The new training regimes designed to work in both of their favours were going to be absolutely brilliant! Why, you ask? Well, because Viktor designed them, and Viktor is a certified genius. (Yuuri's words in a sleep-induced dazed, but law nonetheless.)

Since moving to Russia, the initial culture-shock has worn off and Yuuri has started to accept the fact that not every stranger he greets on his morning run is going to greet him back. He stopped trying to greet them by the third day, instead focusing on his relationship with Viktor, and slowly building up his friendships with the national team at the rink. His anxiety had led to some over-the-top awkward conversations, wherein he found Mila as a solace, and just as easy to talk to as Viktor and Yuri. She would casually skate by each time he stutteringly tried to explain to yet another skater why Viktor was both coaching him and training under Yakov Feltsman at the same time. (Yuuri never mentioned it, but Viktor had an inkling that his fiancé was terrified of the elder coach.)

Besides that, Viktor and Yuuri had grown closer. What with Yuuri's parents nor Mari able to walk in on them (or sometimes the unfortunate onsen guest) at any given moment, they had spent the first week indulging in each other's presence, sleeping in late some mornings only forced out of bed by Makkachin on a hunt for food. Every morning Yuuri would flutter his eyes open, glaring at the sunlight breaking through the white curtains, only for his head to tilt up, finding his fiancé either still fighting wakefulness, or staring down lovingly at him.

Then, on the days he was awake, Viktor would tilt his head down even further, Yuuri reciprocating the movement by tilting his own head up, only for Viktor to catch his lips with his own.

They would break apart, still breathing softly in the silence, embracing the heat of their lover's body. The sheets would make a shhkkk noise as Viktor moves his hand under Yuuri's shirt, and Yuuri would resist pressing against the heat. He himself would find little marks on Viktor's bare chest, tracing the little nicks and grooves with his eyes. Every morning Yuuri would find something new, whether it be a scar or a mole. He secretly hoped that he would find something new about Viktor every day for the rest of their lives.

And then, as Viktor presses his head against Yuuri's, hair still messy, he would say, "Good morning," and Yuuri would fall in love with him all over again.

Yuuri shook his head in order to rid himself of the fantasy, instead focusing solely on his running. St. Petersburg is chilly in the Spring mornings, but Yuuri's muscles were burning in the most delicious way. There's a bark in the distance Yuuri recognised as Makkachin's heavy 'woof'. Viktor's silver hair came in to sight and Yuuri recognised Yuri next to him.

Yuuri's face lit up in a smile, catching his fiancé's eyes.

Viktor returns the smile, face lighting up just as much. His eyes sparkled and when he lifted his hand up, he called out, "Yuri!"

We call everything on the ice, love.

Viktor's training regime was simple; while he had ice-time in the morning as it suited Yakov the best. Meanwhile Yuuri would work on his stamina and muscles in the gym, until Viktor was finished on the ice, where he would take over and be allowed to coach Yuuri, thus taking a break. He would have his own gym time later the evening while Yuuri was either in the dance studio with Yuri and Lilia.

It's absolutely no surprise that Lilia loves Yuuri about as much as she used to love Yakov. (That's a good thing, by the way.) She claims that he is the most dedicated student she has ever had since the last prima under her tutelage, nearly twenty years ago.

(The details itself would be worked out along the way. Yuuri had trained long enough on his own. Viktor trusted him.)

Yuuri was the first to the rink, stamina holding him up other than the two Russians behind him. Yuri was exponentially fitter than Viktor, all things considering, but the elder male was holding up rather well.

"Yakov!" Viktor called as he cheerily made his way into the building. Yakov Feltsman was beside the rink, talking to one of his younger junior skaters when he heard the racket. He valiantly tried to ignore his best skater in favour of doing his job, but Viktor was making his presence known.

"Yakov, I need the private-gym's key." Yakov ignored him. "Yakov." Nothing. "Yakov, please, this is imperative."

Yakov sighed heavily. What had he done to deserve this? Had he committed treason in his past live? Murder?

