Hi, everyone! I have to say that this story is honestly kind of a lot of fluff. Not much character development, nothing amazing. Fun to write, though!
Hope you enjoy!
Day One
"Yuuri!"
Yuuri turned to see Minako-sensei, waving him off. He was going to the Grand Prix Finals again – this time hosted in America – and of course all of Hasetsu was overcome with excitement. He waved back, smiling, and then turned toward the security checkpoint.
His smile slipped off his face. A year ago, he'd been a bundle of nerves and stress and also love – love for how far he'd come, love for his family and friends, love for the ever-endearing Yuri Plisetsky, love for Victor Nikiforov.
He was on his own now, it seemed. Well, not really, because he still had his family and friends and he still had the lovely Yurio to text some nights, but a huge chunk of his heart seemed to have been carved out, never to be replaced.
Victor Nikiforov was gone.
"Sir? Anything to drink?"
Yuuri was jerked out of his half-slumber and glanced up to see a flight attendant standing over him, cart in tow. "Just water, please," he replied. He suddenly recalled the many times Victor had said the same, in English, as they headed for their various destinations...
Not Victor again.
He downed the water in a few huge gulps, attempting to rid himself of those ever-persisting thoughts. Victor wasn't here anymore, and that was the reality of the matter.
It had been nearly six months. It wasn't news.
It was a short flight from Hasetsu to Nagoya. He would wait for Yurio's (much) longer flight, and the two of them would head to the hotel together. Yuuri collected his bags and waited until he received a few texts from Yurio saying that they'd landed.
Yurio hadn't changed at all since the last time he'd seen him – six months ago. His blond hair was the same, his body posture was the same, his scowl was the same. If there was one thing that was different about him, Yuuri would say it was how his green eyes had softened.
"There you are, piggy," Yurio said condescendingly, and Yuuri just patted him on the shoulder. Yurio twitched and glared.
"Did you come here by yourself?"
"Yeah. Yakov and Lilia landed yesterday, so I'm here by myself."
Yuuri couldn't help but smile. "You're growing up, little Yurio."
"Don't call me that! And I'm not little – I was never little!" Yurio was glowering at Yuuri, but they both knew it was harmless bantering. Since last year, they'd become close friends and rivals. Since six months ago, they'd become the best of friends and rivals.
They walked in silence, strolling out of the airport amid camera flashes and jabbering reporters. Since Yurio and Yuuri had won gold and silver respectively at last year's Final, they'd become rather famous; their friendship and Victor's predicament had only heightened the masses' interest.
They kept their heads down, smiled sometimes, waved a bit, and waded through the crowd to a taxi Yurio had pointed out. The taxi driver popped the trunk and helped the two of them with their luggage, and then they settled into the back seat.
As the taxi started to move, Yuuri took a deep breath before exhaling. The question was coming, and Yurio probably knew it. "How's... How is he?"
Yurio refused to look at him, staring out the car window as he spoke. "The same as before. They're hoping the Final will jog something or other, but their hopes aren't high."
"Nothing has helped?"
"Not a thing. He vaguely remembers Makkachin and he talks to me about ice skating sometimes. He's always watching it on television, and often he critiques their performances. But he doesn't remember a thing other than what we've told him."
Yuuri was silent. Yurio finally turned to look at him, his green eyes dark and shaded.
"You should've visited recently."
"I... I know." Yuuri's hand clenched into a fist, his nails digging into his flesh. "I just..."
"Couldn't?" Yurio suggested, and for once, his words had no trace of anger or frustration in them. Instead, he was strangely understanding and compassionate. Yuuri appreciated it. He thought the boy would say something else about the matter, but the blonde only said, "It's a bit of a trip."
It wasn't really that far by airplane, but Yuuri suspected Yurio meant more than just the literal flight time. It was more of a difficult trip mentally than it was physically. More than once, Yuuri had tried, but he'd always chickened out, dragged down by depressing thoughts and fears. So he'd resorted to texting Yurio a lot, and the blonde usually responded. Usually.
They arrived at the hotel in silence. Yurio didn't make any effort to help Yuuri with his things, and he didn't expect him to. They walked into the lobby, checked themselves in, and then they headed for the elevators.
Yuuri was ready to sleep. It was late afternoon, anyway, so why not? He wasn't jet-lagged – Yurio should've been the one who was tired – but he was sleepy anyway. He struggled down the hallway, blundered into his hotel room, dumped his bags down, and was about to flop down on the bed when Yurio grabbed his wrist sternly.
"Get up, piggy," he ordered, and Yuuri frowned at him. "Yakov invited us to go get dinner together. There's some sushi restaurant he wanted to go to."
