Yuuri:

"Come on, you have to go! Viktor will be there! You always spoke about how much you'd like to talk to him!" edged Coach Celestino, or Ciao-ciao, as most of the competitors called him. He stood next to me, his dark brown hair flopped in front of his face, over the hand he had placed there in aggravation.

"I know. I just don't want to go. I don't know, it's just… he's a famous five-time gold medalist winner and I'm a last place loser who can't land a quad in a public competition. Do you honestly think he'll want to meet me, much less talk to me?" I said, staring at the ground as we made our way back to the hotel rooms. I had bombed all my jumps in the Grand-Prix competition, and Viktor had aced all of them, like the god that he was. I just didn't understand the point of going to the Banquet when he was there if I was just going to be cast out as the failure, and embarrass myself further. What kind of fool would I be to think that he would just happen to invite me into a conversation, or talk to me? I sighed, scuffing my feet on the rug as I fished around in my pockets for my key. Ciao-ciao pulled his key out and stepped into the room adjacent to mine.

"Just… think about it, okay?" he said, stepping inside. He started to close the door without saying anything else, but thought better of it and said, "Yuuri, just because you got last place doesn't make you a failure. Thousands of people compete to get the chance to be in the competition, and you were one of the finalists! You are not a bad skater, and everyone else knows it, too."

Ciao-ciao turned around, closing the door to the room, but before the door snapped shut, he muttered,

"Even Viktor."

Ciao-ciao closed the door, and it took me a full 5 minutes to figure out what exactly I was doing. What he said had brought unexpected tears to my eyes, and I wiped them away furiously. Once inside, I quickly scavenged the closet to find a pair of clean pajamas. As soon as I was clothed in the cleanest pair, I hopped onto my bed and stared at the ceiling wistfully, wondering if Viktor was doing the same thing on the top floor. Suddenly, I had a thought.

"Why do I care so much?" I asked myself. I had been skating for the majority of my life, and had been trying to emulate Viktor for about the same. He was 4 years older than me, and by the time I was able to compete in the senior division, he had already won a gold medal. I wouldn't say that I was jealous, but I guess I was close enough. I wanted to be a gold medalist, but not just because of the title. I mean, who wouldn't want to be? But no, I wanted it because it would give me the chance to meet my idol, Viktor Nikiforov, on the same playing field. I could talk to him as an equal, become friends with him as an equal, not an overzealous fan that just wants to be his friend to post it online.

Sighing, I turned over on my side and stared at the door, but not for long. I could feel my exhausted eyes begin to close, and soon I was fast asleep.

The next day my alarm neglected to go off (or I just kept hitting snooze, which was highly likely), so instead of meeting Ciao-ciao for breakfast, I just went sightseeing on my own. The chatter all around town was about Viktor's performance and my… 'lack of skill', as they say. I just kept my head down and took a lot of selfies, which I posted online and which immediately created a selfie contest between Phichit and I. He was 4 years my junior, but was probably the only foreign skater that I would consider a friend. He was a god at selfies, therefore it wasn't much of a contest. Those times, seeing his photos, shone a light in my dismal tour of the city, but the question that brought the overcast back to the skies was the Banquet. Should I or should I not go?

It was nearly seven pm when Ciao-ciao finally stopped texting me and called. He told me to go meet him [and a few others he neglected to mention] at the local hot-pot place. I was on the fence at first, but I finally agreed. Hopping in a cab, I got there less than fifteen minutes later.

"WHAT ARE THEY DOING HERE?!" I yelled frantically, stepping through the door. Viktor Nikiforov of Russia, Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan, and Christophe Giacometti of Switzerland sat at a table, along with Phichit Chulanont of Thailand, Ciao-ciao, and Leo de la Iglesia of the United States of America. I choked.

"I'm sorry-I have to g-go-I have homework… erk!" I stuttered, suddenly aware of my slob-like tendencies and my crippling anxiety. I slammed my face into the glass of the door, momentarily stunned into complete paralysis, but I soon snapped out of it, tugged the door open, and sprinted into the street. I ran all the way back to the hotel, not even winded when I reached it 10 minutes and 3 miles later. I collapsed on the bed, heat spreading on my cheeks as I went over my humiliation.