"Such big words, Vitya," he turned to his younger skater, "Sorry, Yelena. Go work on your spins in the meantime. Your flying sit spin needs more momentum." The little girl nodded dutifully and skated to the middle of the rink.

"The key is the third one from the left, behind the office door. For goodness sake, Vitya. You should know this by now!"

Viktor smiled cheerily, and skipped away. Yuuri, in the meantime, rolled his eyes but followed his coach dutifully.

Viktor snatched the key up in his hand from around the corner or the office door, and casually walked past.

Walking down the tunnels in the Russian rink, reality shifted slightly. The tunnels were darker than the rest of the rink and reminded Yuuri of competition tunnels. Now, with a moment of privacy, Viktor tucked Yuuri into the crook of his arm as the two walked onwards.

"Hey, love? I've been meaning to ask; where do you want the wedding?" Viktor asked, the question completely out of the blue. Yuuri had recently gotten so comfortable with living with Viktor, he had nearly forgotten that they weren't married yet. It certainly felt like it at times.

"I... uh... I haven't given it much thought yet." That's a lie. He's been dreaming about this since he was a little kid. "Maybe a beach wedding in Hasetsu?"

The way Viktor smiled at him then, and daringly embraces him with a kiss gave Yuuri the answer. As he pulls away, the younger man giggled slightly.

"I swear you read my mind sometimes," Viktor exclaimed. "Ooh! Maybe we developed telepathy! That would be so cool!"

"It would be annoying as hell," Yuuri snapped, "I can't imagine what goes on in your head! It's like a danger zone!"

"Mm, maybe, but with telepathy you'll be able to keep me from doing stupid stuff," Viktor explained smugly.

"Yeah, like that time I kept you from buying Makkachin the double princess doggy house deluxe." Viktor tried to ignore the sarcastic tone.

"Bu-,"

"Or that time I somehow managed to keep you from getting that hot pink Porsche, just because 'it looked nice with my hair'," Yuuri continued.

"But it did!"

"It was a Porsche, Viktor!" Yuuri denied Viktor's claims, "Or wait, my favourite; you order a dozen DIY furniture items from IKEA which you know for a fact you can't build on your own!"

"We managed that clothing rack," Viktor said, although his point was rather null. That clothing rack had a total of five screws. "Although you probably have a point... there's little that can stop me..."

"He admits it!" Yuuri exclaimed looking dead serious, but he had trouble holding back his laughter. "You're lucky I love you. Telepathy is still a bad idea."

"But we're soulmates, Yuuri!" Viktor exclaimed, "We are destined to read each other's minds!"

"If you were able to hear my thoughts, you'll never be able to sleep," Yuuri told him, this time dead serious. Viktor did not reply, but frowned nonetheless.

What with it being early, the first one in always had to open the gym. The lock was finnicky, but within the minute Viktor somehow managed to get the door open.

"I need you to work on your core and then your lower body strength. Don't overwork yourself on the cardio for today," Viktor scolded.

"And neither should you," Yuuri rebuked. "You were so sore last night. It can't be good for your muscles to ache so bad you can't fall asleep." Yuuri's tone had softened as he spoke to Viktor. Viktor smiled sheepishly at his husband-to-be, and held tightly onto his lover's hands.

"Well, if I'm as stiff as last night, you can always just massage it again," Viktor teased. Yuuri smiled at him, but as his fiancé left the room, Yuuri was left with his thoughts.

He thought back to the previous night and how Viktor's entire leg had spasmed up, and Yuuri had to massage it out before either of them could fall asleep again. Yuuri remembered having to find heat pads and tropical oils from the medical cabinet which burned to the touch and stank of rubbing alcohol and coconut oil.

As a teenager Yuuri had never experienced any major injuries while skating, sans the few scratches and bruises and the occasional twist of the ankle.

With Viktor, Yuuri soon learned, was that the older male had some close calls and was constantly in pain. Whether it be from a muscle spasm or joints aching up, Viktor was an injury accident waiting to happen.

