AN: Just finished watching episode 12 of Yuri! On Ice and it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. And I just… wanted to commemorate that, in some way.
So I wrote this. Whatever this is.
Everything You Touch
I want to show you something.
Yuuri glanced over at Viktor, blinking. What is it?
Viktor's eyes were as deep as glaciers, backlit by some kind of inner light, and his smile was as gentle and wistful as falling snow. It's beautiful.
Yuuri felt his chest swell. I want to see it, he said, because anything that made Viktor look like that was something he wanted to see.
He reached out to grasp Viktor's hands in his own (Viktor looked like winter incarnate; it was almost jolting that his skin was always so warm).
Please, he said, and Viktor's eyes shone like expanses of ice hit by sunlight at just the right angle to blind him.
If he were to close his eyes, he was sure he'd see vivid afterimages of that expression fading in and out in different colors.
Okay, Viktor said, and his smile was like a snowflake landing in Yuuri's open palm.
He squeezed Yuuri's hands slightly, his touch the reassuring and steady warmth of hot springs that endured no matter how frigid the weather. Come back to Russia with me.
Russia? Yuuri blinked, mind skidding over the ice. O-okay.
The gold ring had been warmed by Viktor's skin, and was not cold.
Where are we going? Yuuri asked as they trekked through the snow, bundled against the Russian winter, the sky already dark. His voice was muffled behind a scarf.
Viktor's voice was lilting: You'll see.
Gloved fingers traced over the strap of the bag thrown over Viktor's shoulder, the contents of which were also a mystery.
They trudged on through the snow, and what little of Yuuri's skin was open to the air was stinging with cold. The clothes Viktor had given him, though, were warm, which was something of a marvel in the bitter cold.
Viktor crested the hill and stopped, turning back to look at him, face framed by fur and adorned with a grin.
Down there, he said, gesturing to down the other side of the hill as Yuuri stopped next to him, looking at him questioningly.
When Yuuri looked down, his eyes widened, his breath catching in his chest.
You don't have frozen lakes where you live, do you? Viktor asked, and Yuuri could only shake his head dumbly and keep staring at the expanse of ice glowing under the light of the full moon, illuminated like a stage, the perimeter curtained by snow-laden trees, chandeliers of galaxies suspended hundreds of trillions of miles above the surface.
I came here whenever I could, growing up, came Viktor's voice, as soft and clear as the moonlight. Come on.
Viktor had Yuuri's gloved hand in his own and was practically running down the hill and tugging him along, his laugh clear and exhilarated, and Yuuri wondered how he could look so graceful wearing such heavy winter clothes and trudging through snow that their boots kept sinking into.
It was so cold that the ice wasn't wet, kicking up in flurries of individual snowflakes as they ran (if it could even be called running).
Viktor pulled him to a stop at the edge of the ice, and Yuuri could see that the surface was criss-crossed with lines from how the water had frozen.
Far above them in the fathomless expanse of darkness, the stars twinkled brightly (Viktor's eyes rivaled them).
Come on, Viktor said again, sitting right down in the snow and removing from his bag two pairs of skates.
Wh-what?
Viktor smiled up at him, and Yuuri was struck by how everything the moon touched turned to silver.
Viktor's hair, Viktor's skin, Viktor's breath; the ring on Viktor's right hand when he removed his gloves.
Let's go skating.
Now? Yuuri asked, because it was night in the middle of the Russian winter and the temperature was so far below zero that it scared him to think about it.
Yes, Viktor said, tying his skates with an astonishing amount of dexterity. You never know when we'll get another clear night like this.
B-but— Yuuri started, and Viktor laughed and tugged on his hand until he sat down.
One of my friends was jogging around naked this morning, Viktor said, amusement in his voice as he started helping Yuuri with his skates. We'll be fine. Once we start skating we'll warm right up, nyet?
I-I guess, Yuuri said, and Viktor stood on the ice and held out his hand.
Yuuri looked at Viktor's hand, the gold ring shining silver on his finger, and followed the line of Viktor's arm up to his face, his hood pushed back and his hair haloed in moonlight against a backdrop of stars and galaxies, the lake shining under glinting blades, his breath filling the space between them.
Yuuri rubbed his eyes so tears wouldn't freeze to his eyelashes, and took Viktor's hand, rising to his feet.
Skating backwards, Viktor pulled him out onto the frozen lake, and Yuuri could not see the edges, as if they could skate there forever.
I told you it was beautiful, didn't I? Viktor was smiling at him again, and looked like he belonged there.
Y-yes, Yuuri said, barely able to get the words out because it was so beautiful that it hurt.
Like every time he skated, the world seemed to align around him, through him.
Why do you like skating? someone had asked him once, and he'd stuttered slightly before falling into silence, trying to figure out how to describe it to someone who had never skated.
