anyone realizes this is a duet that is missing its other half.
Kind of like me?
I wonder if anyone sees that either.
I can only find new strength on my own, right? That's what I've always thought. I've had to dig down deep before, and I have always found that strength. But…let's be honest. I am twenty-seven years old. That is late in the career of a skater. To push on from here, I need to find new motivation. But, how will I do that?
"Vitya, you look half asleep," Yakov complained, making the silver-haired skater breathe in deeper and come back to awareness, "Did you gain weight or were you just up too late, drinking last night? You're moving like a zombie!"
I feel like a zombie.
"If you're not going to be serious, get the fuck off the ice and let me use the goddamned time!" snapped a scornful male voice that wasn't his coach's.
Yuri Plisetsky. Fifteen years old and thinks I'm an old man. He already thinks he is better than me.
Little shit!
Thank you for the motivation.
Victor's expression remained calm and focused, but his next spin could only be described as dazzling. He exited and swept past his younger teammate, displaying a middle finger at just the right time for the little upstart to see it, but for Yakov not to. He launched himself into the air and executed an eye catching quadruple lutz that was absolutely not in that portion of his program, but it made Yuri snarl and made Victor laugh inwardly.
Let's see you do that, you little prick. Maybe when you can, you'll earn the right to think you're better than me.
Oddly, he found himself smiling.
I hope that this does motivate you. You are overconfident, Yuri, and that makes you lazy. As long as you are like that, you will never equal me, no matter how old I get. So, get mad. Get so mad that you can't stand it anymore. Get so mad that it makes you try harder, work harder, focus harder. Because that is how you will finally surpass me.
Victor wasn't sure what it was about that exchange. It happened often, so it wasn't unusual. But, it seemed to fill his bodywith fresh energy and life, and for the rest of the practice session, he had no more trouble focusing. And Yakov's complaining eased. The old man even looked somewhat satisfied, if only that his snarky comments had, perhaps brought the silver-haired skater back to his senses.
When his practice time ended, Victor called his elderly standard poodle to his side and left the ice rink to jog over to the nearby gym. The place was busy, so he spent as much time socializing as he did on his weight training.
Still, as long as it gets done, it's done.
And as long as he was in public, he didn't have to think about how quiet it was at home. He kept his day busy purposely, so that he would enter that quiet, feeling tired and relieved to be there. And if he felt the beginnings of melancholy, then he wouldn't head straight home. There was a long list of friends…or acquaintances, really, who would be happy to spend the evening talking, dancing, eating and drinking until he was too numb to feel anything serious.
And the next morning, it would start all over again.
As he was leaving the gym, his phone sounded a notification.
Victor, don't forget, we have an interview at the TV station at four, Yakov's stern voice reminded him.
He went home and played for awhile with Maccachin, then he left the old dog resting and headed to the shower. Pale, graceful hands stripped away his clothes, revealing a body that defied his age in most ways. But Victor didn't miss the little signs of advancing age. He was still a young man, but to the skating world, he was a mature skater.
Still, each day is a gift, and I won't waste time worrying about what will happen. I will make this time last for as long as I can, then…I will…
But, he wasn't sure how to finish that sentence.
The Russian skater took a long, slow breath of steamy air, relieved to close his eyes and to be able to completely relax. He took advantage of every moment like this to be grateful for the life he led, for the beauty of being, not just a talented skater, but the number one skater in the world.
Oddly, it didn't hold the breathtaking feel it had used to. And it was more than just the fact that he was on the verge of winning his fifth consecutive world title.
The truth is, I've felt for some time that something is missing.
What?
What is it?
What do I need to motivate me to keep going?
The answer wasn't in the hot water that ran down the porcelain length of his oh, so desirable naked body. It wasn't in the steamy air that touched that body all over and was breathed in and exhaled as Victor closed his eyes and tried to picture something, anything that could bring the change he needed. Like the last bits of night, the answers seeped away into the cracks and corners of his mind when he tried to look for them.
Little did Victor Nikiforov know that the answers he sought were contained in the gentle heart, the overly anxious, but fiercely devoted mind, and the strong, but struggling body of the Japanese skater known as Yuuri Katsuki. Yuuri Katsuki was merely the ghost that Victor sensed keenly, but could not yet see. But, unbeknownst to both young men, that was days away from changing.
Victor stepped out of the shower, reaching for a thick, absorbent towel that he used to remove the excess moisture from his silvery hair, then ran slowly all over his body as he breathed slowly and enjoyed the sensation. Yes, Victor was a man who enjoyed every little thing that felt good, that looked good, that smelled and sounded and tasted good. Anything and everything that touched his senses, made him feel alive. He walked, naked, to his closet and took his time choosing something comfortable and flattering. As he dressed, his felt his melancholy ease. He knew already that the interview would keep him occupied, so he wouldn't feel that nagging little frustration, that little inner voice that made him feel like, even though his life was full, something was missing.
But even if he didn't look, in the back of his mind, he knew that the signs were everywhere.
He left the house and found the car that Yakov had sent for him already idling in the driveway.
"Good afternoon, Victor," the driver greeted him, opening the door for him.
"Thank you, Artur," Victor answered, smiling warmly.
Victor had learned early on that, as soon as he walked outside his door, he must treat everyone he met with kindness and respect…with the possible exception of little snot-nosed brats like Yuri Plisetsky, who could be tweaked for a bit of fun. Everyone else was a potential fan, and fans were important in building him up emotionally and giving him endless reasons to continue. In truth, he was grateful for the attention, though it was a mixed blessing. And it did cross his mind for a moment as he left the car and threw a charming wink at a large group of admirers who had gathered outside the TV studio.
Even with all of the love they send my way…
Sometimes, I feel invisible.
