Viktor had a dilemma.
The platinum blond lie face upward, staring at the ceiling in a mindless daze, thoughts racing and swarming and forming swarms. His chest ached from heartbreak, and his feet were sore from too much practice. The swarm grew. Time was passing. Time, too much, so little - all at the same time.
His skating career was a myriad of fans and bustling crowds, flashing lights and god-shaming that probably inflated his ego a little bit too much. He knew he needed to be humbled; he just wasn't sure if he could ever leave the skating industry so brusquely. It had been part of his life for so long - part of him for so long.
It was like trying to decide whether he should get rid of his name. Or perhaps his own two feet, blistered and tough thanks to the years and years and years of ice sk -
Oh dear lord, he didn't want to stop. The feeling of the blade scratching the ice under his feet - the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he skated to his own love story, the one between him and the ice. The thrill of the competition, the gasps of surprise as his spontaneity made the crowd do a double take. The announcers, nearly screaming, announcing that he has taken them all by surprise once again as he achieved yet another perfect scoreā¦
It was an old game now. Too predictable. He'd become too big of a name. Too mainstream. He needed to start over. But if not skating on the ice himself, what could he do?
The word "coaching" appeared in his mind, blinking in and out of existence like a flickering light bulb. Viktor wanted to shake his head; he wasn't fit to be a coach. He knew naught of how to teach discipline, how to convey the feeling one was supposed to get when on the ice. He was too self-centered, and he knew that. How could he ever hope for the victory of another? A pupil? A student tends to become the master. How would he feel if his student ever surpassed him? He would never be able to go back to skating because he'd have quit.
So what to do, what to do?
He was getting older. He couldn't stay a skater forever.
"Oi, Viktor!" Yuri screeched. "Look at this!"
Viktor, of course, refused to get up.
"Oh, fine," Viktor could hear the scowl Plisetsky was sporting. "I'll just send you the link."
Viktor's phone lit up, indicating he had received a text message. The thumbnail portrayed a young man, around his age and far fatter, in the midst of a quadruple Salchow. Vibrant brown eyes were wide with small hope in the midst of despair, and tranquility oozed from his stance. He was at ease. Viktor felt a twinge of recognition, looking at the man.
He clicked on the play button, scoffing slightly when he saw that the skate routine lacked music. However, the moves were familiar, emitting a certain clumsy grace reminiscent of his own when he had just started figuring out this whole skating business. The look of serenity didn't leave the man's face, all the while, unlike Viktor whenever he had made a mistake back in those days. His arms swung about smoothly, despite the rolls of fat jiggling as he moved.
Something then just clicked in the skater's mind, the realization shocking him to his core and nearly making him drop his phone.
"That's my program," he whispered. "That's my program!" He yelled.
"I know! Shut up!" Yuri screamed from the other room.
Victor ignored the yell, "How did he memorize my program?"
He quieted, his vision tunneling to focus only on the soundless video of the chubby man skating gracefully with the confidence of a king and serenity of a child
Coaching, his subconscious coaxed him.
Perhaps, Viktor smiled as he entertained the thought.
(Five minutes later, Yakov receives a text.
"I'm quitting skating to become the coach for Yuuri Katsuki. Thanks for coaching me! Now, I'm heading off to Japan! :)"
It took one minute for Yakov's face to turn red and an earsplitting scream escaping his gut, "WHAT?!")
first yoi fanfiction. probably going to become au as the series goes on. is there a yoi manga?
constructive criticism welcome!