Maybe it was time Yuuri confronted Viktor about it. As Yuuri's anxious thoughts continued to cloud his mind, he plugged in his earphones and went for the treadmill.

Telepathy. Pfft...

If Yuuri has a nasty gut feeling halfway into his training, he would never say anything of it. At least, not until he sees Viktor again.

Even before Yuuri had acquired his Visa, Viktor already had the 2017-2018 programs ready for the both of them. Well, the short programs at least. So, in total the both of them already been practicing for months.

That wasn't really the problem, though. At this point, Yuuri's programme had at least a 10-point higher base value, merely due to the back loaded. In turn, Viktor had to either upgrade one of his jumps or focus more on his technical elements that weren't jumps and rather focus on his step sequences. Too bad Viktor hated step sequences. They were nerve wracking at best, and when he had started as a novice, he had kept falling over his own feet.

Yakov blamed Viktor for making the step sequences too difficult for himself, instead dismissing the basics for more complex moves. He had more sprains than he could count on his fingers.

Axel.

"Viktor! Show me a run-through of the skate; without the music!"

Viktor nodded from where he was standing on the ice. He ran through the program in his head one last time, before he started, the programme. When producing it, his idea was to use his very first program, and make it parallel to it. As a child, he had used several lyrical songs composed by Russian musicians. He, through extensive searching, had found a song that appeared to be the complete opposite of his first skate. Sensual rather than innocent. Mysterious, rather than open and light-hearted.

This had to be one of Viktor's greatest, and most emotional skates he had ever produced.

Despite having not been on the ice for months, his spins were flawless and his jumps appeared effortless.

As the second half of the program neared, so did Viktor's final jump. It was a triple axel. Viktor sped up, skating at the speed of light. When he jumped….

One… two… three… and half… no, four and a half.

A quad.

Viktor fell.

Yakov remembered watching from the side lines as his eldest skater hit the ice with a resounding thud. He remembered the cry of pain as Viktor curled up into himself. He remembered Georgi rushing over to Viktor's side, skidding on his knees long before he reached his friend. He remembered Yuri Plisetsky screaming just as loud as Viktor, but rather in terror.

To this day, Yakov Feltsman does not remember how he had gotten Viktor to the emergency room – he just did.

Yuuri came from the gym an hour later in search of his coach. Instead of finding the main rink empty, he noticed the majority of the Russian team skating around, lazily practicing spins and footwork. Yuri was the first to notice Yuuri, face paling at the sight of the Japanese skater.

"Fuck. I knew we forgot something."

Viktor awoke up in a hospital room with his entire body screaming in protest. He had half a mind to close his eyes again, but one look at Yakov and Georgi had him rethinking it. Where was he in the first place? He glanced down when he noticed a giant sponge cast wrapped around his knee.

He nearly stopped breathing.

"Viktor, how are you feeling?" Yakov asked, voice uncharacteristically soft.

"What? Where- where am I?" Viktor mumbled. "I'm fine… I… I'm just confused."

"I am very sorry, Mr Nikiforov, but it appears your ACL has been damaged. We did scans while you were under narcotics."

Viktor's heart stopped; ACL damage? He had heard of skaters injuring themselves and never returning to the ice. Was he going to be one of them? Viktor felt himself flooding with panic and only thinking about Yuuri. Where was he? Why was he not next to him right at this very moment?

"Let me see my fiancé, please. Doctor, please, I need to see him before I go under the knife!"

As if summoned, Yuuri ran in as dishevelled as the day he started school. His hair was flying everywhere and his glasses seemed to be slipping off the bridge of his nose.

"Vitya…"

"Yuuri…"

The lovers embraced, hands touching, kisses exchanged. "I was so worried about you."

It was then when the doctor interrupted. "I hate to interrupt, but we need to discuss a few things." Yuuri nodded obediently and sat back, still sticking next to Viktor's side.

"While you do not need extensive surgery, we still need to attach the partly torn ligament back to the bone temporarily. I suggest we get to it as soon as possible. We need to get you a physical therapist, but with the way things are looking now, and only if you behave, you will be back on the ice within the next six months, minimum."

