10.00 - Boarding for Tokyo
11.55 - Arrive Tokyo (1 hr 55 layover - some time to spare if spotted)
13.50 - Boarding for Rome
03.20 (Japan time)/19.20 (Italy time)- Arrive Rome. Taxi to hotel = 10 mins
19.30ish - Check into hotel (276 Via della Torre Clementina) 'Mi farebbe il favore di aprire la piscina panoramica, per favore?' - Would you do me a favour and open the rooftop pool, please?
9.55 - Boarding for Florence
11.25 - Arrive Florence. Taxi to hotel = 20 mins
12ish - Check into Florence hotel (78 Viale Michelangiolo) - book couples massage straight away?
Viktor read over the itinerary for about the hundredth time. It was almost perfect; in fact the only thing not settled was the massage, and that was only because he was debating with himself whether to ask Yuuri about it or surprise him.
Surprise him, of course!
With that settled, he put the note back in his jacket pocket and contemplated the many little scenes playing out in this airport café. It was still a novelty for him to be part of the crowd; usually he went straight to the business class lounge. He and the other people who'd commanded a table were a little community in stasis. A family sat around a tiny table, arms folded, each in their own worlds. On the stools, two children were flopped awkwardly over their parents' laps. On the table next to him was a teenage girl, who was reading a book but put it down every few minutes to glance at her phone.
The urge struck him to check his own phone. It was a quiet landscape today; he hadn't managed to put together the pre-trip Instagram photo he wanted of two espresso cups and their travel guide to Italy, there had been too much to do. Yuuri had an interview with a figure skating magazine which finished not long before they were meant to leave. He was never fully at ease in interviews, even nice ones like this one was likely to be, and had spent the evening before totally consumed in preparing his answers. And so it had been left to Viktor to pack, take care of the leftover food in their apartment, drop Makkachin off at Yu-Topia, and, very importantly, charge his and Yuuri's phones.
He texted Yuuri, and a second later, Yuuri's phone in his right pocket buzzed. He took it out to see the text.
Vitya: Hurry up. Ti amo 33
Well, that was a fun couple of seconds. It was 9.40. They'd arranged to meet here at 9.30. Their gate would open for boarding soon. Where was Yuuri?
'Off the record, Yuuri, where is Viktor?', his interviewer, Amanda Marchisio, asked as she lead him to the building's exit. She was a smart and extroverted lady in her late fifties, a veteran reporter who had probably left any sporting career she had before he or Viktor were even born. Her kind of interviews were the kind Yuuri least hated.
'I know it's your interview, but, if he's around...'
It made Yuuri smile to finish the sentence in his head. It wasn't that long ago that media appearances were his only chance to see anything of Viktor. 'We're actually going, uh, away today, so we're meeting at the airport.'
'OH! Oh, right, of course you are! That's so exciting! Where are you going?'
'To...Italy,' Yuuri said, catching himself before he could give away their specific destination.
Amanda's eyes widened. 'Italy! Have you been there before?'
'I haven't,' Yuuri admitted. 'I'm really looking forward to it. I actually have to leave in...'
'Italy is the most beautiful nation. Not just of this age but of all time.'
Yuuri froze awkwardly for a second. Even if they were off the record, and Amanda was nice, talking to journalists really hyped up his continual sense that in every conversation there was always a tangible, right thing to say, and he always had to find it as fast as he could.
'I have heard it's beautiful,' he said. 'Viktor and I got engaged in Spain, we both really like that part of the world, that's why we chose it for-'
'You've barely scratched the surface! Where exactly are you going? Let me give you my advice-'
'Oh, it's OK, we bought a book, and I asked Sara Crispino-'
She grabbed his arm, and flashed him the most genuine smile he had seen in two hours of her company. 'I was married to an Italian man for five years. He…passed away. If he hadn't, I'd have stayed there forever. My soul is Italian. Please, can you spare some time?'
Yuuri glanced at his watch, and thought of the bus timetable outside that he'd checked before heading to his interview. He could wait outside for ten minutes and indulge in some thinking about Italy, as had been a hobby of his since they booked it…or he could indulge an older lady and maybe learn something more about where he was going. Which would a good world champion do?
Nine minutes later, a list of Italian highlights from Amanda in his bag, he sprinted to the bus stop so fast and far he was almost leaping. He was still in time, just about. He leant against the railings and thought about fresh bread, juicy olives, salty ham, deep red tomatoes, and coffee, on a balcony, with Viktor.
Five minutes passed. Perhaps some person was holding the bus up with their luggage, Yuuri thought. Whatever. The image he held of his future time in Italy was a tender, exquisite thing that ordinary concerns couldn't touch.
Ten minutes. Perhaps there had been an accident and the police had slowed down the traffic. He wouldn't have time to pick up some candy to eat on the plane. Never mind, it was bad for him anyway.
Fifteen. He was running out of reasonable consolations for himself. That was never a good sign.
Twenty. He felt a tremor as his heart started to thump, and the world started to fade out like the darkness around a spotlight. Come on, he told himself, it's fine. You'll just have to run.
