"...And now for the jump combination: a triple Lutz, a quadruple saichow and a double toe flip. He nails it! The final step sequence and... that was possibly his best performance yet!"
My heartbeat thunders in sync with the cheers from the audience as I assume my finishing position. The announcer's booming voice echoes through the speakers in the stadium, but all I can hear is the roar of the crowd and my sharp, huffing breaths. Beads of sweat roll down my forehead, my entire body is shaking with adrenaline and my anxiety is building rapidly. This is the Grand Prix Finals. It could be the best moment in my skating career - or the worst. I know I danced well, but that doesn't matter. What matters is if I danced well enough to win.
After what feels like an eternity, the applause dies down and my body resumes a more comfortable stance as a dash to the sidelines where Viktor is waiting. He's beaming widely and his eyes glint with tears. As I approach, I open my mouth to speak to him but before my lips can form the words, he has thrown himself at me. The force of his embrace is crushing me, but I don't want to pull away. So I hug him in return.
"Yuuri," he whispers into my hair, voice wavering. "I'm so proud of you." I cannot tell whether or not he is crying; I am trying to hold back tears myself. We stand enveloped in each other for a moment longer before stepping away. Viktor reaches out with a gloved hand to help me off of the ice. I gaze up into his face smiling, only to be met with bloodshot eyes, tear stained cheeks and possibly the largest smile I have ever seen. As we make our way out of the rink to hear the score I whisper "Viktor, why are you crying?" To which he replies: "tears of happiness, Yuuri." We press through the wall of people in silence. When we reach the conference room, I sit down shakily, next to my coach. This is it, I'm about to hear my score. Absentmindedly, I entwine my fingers with Viktor's and he squeezes my hand reassuringly.
Finally a loud voice erupts from the speaker. "After that stunning performance from Katsuki Yuuri, his total combined score is 291! He is currently in first place."
I'm grinning like a kid on Christmas and squeezing Viktor's hand ; it's all I can do to keep from squealing. Viktor and I gape at each other. "You've nearly done it, Yuuri," he says confidently.
"Not yet," I reply, a hint of concern evident in my voice.
"Don't be so uptight" he chides, "there are only two performances left and you did amazing."
I stare at him skeptically. It is very unusual for any coach to be so laid back during a competition, especially Viktor. "What's gotten into you today?" I hiss.
"Ah well..." he trails off, "you'll see." I wonder what he means by this, but don't press the matter.
We head back to where we can see the competition. Phichit is up next, followed by Yurio. It makes me uncomfortable to have such close friends in the finals because everybody wants to win gold, but only one can. Gold, like the rings. I am suddenly reminded of what Viktor had said only two days prior when asked about the matching rings that we wore: "these are engagement rings; we'll marry once he wins gold." I have pondered those words for many an hour - had he actually meant them?
"Yuuri, are you alright?" Viktor questions, his hand finding the small of my back. I stiffen, but then ease into the touch.
"Y-yeah I'm fine," I stutter, only just noticing that I had been eyeing the ring on my exposed hand dismally. I look up in time to see Phichit assume his pose on the ice before he begins to skate. His jumps are good, but there are a few slip-ups and his step sequence is a little sloppy. In the second half he has only incorporated one jump - a quad - but will it be enough to earn him a medal? As his performance comes to an end, I can still feel Viktor's gloved fingers splayed across my back. He doesn't even lift his hand to applaud with the pressing crowd. On the contrary, he seems to pull me closer to his body, drawing me in to his heat and his scent. After living with him for nearly a year, he reminds me of home. I feel a heated blush creep up into my cheeks and can't help but glance around us to make sure nobody has taken note of our close proximity.
Then the announcer's voice slices through my worrying. "Phichit Chulanont's total combined score is 233, placing him in fourth behind Christophe Giacometti." The audience elicit's a roar, but I know that Phichit is disappointed without even seeing his face. Winning the Grand Prix Finals is every skater's dream and he was so close to the podium. "Our last competitor," the announcer cries, "is Yuri Plisestki." My head snaps up as Yurio gracefully glides to the center of the ice, his costume glinting under the fluorescent lights and his hair slicked into a tight blond ponytail. His performance is a blur, although I know he did great. Viktor and I cheer loudly, but the only thing on my mind is how close I am to the gold medal. Just like I promised Viktor.