Yuuri gasped, hands flying to his face in surprise. The doctor had been speaking English for his benefit, but the words did not seem to process. "I'll be fine?" Viktor asked, finally speaking up, this time in Russian.

The doctor nodded. "You were extremely lucky. Mr Katsuki, there is nothing you need to worry about. Your fiancé will be alright. I'll call in a nurse to get Viktor the surgery room."

Georgi barked a short laugh the moment the doctor left the room. "Viktor, you really need to stop surprising us like this. Yakov's old heart can't take it anymore."

Viktor smiled sheepishly. When he heard the words 'ACL' and 'damage' he was expecting the worst.

Yakov grumbled. "Another season? Are you ever coming back to the ice?"

Viktor shrugged, fingering Yuuri's hand in his grip. "Yaaakov, stop being so mean! I'm getting a surgery! Goodness, one would think you cared about me!"

Yakov sighed. "I'm just glad you're okay, Vitya."

Yuuri could not help agreeing with Yakov. At the very least, Viktor would be fine at the end of all this. He would be fine.

As the couple came up to their home after Viktor's surgery, Yuuri helping him hobble on along, the two came to a stop when they made it to the threshold. There was a moment of silence as Yuuri unlocked the front door.

It all happened so quick. Yuuri spun around so that he was facing Viktor. He tugged the taller man to him, before lifting him up in his arms in a bridal fashion. Viktor gasped in surprise, bringing his arms to wrap around his lover's neck.

Yuuri did not need to look up to recognise the image of surprise on Viktor's face, but he could not resist. He smiled at his fiancé in his arms.

"Comfortable?"

"Very," Viktor said breathlessly. A blush painted across his face, but Viktor caught his resolve. "Now carry me across the threshold. I'm cold."

Yuuri laughed, but swung his body into the apartment, Viktor reaching out with one hand to close the door behind them.

Yuuri carried Viktor to the bedroom with ease, where he dropped the elder male into the bed, tucking him under the sheets. Makkachin had followed them dutifully and climbed in next to Viktor on the bed. Viktor smiled, reaching out to pet Makkachin, the poodle gladly accepted the petting.

Yuuri leaned over his fiancé, hand reaching out to gently stroke his cheek. "Do you need anything?" I love you.

"A kiss would be nice," Viktor whispered in time for their lips to meet. To crash like waves against the shore; a rush of refreshment, a breath of relief. I adore you.

Kissing Yuuri felt like their first kiss each and every time. The rush of excitement, the churning in his stomach... it never dissipated. I never want to leave you.

"I'll get you some dinner and then we need to talk," Yuuri spoke up, breaking up the romantic mood. Viktor frowned; they had not spoken about the injury since the operation, and both Yuuri and Viktor's careers hung in the balance of it.

Viktor smiled painfully. I care about you. "Of course, lyubov moya."

When Yuuri disappeared around the corner, Makkachin decided that now was tackle-hugs-and-kisses time and she sprung forward to show her method of affection. Viktor could not help but giggle at the influx of attention and happily returned the affection.

He muttered nonsensical gibberish to the old dog, roughly rubbing her ears. She seemed to be enjoying the affection, if her wagging tail and soft pants were anything to go by. Eventually Makkachin's age caught up to her and the two opted for staying firmly underneath the sheets.

When Yuuri eventually came back into the room with a tray in his hands, Viktor and Makkachin were starting to doze off. Yuuri smiled at the scene. He made his way to Viktor's side of the bed, placing the tray on the desk next to it. He ran his fingers through Viktor's hair as a method of waking up, and soon Viktor was roused from his half-slumber.

"Ah, the pain meds are kicking in," Viktor murmured to no-one in particular, letting out a yawn.

"I got you some soup," Yuuri told him. "We had some left-over chicken from last night so I made some."

"Ooh, chicken soup! I've never had any before!" Viktor exclaimed. Needless to say, Yuuri was dumbstruck.