Twenty-five. He'd be closer by now if he'd walked. How long would it take if he ran? He reached in his bag for his phone and Google Maps. Usually his hand found his phone almost instinctively, but he couldn't find it, and in those few seconds of rustling his hand around his things he saw a streak of grey out of the corner of his eye.
The bus! The BUS!
He balled his hands into fists and blinked tightly a few times. Screwing up was like skating face-first into a wall. There was always a split second where you realised what was happening just before it did, so in fact you didn't go face-first, you go self-esteem first.
But I'm experienced at screwing up, he thought. I've got a personal wiki of screw-ups. I know how to handle it. I just need to check Google Maps to see how fast I can get there, text Viktor to tell him to wait for me, and call a cab.
Then he remembered where his phone was.
The gate was open, and Yuuri still wasn't here. Viktor was posed in a sort of arabesque, looking out of the café door for him, the tips of his toes delicately balanced on his chair as he tried not to lose the table.
'Excuse me, ballerina,' some gruff traveller sat heavily down on Viktor's (former) seat, and he had to do a swift and elegant little turn to stop himself from falling over in public. Nobody noticed, unfortunately.
Yuuri! he shouted mentally at the two phones in his hands. Where are you?!
They had agreed to meet in this café specifically, because they knew Fukuoka Airport like the back of their hands at this point, so it was unlikely Yuuri was lost or in the wrong place. If he was, there was no time to look.
For once, Viktor was glad he was approaching thirty, because he was old enough to remember a time not only before smartphones, but before mobile phones. Back in the day, there was only one way to find someone quickly in a crowded place. He'd discovered it at six after giving his parents the slip to play on a sample Nintendo 64.
Oh, bozhe moi, do I have to? he asked himself.
He ran to the central information desk and spelled out what he wanted. 'Viktor, just say Viktor, for Yuuri.'
'What if there is more than one Viktor and Yuuri?'
He was sure airport staff had twisted senses of humour. 'More than one Viktor looking for more than one Yuuri?'
'This is a very busy airport, sir. Do you want to know how many people come through here a day?'
'OK, OK.'
'KATSUKI YUURI, please come to the central information point, NIKIFOROV VIKTOR is looking for you.'
Viktor counted down from thirty as the announcement ended, before both phones started to buzz.
He got the next bus in the end. It was probably for the best not to risk walking, not when he could take a wrong turn. Yuuri glared at every stop and street sign that passed that didn't say Fukuoka Airport, and held his hands tightly against himself and instead of dreaming of Italy, he dreamed of delays. Just a little delay, please. Maybe it could snow again, like it had this time last year, and they'd keep the plane on the ground, just for a little while. Miracles happened when he was with Viktor.
He looked up at the sky, and it was bright blue with a bonny morning sun. Just half an hour ago, he'd have considered it a sign that everything was going their way.
At last he arrived, and he had to quickly refer to his personal screw-up wiki for the next steps. They were travelling together or not at all. Viktor had all his things, including his passport and boarding pass, and he wasn't stupid or annoying enough to go off somewhere Yuuri couldn't predict. He would still be in the café.
Yuuri just ran, faster than he had run in months, fast enough that he felt a strain in his thighs and a cold feeling in his chest as it grasped for air, and his eyes scanned the horizon for a familiar tall head of silver hair…
Viktor wasn't there, and suddenly he wasn't just lost in the airport, he was lost in everything. His heartbeat was pulsing like a hydroelectric turbine, and the whole world was the water drawn into it. He was dizzy and sweating and the next answer wasn't coming to his mind.
Despite all this he heard voices calling out to him. 'Katsuki Yuuri! Katsuki Yuuri! CENTRAL INFORMATION POINT!'
Oh, please, leave me alone, Yuuri thought, the last thing I need is a selfie.
'KATSUKI YUURI! CENTRAL INFORMATION POINT!'
This was no good. He would never find Viktor in time if he panicked too much. He tried some grounding. What do I smell? My own breath in my mask. What do I feel? I need Viktor! What do I see? Some girls running towards me - please leave me alone! What do I hear…?
'Katsuki Yuuri! I can't believe you're here!…uh, Viktor is looking for you, he's at the Central Information Point.'
Yuuri just blurted out a quick 'thanks' before running away.
'You're amazing!' he heard them call. He didn't respond again. It wasn't his most charming moment, but they were most likely going straight to Twitter about it anyway.
He ran, and ran, and ran, and it was lucky he had been to Fukuoka Airport more times than he could count, because he wasn't seeing anything, only feeling his heart pump and his bag and glasses jolt. He saw Viktor only a split second before crashing right into him.
What did he smell? Aloe. The shower gel his parents order in bulk for the hotel guests, which they both think smells of home. What does he feel? Arms closed round him, but lower and looser than their usual fit. What does he see? Not a lot. He's pressed his face as close as he can into Viktor's shoulder. What does he hear?
'Hashtag catchyourplaneVikturi.'
'I'm sorry, I screwed up,' Yuuri murmured. 'Let's just go to Tokyo.'
Viktor did not respond immediately. Yuuri, still in the hug, felt him sigh.
'Didn't you hear on the announcer, Yuuri? It's already gone.'