Less than an hour later, Ciao-ciao was in my hotel room, explaining that their laughter was good humoredly. I sighed, regaining my composure after crying (I have trouble containing my feelings). Ciao-ciao was STILL trying to convince me to go to the Banquet, but after this fiasco, I was set on not going. But, 10 minutes later, I was bumbling out the door, a freshly pressed suit tight around my waist.

I know, I know, I should have known the champagne was just to soften me up. But I took it anyway, and thus started the worst, and best, night of my life.

It's just a pity I can't remember any of it.

Viktor:

I still maintain that when Yuuri walked in, he looked like the walking dead. He held his head down, his shoulders were hunched, and his glasses were perched loosely on his face.

Personally, I thought his vulnerability was kind of cute.

"Come on, Yuuri!" yelled Yuuri's coach, Celestino. He winced, shying away from his coach, and he slipped over to the back tables, his hands full of at least three glasses of champagne. The party went on as usual, until it was broken by Chris' manic outburst.

"Holy shit. How much did he drink?!" shouted Chris. I spun towards the back tables, staring at Yuuri as he ambled aimlessly through the party. It was difficult to tear my eyes from his dazed and confused face, but when I finally did, my mouth fell open in shock.

Seventeen empty champagne glasses lined the table, and I noted it was a miracle he was still standing. Champagne affects me after only four glasses that size, so how did he manage to get through seventeen? I debated calling the medics over, but he looked fine for now. Plus, no-one could verify that those were all his, and I didn't want to ruin the party.

I turned back to Yuuri, just in time to see him tugging at the collar of his suit as he picked up the sound-system. I expected him to turn on something random, but even his drunk mind seemed to have some sort of sense buried deep within. And what I mean by that is he turned on pop music. But that wasn't even the worst of it.

The party only started when he started dancing, champagne bottle in hand. His eyes were glazed over and his cheeks were red from the effects of the alcohol, but I have to admit, he was an amazing dancer. After about five minutes of solo dancing, he reached into the crowd and pulled the first person he could reach into his newly-formed circle, and I momentarily felt bad for him. Because the person he pulled in was Yuri Plisetsky, commonly known as the 'Russian Punk'. Yuuri was looking directly at me, but what happened next surprised me so much that I was not able to return the look.

"Yuri Plisetsky, I challenge *hic* I challenge thee to a dance c-c-competition!" He shouted. Yuri turned bleach white, but knew that denying the challenge would be admitting defeat, and Yuri Plisetsky had to win everything. Therefore, he busted out some moves and started to dance. Yuuri smiled absentmindedly, and proceeded to beat Yuri at the competition so bad I started laughing. Yuuri was amazing, his moves so great I started to take photos of it. It got even better when Yuri stalked off, shirt half on, out of the competition when he saw Yuuri's dancing. Determined not to be outdone, Chris Giacometti laughed and pulled off his shirt, jumping over to the table that was wrapped around a pole directly in the center of the room and moving it out of the way.

Then he started pole dancing. At first, I thought Yuuri would continue to dance over by the space he had originally been in, but he giggled and began to pole dance WITH Chris. Chris was most certainly NOT drunk, but seemed to be enjoying himself anyway. He laughed as he danced, the champagne in Yuuri's bottle flying everywhere as he danced. It was hilarious. Eventually, though, Chris danced off, leaving Yuuri in his old circle, dancing alone. I wondered who he would pull into the circle next when he turned to me and said, clearly,

"Dance with me, Viktor." My heart swelled with a feeling I didn't entirely understand, but I reached out and danced with him, he spun me and twirled me around, and I was laughing and loving it so much I almost never wanted to stop. When he would twirl me, he would hold my hands and stare at me in a way that made me want to melt through the floor. He would lift me and I felt exhilarated, the feeling of being lifted making me happier than I felt like I had ever been. Until the end.