Sometimes, I want to be invisible.
Why don't those two feelings ever seem to happen at the same time?
What am I missing?
He swiftly refocused as he was met by Yakov at the studio door. They walked inside and headed to the room where the news crew was waiting. Victor sat down in one of the guest chairs and waited quietly as the producer prepared him for the interview, then he took a breath and smiled, waiting for his cue. Newsman Morooka waited as the camera swung in their direction, then he grinned and started the introduction.
"I'm here, today, in Saint Petersburg, Russia, where a number of the world's best known figure skaters are gearing up for the much anticipated Grand Prix Finals. Perhaps the best known skater in the competition is Russian legend, Victor Nikiforov, who will be attempting to earn a record fifth consecutive title. Victor is here with coach, Yakov Feltsman, to give us a preview of what to expect during the competition. Victor, first, let me say, as always, it's a pleasure to be here with you. Thank you and, of course, Coach Feltsman, for taking the time to meet with us."
"It's no problem. It's good to be here with you also," Victor answered easily.
"What are your thoughts about the upcoming men's singles competition? Do you think that there will be any serious challenges from the field of male skaters?"
Victor's head tilted slightly as he considered.
"Well, you know that Chris Giacometti is always a force to be reckoned with. Although he hasn't ever beaten me, there is a first time for everything, right?"
"Yes," Morooka chuckled, "Yes, there is."
"Along with Chris, I think J.J. Leroy is another skater who should perform well. He has been setting personal bests all season long, and his scores have been impressive."
"They sure have," the newscaster agreed, "Victor, what do you think about Yuuri Katsuki, who will be competing in his first Grand Prix Final?"
"Hmm," Victor mused, "we didn't meet in either of our two events this season, but he did well in his events and he did qualify for the final. I've heard, though, that he is prone to anxiety, so that could be a factor for him. Still, I remember how my first Grand Prix Final motivated me. I think he could perform well, as long as he doesn't lose focus. He is a promising skater, from what I hear."
Their discussion moved on to other topics, then drew to a close. Victor shook hands with Morooka, then headed out to the car with Yakov, and the two returned to the ice rink, where Victor donned his skates again and took to the ice.
"Go over the transitions," Yakov instructed him, "You need to make them smoother."
"They're smooth enough," the younger man complained, "Any smoother and I'll end up in a puddle on the ice. You're just being picky."
"Shut up and do what you're told," Yakov scolded him, "You don't want to get lazy and have that Swiss boy surpass you, do you?"
"It wouldn't be so bad to see Chris win, for once," Victor said, smirking.
"Well, just keep ignoring me and I'm sure it will happen. Now, get out there and work!"
"I'm going," Victor sighed, "Do you always have to be so grouchy?"
"Stop talking and skate!"
"Stop talking and skate…" Victor muttered mockingly under his breath.
He started out doing as he was told, but as soon as his coach turned his back to speak to another skater, the silver-haired skater sank into his thoughts, letting them guide his feet as he daydreamed and skated whatever came to mind. He gave himself over completely to the emotions that were nagging at him, releasing them slowly in graceful turns, increasingly difficult jumps and eye catching spins.
"Victor, what the hell are you doing? That's not what I told you to do!" Yakov scolded him, when he finally noticed.
Victor showed no sign that he had heard, so caught up as he was in his head. Yakov yelled at him again, then shook his head and sighed, turning his attention to his other students. When his practice was over, Victor changed out of his skates and walked back towards home, only to be waylaid near the pub on his way there.
"Come and have dinner with Anya and me," Georgi invited him, as Victor passed his fellow skater.
Victor frowned and shook his head.
"Did she come back to you already?" he asked curiously.
"Well, no," Georgi admitted, "but she'll be here tonight with that ridiculous guy she's dating, so I'll go and do some dancing with the girls at the pub. I'll make her sorry. You want to come and dance too?"
He saw the hesitation and his eyes narrowed.
"You're not going to go home and go to bed early like an old man, now are you?" he teased.
"Shut up!" Victor laughed, "Fine, I'll go with you. I'll post lots of pictures of you and other girls, so she'll get jealous."
"Yes! Perfect!" Georgi laughed, "Come on."
The two entered the club and the evening disappeared into a haze of drinking and dancing. As usual, Victor wasn't completely sure how he got home, but he woke up in his usual spot in the bed. He noticed that Maccachin had abandoned him to sniff around the house and to drink from his water bowl. He turned towards the window, noting for the millionth time that he still left one side of his bed empty.
There hasn't been anyone there…not for the last five years, at least. I've focused everything on my career…and I suppose this is what I should expect for doing that. It's just that having relationships was like living on a rollercoaster that never stopped. They took too much energy and it interfered with my skating, so I stopped being serious with anyone.
I can only find new strength on my own.
He drifted off again, and this time, he dreamed of waking up to find that he wasn't alone, that there was a soft, warm body with a pleasant scent that was somewhat sweet, but also distinctively masculine. The body he felt with his was slighter than his, but still well muscled, and although there was softness in the hands that caressed him and the warm mouth that ravaged his, there was delightful firmness there too.
He came awake suddenly, sitting up as his body responded to his dream lover's touch with a shockingly intense climax. Victor's blue-green eyes rounded and he panted in reaction, almost hearing a lovely male voice calling out his name. When the sound disappeared, he buried his face in his hands, aching all over to hear it again.
Why does this happen?
I'm not lonely. I see plenty of people every day. I don't want the distraction of a lover right now. My life is full of people, and none of them really see me when they look at me, anyway.
In the middle of everything, and with all eyes on me, I feel invisible.
Yes.
Sometimes, I feel invisible.
Sometimes, I want to be invisible.
Why the fuck can't they ever happen at the same time?