Tch. As if I was some insipid fan-boy of that over-glorified, flashy show-off. Who does he think he is?
Yuri slammed his temporary bedroom door shut, stormed across the floor and climbed onto his bed, the cover crumpling under his knees as he beat his pillow into submission before falling face first onto it. As an after-thought he reached behind his head, releasing his shoulder length blonde locks from their elastic and throwing the restrictive item somewhere across the room. He didn't really care where it landed.
Unlike other fifteen year olds, the walls in his room back home were plainly decorated, there were no posters covering the paper, or photographs of friends or family littering the surfaces. In fact, there was nothing to suggest that anyone actually spent any time there at all except for the trophy case in the corner. It didn't feel any different to be in this unremarkable room in a hot spring in Hasetsu.
Yuri turned his head to the side, his thoughts still enraged by what Viktor had said to him earlier that day.
"Kitten..." he had called me. "KITTEN." Then he went on to call me a fan. Tch.
Yuri seethed at the memory.
Of course I know he's the best at the moment. That's why I asked him to choreograph a program for me. It was always so easy for him. Natural talent. Perfect jumps. He never really seems to have to work much for it. Why would I admire that? I've got it in spades. I'm not stupid though. I'll use Viktor and win the world championships.
With an annoyed grumble, he reached below the bed, not even needing to feel around, his hand finding it's hiding place automatically. It was the only thing besides clothes that he had brought with him from Russia.
Hard work. Determination. Imperfect yet eye-catching footwork. It was impossible to look away. How could it be anyone else? No, Viktor. I recognise your talents but I was never a fan. Too focussed on bettering you than worshiping you like all of your sycophants.
His delicate fingers traced the page as he flipped through the scrap book, clippings from newspapers taking up most of the space.
Katsuki Yuuri.
Yuri remembered the harsh words he had spoken to Japan's number one figure skater all those months before. But how could he not be upset? The person he had looked up to for years seemed to have just... given up. The Russian boy felt completely let down by his hero. Yuuri was better than that. So, so much better and Yuri had just completely lost it, his heart broken by his fallen inspiration.
If you don't have any inspiration left, you're as good as dead.
He may have said some things in the heat of the moment he didn't mean, but the feeling behind it was there. If Yuuri wasn't even going to fight anymore, he should just retire. Let Yuri find motivation elsewhere.
Yuri sighed, closing the book and returning it to its hiding place.
That pig had better not retire at the end of this season. I'll make him regret it if he does.
I never expected my first fic for this fandom to be from Yuri Plisetsky's POV but here we are. Just a little drabble after I rewatched the first season. It's how I'd like to think Yuri really feels about Yuuri.