Yuuri held me as I leaned back and place my hand on the back of his shoulder, and he dug his fingers into my hair. Both of us were laughing with joy, and when we finally stopped and he stared into my eyes, I realized that we had been staring for a long time, but I couldn't stop. And then I realized it was more than that.

It wasn't that I couldn't. It was that I didn't want to. His smile was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and it set my heart on fire. He leaned forward, and for a second I thought he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to, my god, I wanted it so bad. But instead he hugged me. Then he ruined the moment with possibly the weirdest thing anyone has ever done to me.

"My family runs an Onsen, a hot spring! You should come visit." He said lazily as he… uh… humped… me (for lack of a better description). "If I win this dance competition, you'll become my coach, RIGHT?"

"Be my coach, Viktor!" He yelled, snuggling against me, and I realized something.

I wanted to be his coach. It seemed like a dream come true, a dream that I had been having all my life, but never remembered, until now. Maybe I had, I don't know. But what I do know is this. As I hugged Yuuri (because how could I not?) and stared into his glazed eyes, I realized that I loved him. It was crazy, maybe, and completely unprecedented, but I loved him all the same. And I also realized that I couldn't let him go home alone like this.

"Hey, Celestino, what's Yuuri's room number? I'm going to take him home." Celestino's eyes bugged out of his head, and his mouth hung open. I felt a blush rise on my cheeks as I realized what this would look like, so I shifted to a different side-story.

"I don't want to send him home like this, and I want to make sure he doesn't throw up or anything." I winced, staring at him with an urgency I don't think he understood.

"Yeah, okay. It's r-room 981 on f-f-floor 5." He stuttered out, glancing at Yuuri (who was now adorably asleep on my shoulder), at me, back at Yuuri, then back at me, his mouth still wide open, but I soon realized it was for a different reason.

"He is NOT going to believe this when he wakes up." Celestino said, and while everyone was debating on whether or not to tell Yuuri if he didn't remember, I slipped out with Yuuri in my arms. If he did, which I highly doubted, well… he would be embarrassed, to say the least. It would probably take me at least another season to get him to start talking to me again.

Carrying Yuuri out to the waiting taxi was more difficult than I would have thought, but I somehow managed it in the end. All the way back to his hotel, he slept on my shoulder, and I could feel the heat in my cheeks maintain their high temperature for the entire ride. Getting him up the stairs into the hotel proved difficult, but at that point, he was mostly awake, so I was able. Once we were in his hotel room, I helped him out of his shoes and coat, leaving him in his clothes (I wasn't going to help him change; I didn't know him that well… yet) and laid him in bed. He immediately turned over on his shoulder, and I tucked him in bed. I sat across the room in a small desk chair for the better part of an hour, and then was finally out myself.

As an early riser, I was awake before 8, so had time to get out before Yuuri woke up. I sat up in my chair, massaging my neck as I glanced across the room to Yuuri, his face stopping my hand in its tracks. He was not awake, but his face was completely relaxed, his eyes closed in blissful sleep, his mouth open slightly in the corner. He was beautiful, so beautiful that before I left I leaned down and brushed his hair from his eyes. But I didn't stop there.

Leaning down, I intended to kiss him on the forehead, but he chose that moment to move, my momentum led me straight down, and I kissed him directly on the mouth. I didn't mean to wake him, but I was pretty sure I did. His mouth pressed against mine, and he reached up and laced his fingers around my neck, hugging me as we kissed. I felt as though I would explode, but I knew I had to go. I carefully extricated myself from his embrace and speed-walked out the door. I know I owed him an explanation, but I couldn't bring myself to return to the room.

Standing outside of the door, I heard him get up and able around the room, groggy and hung-over. I was extremely concerned about his well-being, but forced myself to go down the hall to the elevator.

I only saw him once again after that, before I became his coach (because of course I did). I asked him if he wanted a commemorative photo, but I only realized how rude it would sound after it came out of my mouth. I just wanted to talk to him, to ask him about that night, to see if he remembered.

And because I so desperately wanted to feel his mouth on mine, if only one more time.