A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for longer than I can remember, so I guess I'm rather lucky that I managed to cough up the last 2/3 of this fic in the last few days. It's summer, I've got loads of free time, guess I should finish my WIPs, eh? Oh, fun fact! The title for this was originally i'm a fucking wildcard from Marina and the Diamonds' The Outsider, but I decided on this lyric from Michael In The Bathroom from the musical Be More Chill. The full line should make sad sense when you finish reading this: memories get erased, and i'll get replaced by a newer, cooler version of me. Anyway, enjoy!
Yuuri is absolutely beautiful when he's asleep.
It's more than a fact — it's the absolute truth. Victor's heart sings with the serene beauty of the afternoon sunlight when it hits the pale skin of his beloved, the way his boyfriend's eyelashes fan out on his delightfully chubby cheek, the soft snuffles and breathing of a man riddled with jet lag.
And while Victor yearns to explore more of Moscow with Yuuri, he cannot help but sigh wistfully as he stares lovingly at his lockscreen —
Then Yurio kicks at the table, jarring his romantic mood.
"Yurio!" Victor exclaims, unrattled. "It's nice to see you've accepted my invitation for an afternoon snack! Despite showing up half an hour late, of course."
"I don't have any obligation to be punctual to perverted old men like you, bastard," Yurio scowls. But he takes a seat across Victor anyway, putting his feet on the table like the delinquent he feels like he is. One of the waitresses brings him his usual - a mocha frappe with a kitten drawn on the foam.
It's a small establishment, but it's also one of Yurio's favorites. His fanclub used to follow him here all the time, back when he gained a massive following after his first Juniors GPF gold, but after a relatively polite request from Yurio to leave him some peace (and some not so polite complaints from the staff), they've elected to leave him alone.
Already he can see some teenage girls pointing and gasping in their direction, and perhaps the Victor Nikiforov from before would've teased them with a flirty wink and a smile.
But since he is a changed man due to Yuuri, he gives them a big grin and an overly enthusiastic wave.
He visibly sees them struggle to breathe for a moment, and he chuckles to himself. Yurio just lets out a quiet tch.
"Are you bothered?" Victor pleasantly asks. His coffee has gone cold in the brisk Russian air, and he half-heartedly plays with his unfinished slice of cake. Despite this, he smiles at Yurio, who looks away.
"You're fucking disgusting and it's all because of the damn pig," Yurio snarls.
"Of course I am," Victor says simply, still smiling. "I'm a different man now because of him."
He sips his coffee. Yurio groans in a mix of revulsion and exasperation.
But Yurio's silence is telling, and being his rinkmate and surrogate big brother figure for a little less than a decade, Victor knows what he's thinking.
It's a memory of Yurio's grandfather who showed up at the rink one day, on a surprise visit to his beloved grandson, jokingly asking Yurio if Russia's National Hero would like a ride home on his shoddy car. And it had only taken a second, but Yurio still caught the longing, almost jealous expression on Victor's face before he declined with the excuse of needing to practice more, but thanks for the offer.
Sometimes, Victor still catches the teenager sending him looks of confusion; like he's still wondering what made the great Victor Nikiforov look so lost that day.
But at the same time, Victor's probably just misreading again and Yurio's just been sending him his usual glares of doom that he thinks should look scary but it's actually a little cute as well.
Like the glare he's sending right now.
Of course, Yurio takes Victor's quiet laughter as an insult, and he downs the rest of his cup in one go and slams it on the table.
"Your happiness is making me sick," Yurio grumbles.
"Aha!" Victor exclaims, as he excitedly points a finger at him, "So you do admit I'm happy! Don't you think it's a marvelous look on me? I mean I've always been handsome but Yuuri just brings out this beautiful glow on me, but a child like you probably wouldn't understand, eh, Yurio? Oh, the joy of being young—!"
"Yuri," Yurio suddenly cuts in, and though he probably meant it to sound angry, it comes out quiet and resigned.
Victor looks at him, confused.
"It's not Yurio," he grits out, his eyes downcast. "It's Yuri, that's my name, and you should use it, not reserve it for some second-rate skater who wouldn't have been worth a dime if he hadn't met you."
At the insult to his beloved, Victor's smile becomes frozen. "Calling him a pig is one thing," he murmurs, his voice dripping with ice. "But calling him second-rate was low even for you, Yurio."
"My name isn't Yurio!" the boy screams out, and that's what he is right now; he is just a young boy, a child, and Victor cannot slap him for his insolence but he can watch, serenely, as he breaks. "I was here first, old man, I was the first Yuri in your life and for eight years I was the only Yuri in your life, I should not be pushed away like trash just because you have a massive boner for weak little pigs like him!"
Victor stares at him, impassively, and he has the gall to laugh; though it's a small, pitiful thing. "That's right, I called your precious beloved weak, because that's what he is, isn't he? But I'm better than him, and all the medals I got can tell you that, and the Rostelecom Cup is practically calling my name, can your hear it, Victor?"