Yurio's dance ends and the expression on his face hosts a hint of...dismay? But he skated so well. He didn't flub a single jump and he only over-rotated one of his spins. Nevertheless, he propels himself off of the ice as stormy as ever and marches away with Yakov and Lilia.
I glance up at Viktor but his face is unreadable, he seems deep in thought. The anticipation is building inside me. I could win. As long as Yurio's score isn't higher than mine, I'm still in first place. I could win the gold medal, like I had done in all of my teenage fantasies, and make Viktor proud. The thought fills me with so much joy and anxiety. I'm so close. So close...
"Yuri Plisetski's total score," hollers the loud voice from the speakers surrounding the stadium. He pauses almost dramatically. I wish he wouldn't do that, the suspense is killing me. "His score is," I inhale. Here goes. "258!" I'm in first. And Yurio's in - "which means that Russia's Yuri Plisetski is in third place!" Viktor and I scream louder than any of Yurio's fangirls.
"Now we will announce the winners of the Grand Prix Finals. They can proceed onto the podium. In third, we have Yuri Plisetski with a score of 258!" Yurio seems to appear on the ice out of nowhere, with a wide - fake - smile plastered across his face. "In second place is Jean-Jaques Leroy with a score of 280 even." A deafening roar arises from the crowd as JJ twirls across the ice, waving to his fans, obviously pleased to have won at least a silver medal. "And finally," the announcer cries and my gut twists, "the first place winner of the Grand Prix Final, with a total combined score of 291 is Yuuri Katsuki!" The audience is on their feet and Viktor is ushering me forwards. I surge through the gate casting a backwards glance at my coach who is howling excitedly. He is proud. I've done it.
I am awarded with a heavy, glittering gold medal, and a nasty glare from Yurio. My stomach flips and my heart nearly stops beating. This is surreal, there is no way this can actually be happening. I beam out into the crowd, searching for a familiar face, my cheeks feeling as if they'll split. I can hear Viktor's screams from behind me, even over the audience's whooping cries. I manage a bow and a meek wave without fainting from utter shock, but once again, I find myself biting back tears. Finally, shouts fizzle out, but people in the crowd being to poit somewhere behind me. Something else is happening.
In a flash Viktor is on the ice, in front of me. The people in the stands go dead quiet. Viktor inhales deeply, nervously. "Yuri," he begins, "in the past year you have taught me so much about life. About love. You have made me find a whole new part of myself that I never knew existed and I am so very delighted. I feel as if you have changed me into a whole new man. A man who loves. A man with the ability to care so passionately about only one other person. You." Is this actually happening? Is Viktor doing what I think he's doing. I look down into his apprehensive eyes. He continues to speak, staring back at me, "I love you Yuri, more that I have ever loved anyone or anything before.
I know that we are technically already engaged, but I thought you deserved something more official. And you said that you'd get me something round and golden, so I thought that it would only be fair if I had something for you as well." At that he retrieves a small box from his pocket and descends to one knee. I have lost the capacity to breathe. He's about to do it. "Yuri Katsuki, will you marry me?" He sounds so innocent. So pure. The man whom I have adored for my entire life is in front of me, and he just proposed. Tears spill from my eyes; I cannnot contain them any longer. I step down from the podium and extend my left hand to him. He opens the box to reveal a shimmering gold ring.
"Yes," I breathe, nodding almost comically, "yes, Viktor Nikiforov, I would be honored to spend the rest of my life with you." He slides the ring onto my finger and by now I am full on bawling. Of happiness of course. The stadium is still so silent you could hear a pin drop. Viktor - my fiance - stands up. I can't hold myself back. I leap into his arms and kiss him firmly on the mouth. A cheer goes up somewhere in the crowd and soon everyone is rowdy once more. Viktor and I pull away, but don't let go. I stare into his sharp blue eyes.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I love you too."