Yuri had never been more embarassed. He had finally met his idol, living legend Viktor Nikiforov. And he had been completely taken aback by what had happened. He curled himself in tighter on his bed and took a ragged breath as he recalled the memories. He had gone to the show with some friends and had gone to buy a bottle of water. As he was paying, he heard a door slam open. Curious, he glanced over.

"No, Yakov! I'm skating and there's nothing you can do that will change my mind!" Viktor called back into the room.

"Vitya, ple-" Yuri heard before the door was slammed. Yuri hastily paid for the water before practically tripping over her own feet to get over there. He barely registered that there was no one else in the corridor. Viktor leaned his head against the wall, breathing heavily. Yuri approached silently.

"V-Viktor?" he asked shakily. His heart was pumping out of his chest, the sound filling his ears. Viktor went still before whipping around.

"What? What do you want?" he hissed, face flushed with anger. His long, platinum hair was sticking to his face with sweat. Yuri took a step away, taken aback by Viktor's anger.

"I-I..." his voice failed, resulting in a small gurgling sound.

"Spit it out! My god, what do you want!?" Viktor shouted, anger resonating in the empty hall.

"I just wanted to say... I-I'm sorry. I heard you fighting with, with your coach, and I thought you might want some water" he held out the bottle to Viktor, arm shaking. "Oh! Wait, I also have this!" he reached into his back pack and pulled out a small plastic bag, handing it to Viktor.

Yuri didn't know what he had done or said, but clearly it was the wrong thing. Viktor's face scrunched in fury and he smacked the bottle and bag out of Yuri's hand.

"What the hell do you want from me!? You think that you can just corner people!? Jesus christ, you fan-boys will never stop! I don't want your gifts! Leave me alone!" he shouted. Yuri cowered against the back wall. Viktor took a moment to realize what he had said and, instead of apologizing, crossed his arms.

"I-I" he started, but got cut off as Yuri bolted away.

"Hey, wait!" Viktor called, but it was too late. Yuri tore down the halls, feet pounding against the tiles. He stopped right outside of his entrance and took a breather before climbing up the small stone stairs and back to his seat.

Viktor fell to his knees, guilt overtaking his body. He felt terrible. That poor boy was just trying to help him, and he had smacked away his offer and his gift. His gift. Viktor frantically made his way to the corner, trying desperately to find the small bag. When he did, he held it as though it were precious. With shaking hands, he tore into it and found a small piece of folded paper as well as something made of metal. He opened the note first, surprised to see it written in shaky Russian.

Viktor,

I'm not sure why I'm writing this. I doubt I'll ever even get a chance to give it to you. And please excuse my Russian, I've just begun to learn. I wanted to say thank you. When I was younger, I got picked on a lot. For anything. But after you inspired me to start skating, it all melted away. Their words meant nothing, because on the ice I could be beautiful. Graceful. Thank you. I made the pin myself, I hope you like it.

Yuri Katsuki

Viktor's hands flew to the metal object, finding it was, in fact, a pin. It was small, engravings around the edge reminding him of a gold medal. In the center was Maccachin's head, tongue sticking out. Viktor carefully ran his thumb over its cool surface. It was remarkably well made. He heard Yakov call behind him and hastily pocketed the note before turning. He was up.

Viktor's skate was flawless. It must've worked in in his favor that the skate was about regrets. A couple of times in his skate he caught sight of a black haired boy with thick glasses and did a small double take but resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't find Yuri in this crowd. He did a final jump, landing it perfectly, and stretched his arms above him. He listened to the storm of applause and took a breath. He could feel the panic rising in his chest. Somewhere, someone hated him right now. They hated him so much, and were watching him. He swallowed and quickly made his way to the exit, gliding through without a glance up.

From his spot in the crowd, Yuri watched Viktor's beautiful performance. The emotions were so raw and potent. This may have been his best program, and yet Yuri felt nothing. He watched with bored, tired eyes. He just wanted to go home and curl into a ball. He was tired of having to hold it all in. He wanted to let everything out while lying in the soft noises of his home. He clapped as he heard the applause rise around him. His eyes tracked Viktor as he exited very close to his seat. He almost missed the flash of gold pinned to his chest.

Yuri woke up the next day to a gentle tapping on his door. It took him a moment to remember what day it was. His 15th birthday. He got up and crossed to the door, careful not to glance at his left wrist. He opened it and greeted his mother, telling her he would be down in a minute. He quickly got dressed, trying to ignore the desire of looking at his wrist. He saw splotches of black, so he knew his soul mates name would be printed there. He wanted to read it so bad, but he had always promised that he would read it in front of his family. He grabbed a patch of fabric and tied it over the writing before heading to breakfast. He was surprised that the name had just arrived. Soul mates names don't arrive until both partners are at least 15. That meant that he was the younger of the two. His heart raced knowing that somewhere someone else had woken to his name. He entered the room and found his way to the table, taking his seat. He listened to the excited chatter of his family for a few minutes until his mother cleared her throat and his family went quiet.

"Yuri, did the name show up?"

Everyone's attention was on him. A soul mate was a big deal, and they all breathed a sigh of relief as he nodded. They spoke excitedly at him before his mother shushed them.

"Who is it, deal?" she asked kindly. Yuri took a deep breath and lifted his left wrist. He stared down and untied the cloth. He heard a collective gasp from around the table, and then silence. He looked around at the shocked faces in a panic before yanking his arm back down. His eyes bored into the ink and his heart dropped, face going pale. On the inside of his wrist, in perfect print, was the name. Viktor Nikiforov.

Miles away, Viktor rolled over in bed and groaned. His emotional and physical exhaustion had caught up to him last night and he had crashed. Everything was sore. He stretched and kicked his legs out of bed, crossing to his bathroom. A few minutes later, he stepped out of the shower and began to slowly get dressed, feeling his body groan in defiance. Finally, as he slipped his shirt on, he noticed it. His soul mark. His heart thudded in his ears as he read the name in the mirror. It felt as though his thudding heart stopped. It plummeted into his stomach as he read the two words. Yuri Katsuki.

The shock of it hit Viktor, and he fell backward, groaning into the carpet.

Why? Why of all people did it have to be him? Of everyone in the world, it had to be one of the people who hated him. Sighing, Viktor grabbed his jacket and headed to the door, mentally preparing himself for practice.

A/N: Vikturi! Yay! I've wanted to write for a while now, and I finally have. I think I may make this a bit longer, but I'm not sure. Also, I may write some Sheith or Klance fics (Voltron). I'm finally watching and I love them. Happy new year! Love you all!