The bar glows a warm orange, cut-out lampshades dancing shadow patterns over the pint glasses on the table and up the walls. Nearly all light has left the sky, and the piles of snow cushioned against the windows emphasises the contrast in temperature between the crowded bar buzzing with tipsy Russians and the bitter streets outside. Yuri Pilsetsky takes a swig from his orange juice mixed with sprite and wishes vehemently that he was anywhere but here.
"Anya is so alluring, she is an opulent, captivating flower on the ice," Georgi declares, swinging an arm out wide and nearly knocking a line of empty beer glasses off the table.
Anya, sitting to his right, looks uncomfortable. Yuri, sitting to his left, shifts subtly away from him. Unfortunately this movement squishes him up against a red-cheeked Victor, who wraps an arm around his shoulder and clinks their glasses together with gusto.
"Celebrate, Yuuuuuu-rii!" he warbles, his nonsensical tirade drowned out by Georgi's continued bragging about his girlfriend.
"She blooms in private, her petals extending and dancing in the gentle breeze of my love. No one else can water this beautiful rose the way I do."
Yuri grimaces openly, wondering if Yakov will double his practice time if he leaves the team celebration early.
Georgi catches his expression and somehow mistakes it for one of lonliness. He lunges into Yuri's personal space, grabbing his hands tightly, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. "It's okay, Yuri. One day you will find your beautiful blossom too, and she will be everything to you. You will water her day and night and she shall bloom under your talented, caring fingertips. And when you sow your seeds - "
Yuri stands abruptly. It doesn't matter if Yakov quadruples his practice time, he is not spending one more second in this putrid environment (and, given that Yakov is facedown on the table mumbling his ex-wife's name and the occasional creative threat he probably won't even notice Yuri's departure).
A warm, underdressed Victor latches onto his waist. "Yuuuu-ri. You can't leave by yourself, it's dangerous."
"Watch me," Yuri growls through gritted teeth, side-stepping his way around the table and dragging Victor behind him. He has tried on many previous occasions to remove Drunk Victor and found it a fruitless experience.
"Davai, Yuri!" Georgi implores, tears now streaming down his face. "Fear not for you will find your soulmate in the garden of love!"
Yuri stomps out of the bar, muttering darkly about shitty extended metaphors, and scowls when the door doesn't slam shut satisfyingly enough behind him.
"That hurt, Yuur-ri," Victor whines, and Yuri realises he'd accidentally rammed the door against the shitty Ice Prince's toes. Good.
"Well you shouldn't have followed me," he grunts, shrinking into himself for warmth and striding out into the snow.
"But you're a minor," Victor sing-songs, bouncing out of the bar and skipping to his side. "You need some pro-tec-tion." He wags his finger side to side in Yuri's face with each syllable, mouth curled up in that disgustingly happy heart-shape.
Yuri eyes his wobbly trail of footprints. "You're probably the one that needs protection, you drunk ass."
"Ah!" Victor stops short and takes a swig out of the beer mug he'd absentmindedly pilfered upon leaving, spilling beer down his front. "You're just jealous of my true love."
"What?" Yuri's eyes nearly bug out of his head. "Georgi's the one with the 'true love', not you. Unless you're talking about your ugly dog."
"Makkachin's not ugly," Victor scolds, and there's a demonic sparkle in his eye as he skips around Yuri while his beer sloshes over the side of the mug to stain the snow. "And I do have a true love. He's my fan, and he wants me to be me." He grins and throws his arms around Yuri, fluttering his eyelashes. "Be my coach, Victor!"
Yuri is stunned into silence for a moment, his mind reeling back to the previous year's celebration party, the drinks, the dancing, the pole -
"No." Yuri pushes Victor away and stalks off as fast as he can manage without looking like he's running away. "There's only room for one Yuri and it's me," he yells over his shoulder.
Victor blinks for a moment then skips after him. "But he's totally in looooove with me and he has the cutest bedroom eyes." He tilts Yuri's face upward with one finger under his chin, practically purring his words. "You're jealous of my cute little fan."
"You're annoying," Yuri snaps. The Great Victor Nikiforov Smirk is getting on his nerves, and he shoves Victor hard in the chest.
Victor's mouth makes a tiny 'o' of surprise, and time pauses for a cartoonish second - his pale hair and skin dotted with snow an ethereal stamp against the dark night - before he tumbles down the snow bank and lands on the newly frozen pond with a bone shattering crunch. The crunch is followed by the surreal tinkle of the beer mug breaking and a series of cracks as the ice gives under his weight, and Yuri can only watch in abject horror as Russia's Prince of Ice is slowly swallowed by his legacy. Yakov will kill me if he knows I let Victor die under the ice, is all his brain has to offer in terms of helpfulness. His feet won't move and his voice is bottled in his throat.
When Victor breaks the surface of the water and waves cheerfully at him Yuri lets out a heaving breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Then he scowls. "You're not hot anyway, you think you're too cool but you're just a giant dunderhead, so fuck off."
Victor grins and cups his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. "I love you too, Yukochka!"
Yuri kicks snow pointlessly in his direction and stalks off. "You're on you own now, Nikiforov."
(of course, he got halfway home and turned back to drag the shivering, prattling, drunk Victor to safety. Not because he wanted to, but because Yakov would kill him if he didn't. And he definitely didn't want to)