"You've never had chicken soup?"

Viktor shrugged, as if the fact hardly meant anything to him. Yuuri handed over the bowl as the elder man started sitting up. "I never had the need to."

He gratefully took the soup and almost immediately started slurping up the liquid. It was warm. It tasted briny and salty, but the added vegetables gave it a fresh taste, with a slight sweetness. And it smelled divine. The couple sat in silence, indulging in their dinner with the casual remark thrown in between. When Viktor finished, he placed the bowl back on the tray. He grabbed Yuuri's pillow from the other side of the pillow, cuddling with it. Diving into a serious conversation with no form of comfort was like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

"You said you wanted to talk about… something," Viktor murmured, watching Yuuri carefully. Yuuri sighed at Viktor's hesitance.

"I'm hardly mad at you, Vitya. I… are you upset? Your career is basically over and now…"

"Yuuri," Viktor teased, stressing the 'u' sound, "I'm the furthest I can be from upset. Why? Did you want me to skate another season?" Viktor looks downright traumatised at this. Yuuri jolted at a sudden realisation. Had his fiancé always looked this bitter about skating? Yuuri felt his heart drop at the recognition of fatigue.

"No… no, I…" Yuuri started picking his words carefully. "I just wanted you to be happy."

Viktor blinked owlishly at his fiancé. They have had this discussion before (cough Yuuri made Viktor cry cough) but it only seemed to sink in now.

Viktor laughed.

Not a nervous giggle, or a shy chuckle. No, the man laughed from his stomach. "Yuuri," he huffed when he came to a pause, "You are so silly. Don't you know already? You are what makes me happy! Not skating, or medals or even fame can compare to you. You and Makkachin have to be the only reasons I'm still here in the first place. Yes, I am out for the season, and yes, I am sad about it, but by the time the next Russian Nationals are here, I'll be back on the ice again. I've only planned on competing one more Worlds' competition."

"I… I thought… I mean, last year…"

"Yuuri." Viktor's voice was firm. He reached out to grab his fiancé's hand, and Yuuri looked up at the man. "My wish was to have you continue skating. No, I wanted to skate with you. The exhibition skate in and of itself meant more to me than any competition I have ever done before."

"I love you. I love you so much, Vitya."

"And I love you," Viktor shot back, smiling at him. He was genuinely surprised at how easy that went. To be able to have Yuuri finally understand what he felt was earnest. They had fought for hours on end in the past; fighting against Yuuri's anxiety because Yuuri just would not believe that Viktor wanted him!

"Besides," Viktor purred, "Now I have all the time in the world to start planning the wedding. What do you think of releasing several dozen white doves?"

"Viktor!"

Six months later

"It looks as if everything is normal, mister Nikiforov. Your ligament has started to attach itself fully back to the hyaline, and according to the files I got, your physical therapy seems to be going good?"

"Yes, doctor. Mrs Kublanova said that it looks like I'll be back to running in no time!"

"That is brilliant news, Viktor," the doctor told him earnestly. "Is there anything else before I let you go?"

"Doctor Kublanova told me I can get back on the ice next month. What is your opinion on that?"

The doctor hesitated, but smiled nonetheless. "I'll be cheering you on. Tell your fiancé I wish him all the luck for the Olympics in Seoul. My daughter is a fan."

Viktor chuckled. "I'll tell Yuuri; he won't believe it."

When Viktor walked out of that office for the last time, he was met by a bunch of roses with his fiancé hiding behind the bush. They were scattered in multiple colours, with red and artificial blue the most prominent.

"Come on. We need to start packing for our flight tomorrow," Yuuri told him as he was handing over the roses.

"I wholeheartedly agree," Viktor teased. "I cannot wait for your mother's pork cutlet bowls!"

"Viktor!" Yuuri moaned, "You're such a tease."

"If you want some, you better win some!" Viktor joked, jogging ahead. Yuuri rolled his eyes at the man. The same man he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

We call everything on the ice love, and everything off it, our reasons to live.