"Well, I was really looking forward to a nap – "
"Too bad," Yurio scoffed, dragging Yuuri out the door and back into the hallway. "Yakov said he'd treat us, by the way, so don't worry about money."
"Wait – "
"Come on, you pig. Have you been gaining weight again? Why are you so damn heavy?"
"Because I'm digging my heels in," Yuuri deadpanned. The two of them were stuck in one place, Yurio pulling forward and Yuuri leaning backward. They stared at each other until Yurio suddenly let go, and Yuuri found himself falling backward.
Victor wasn't there to catch him anymore.
Yurio stood over him, arms crossed. "You bother me all the time, and this is how you repay me? God, do I look like I appreciate being hammered with thousands of fucking texts every day? Hell, why don't you go see him yourself, rather than bothering me? But since I'm such a nice guy, I've always responded – so get off your lazy ass and just come along already!"
That sounded more like Yurio. Yuuri sighed, got to his feet, and somewhat willingly followed Yurio back toward the elevators. He wasn't feeling guilty about "spamming" Yurio (he hadn't really sent that many texts, anyway); it was the quaver in Yurio's voice as he spoke about Victor that had convinced Yuuri to come along without a second word. They were both heartbroken. They were in this together.
Yurio shoved the address at the taxi driver, who took one look at Yurio's threatening expression and didn't ask any more. They rode in silence yet again. Yuuri wondered when the day would end.
The restaurant Yakov had chosen was in a mall. Yuuri ate enough sushi as it was, but he figured that anything this expensive would be pretty decent. If only Victor could try it, he thought forlornly. He'd loved katsudon, after all.
"Stop daydreaming," Yurio snapped, and Yuuri blinked. They were in front of a fancy-looking restaurant. Characters were written on the banner above them, reading simply "Nagoya Sushi and More."
"Do you have a reservation?" the hostess asked, seeming to address Yuuri. Yuuri translated to Yurio, who said,
"Tell her it's under Yakov's name."
Yuuri translated back, telling the hostess that "Yakov" had made a reservation. She nodded and grabbed two menus for them. He also asked whether Yakov himself had arrived already – a portly old man, he called him. The hostess said yes, and Yuuri was relieved. Sitting alone with Yurio tended to be awkward.
"Here you are," the hostess continued in Japanese, gesturing to the table where Yakov and Lilia were already seated. "And here are your menus. Have a great dinner!"
Yuuri thanked her, and she bowed before leaving. He and Yurio sat down, greeting Yakov and Lilia briefly.
"What would you recommend?" Lilia asked Yuuri in accented English. She was gazing at him like how a lion looks at its prey, and Yuuri squirmed a bit uncomfortably before glancing down the menu. The English translations were horrid.
He spent the next twenty minutes explaining most of the items on the menu before they finally settled on what they wanted. He flagged down a waitress and relayed their orders to her as she scribbled onto her notepad, took their menus, and bowed.
"So, Yuuri Katsuki," said Yakov, and Yuuri hated that all attention was pointed to him again. Why was he here again? "What have you been up to since last year?"
"Working on my technique and my jumps," Yuuri answered truthfully. "I've been training with Celestino again, in Detroit."
"Ah, I see," said Yakov, nodding. "Well, I look forward to your performance in two days."
"Yes, thank you. Best of luck to you, Ms. Lilia, and Yurio."
"Stop calling me that!" Yurio hissed, only to be met with a warning gaze from both his coach and Lilia. He grumbled something under his breath but said no more.
A year ago, Yakov would never have spoken to Yuuri at all unless he had no choice – like the time Victor had run off to make sure Makkachin was alright, and had asked Yakov to be Yuuri's temporary coach.
A year ago, Lilia wouldn't even have acknowledged him. They'd never spoken before.
A year ago, Yurio would've left Yuuri at the hotel without a second thought. It would've been less work for both of them.
Since six months ago, they'd all become closer. Their shared pain over the same person made them feel like allies, like friends, like teammates. He still didn't know Yakov or Lilia very well, but he saw them less as his rival's coaches and more as fellow Victor-lovers.
Even now, hundreds of miles away, probably sitting obliviously at home, Victor Nikiforov was holding his hand out to Yuuri.
His eyes met Yurio's, and he saw his own pain reflected there. Yurio and Victor had been like brothers. Surely, he thought, Yurio was in a constant state of pain, and yet he had the courage to go visit Victor almost every day, regardless of circumstances.
That night, he fell asleep immediately. But Victor refused to appear in his dreams.