A concerned waitress puts his hand on Yuri's shoulder, placating him with a soft sir please be quiet and calm down. Miraculously, he does, but not before aiming a nasty glare at Victor.
Yuri sits down, in the same slumped position he was in before he exploded, and Victor delicately sips at his coffee.
"What," Yuri snaps at him. "You've got nothing to say, bastard?"
And Victor looks at him, looks past the trashy leopard-print jacket, looks past the hastily applied black nail polish, looks past the bangs that hide his downcast eyes and past the devil-may-care image he tries so hard to emulate and sees the little boy whose eyes once lit up at the thought of being taught by Victor Nikiforov himself.
He smiles, cold apathy melting to a lukewarm bittersweet.
"Yura," he says softly, although it nevertheless gets the other boy's attention. "You've changed so much, little kotyonok."
"Tell me about it," Yuri mutters under his breath, and the fingers he'd been drumming on the table abruptly stop. He takes one look at the smile Victor has and he quickly turns himself away with a huff. "Your old age must be getting to you if you only noticed that now."
"I mean that emotionally, not physically," Victor hums. "It seems like it's not only me who was affected by Yuuri Katsuki, though I doubt you'd be willing to admit it."
"Bull," Yuri spits. And though he faces Victor as he says this, he can't seem to look the other skater in the eyes.
Victor's grin is so wide that it makes his eyes crinkle. It makes Yuri scowl with a vengeance, furrowed eyebrows and all, but knowing that this kitten is all bark and no bite comforts him. All of a sudden, Victor thinks he has established a connection with him — this blond brute who loves very deeply but tries to hide it behind thorn and snarl.
He once was, of course, just a lonely rose.
"Agape," he muses, looking outside the window. "The Greek word for unconditional love, a godly love; a love that exists without reason and a love that transcends circumstance. It is forgiving, and it is kind, but most importantly it is everlasting. Did you ever think you could give such a theme justice, kotyonok?"
Victor looks back to see a wide-eyed Yuri, probably shocked at the abrupt subject change. He chuckles for a moment, and then says this next part quietly, with a finger on his lips and a secretive glint in his eyes:
"I didn't think you could," he confesses, staring at Yuri through his fringe. "You could fake it for the judges, I'm sure — though they tend to give you high scores for your TES anyway, PCS wouldn't be a problem — but you wouldn't be satisfied with the piece. In your place, I don't think I would either.
"Miraculously, however, you seem to growing into the piece faster than I thought you would," and this is the part where he laughs; a melodic, lilting laugh that sounds so happy he can barely believe it's coming out of his mouth. "You hated it at first. Absolutely loathed it, even though you wanted to perfect it. Yet at the Onsen On Ice you seemed like you were starting to get it, even though by the time the second half started you lost it again."
And for this part, he forces himself to take a deep breath and gather the courage to look at Yuri directly. Funny how he was scared of the reaction of a fifteen-year-old boy.
"This sounds horrible, but I'm grateful you didn't master Agape that day," and Victor's greed has marred his smile into something else, he knows; something a bit more monstrous, a lot more selfish. "Though I guess you already knew, didn't you?"
There's a part of him that doesn't regret deliberately sabotaging his almost protege — intentionally choosing him a piece on a theme that he hadn't even acknowledged, much less master and internalize. Eros was easy for Yuuri once he had the confidence for it; much more easier than Yuri having to realize his true feelings for every person he considered important in his life. It certainly made things easier for Victor; knowing that the younger boy wouldn't be as heartbroken over his loss, knowing he still had Yakov to come back to and a new reason to strive even harder.
Yuri was more prideful than he ever was, and at a far younger age too. He would not be so easily cowed. This was something they both knew.
"Tch," he sneers. "Was dumb of me to hope I could prove that I was more deserving than Katsudon to be your student. Bet your lovestruck eyes didn't even see me."
Victor rested his chin on his hand, almost amused.
"Is that what your little tantrum was about?" he asks, curious. "You think I don't see you?"
Ridiculous, was the first thought on Victor's mind. Yuri was famed as the next Hero of Russia, getting awarded various medals and champion titles left and right. They both trained in the same rink too, which made it hard for him to ignore the stares from a small green-eyed boy — literally and figuratively. That hunger to usurp him and at the same time to be like him was aimed at his back every single day.
Then again, it wasn't like Georgi didn't want to be better than him. Even Christophe, or that cocky Canadian, maybe that sour-faced Italian — practically everyone in the figure skating world wanted to beat him, he supposed they all blurred together somehow.
Once the drunken Japanese boy all but entranced him with flamenco and champagne, Victor hardly took notice of anyone else.
Yuri scoffs and abruptly stands up. "Don't flatter me, old man," he says. "I know you don't. But I'll make you."
He leaves him alone in that cafe, but as Victor finds out before he decides to make his own exit, not without paying for both of their drinks. So Victor amusedly supposes that Yuri is like a rose after all; not without thorns, but also not without softness either.