Do you know that feeling you get sometimes when you're listening to music? he said finally. When you're listening to a beautiful song that really touches you, and everything just kind of… feels right? It's like that.
They'd looked at him without comprehension, and Yuuri had sighed. I don't know how to explain it… skating just makes me feel… graceful, I guess. He'd smiled, then. You'll just have to try it for yourself!
How did you learn to skate? someone had asked Viktor, once.
Viktor had blinked, before smiling. My coaches taught me.
But when you started, how did you learn how to stay up and not fall over?
Oh, Viktor had said, and paused, tilting his head. I don't remember not knowing how to skate. The same way I don't remember not knowing how to walk. He tapped the side of his jaw. But you could say the same thing for anything that you learn to do while you're young, like bicycling or swimming.
So what does it feel like? the fan had asked him, and Yuuri had held his breath because he wanted to know how Viktor answered, when he'd had trouble answering the same question.
You must have something you love doing, right? Viktor had said. Whether that's reading, writing, drawing, playing a musical instrument. The feeling you get while doing that activity is the same feeling I get while ice skating.
Viktor's smile was brilliant, and the fan breathed, Oh, comprehension dawning.
And Yuuri wondered why he hadn't thought of saying that.
He'd always thought that ice skating was somehow special, but he realized then that it wasn't skating itself that was special, but his passion—Viktor's passion—for skating. That's what made skating special.
And with Viktor, he didn't have to explain anything.
Thank you for sharing that with me, Yuuri said, when the two of them were back inside and sitting next to each other on the couch in front of the fire, shoulders and thighs touching, mugs of hot cider in their chilled hands, the tips of their ears and noses still pink. It must be a very special place for you.
Viktor looked over to see Yuuri staring deep into his cider, and Viktor leaned into him and let his head rest on Yuuri's shoulder.
It's even more special now that I've shared it with you, Viktor said, remembering the awe that had lit up Yuuri's face.
It felt magical… Yuuri murmured, trailing off, and Viktor smiled and closed his eyes.
There was an amused noise from Yuuri, then. You're like the moon, Viktor, you know.
Mm? Viktor said, straightening up and opening his eyes to look at Yuuri, who was smiling at him. How's that?
Yuuri smiled, eyes bright. Everything you touch turns to silver.
Viktor frowned. It was your own fault you didn't win gold, you know. I was a great coach.
Yuuri laughed, then, and took a sip of his spiced cider, his eyes widening. It's reallygood! he said, and took another sip, letting his eyes slip closed. I think this is what winning a gold medal would taste like, he mused.
Viktor was reminded of Yuuri's heartfelt declaration that eros, to him, was a pork cutlet bowl.
You find wonder in the simplest things, Viktor murmured, and leaned against him again, taking a careful sip of his own hot cider, which seemed to taste somehow more elegant than it had a few moments before. I love that about you.
The fire crackled in front of them, and when Viktor glanced over the flames were reflected in Yuuri's eyes and his expression was pensive.
What are you thinking? Viktor asked.
Yuuri nodded at the fire in front of them. I think I feel like that, he said, when I skate. The way the fire moves.
Viktor turned his attention to the flames, watching them flicker and dance with an easy, natural grace, defying description, and he thought of the way Yuri skated like his body was creating music.
Fire had never looked so beautiful to him as it did in that moment.
He reached out a hand towards the flames, watching the firelight flicker on the gold ring around his finger.
I want to show you something, Yuuri said, and Viktor turned his head to find Yuuri looking at him earnestly. I want to show you something beautiful the same way you did for me.
Viktor's hand retreated om the flames to tuck a strand of black hair behind Yuuri's ear. Yuuri, he said, smiling. You do that for me all the time.
END.
AN: It's probably not a good idea to go ice skating on a frozen lake at night in the middle of winter in Russia… but I had this mental image of Viktor and Yuuri skating together on a frozen lake under the stars so I wanted to write it. I don't know. I don't live in Russia; I don't even live where it snows.
But then again, it definitely wouldn't be the craziest stunt a Russian pulled in subzero temperatures. I didn't make up the story about a Russian guy jogging around naked in the middle of winter. If you look up the article "Welcome to Winter, People. The Russians Have Been Waiting" from The Moscow Times, you can see videos of Russians pulling that and other stunts in below-freezing temperatures. Like sitting on a swing and eating an ice cream bar, or playing the accordion. It's a really interesting article.
I tried looking up information about Russian winter clothing, but it looked incredibly confusing and I was afraid of getting stuff wrong. The article "Surviving the Russian Winter" from The Moscow Times is really interesting, though.
Another article worth checking out is "Unbelievable Close-Up Photos of Snowflakes Reveal A Side Of Winter You've Never Seen" from The Huffington Post. The pictures are stunning.