It was 10am, and Victor Nikiforov was far from calm.
He sat up in bed, his new fiancé lying beside him, his head resting in his lap. Victor knew that he was unsettled; he hadn't slept well again so he'd let him stay in the hotel room as he went for a brief walk on the beach. On returning, they had approximately half an hour before they had to get ready so Victor climbed back into bed alongside Yuuri. His breathing was lighter than usual but even if he wasn't in a deep sleep, any amount of rest would be better than nothing. His anxiety always seemed worse when he was tired and if he wanted that gold medal, he'd have to fight for it.
The fingers of Victor's right hand absent-mindedly ran through Yuuri's hair. Every so often, Yuuri would twitch and almost wake up, but the sensation against his scalp would soothe him back to sleep. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, glinting against Victor's ring every time it moved.
Yuri's words echoed in his head.
"Victor Nikiforov is dead."
If this was what being dead felt like, he'd have died a thousand times.
And it almost felt like he had. Every time Yuuri surprised him, every time they grew closer, every time he fell in love all over again – he felt himself surrender another part of his old self. He was no longer the man the world thought they knew.
Since that day a year ago, Victor could sense that something had shifted. That drunkenly slurred offer hung over his head like a promise, and just the thought of it intoxicated him. Three months later, seeing Yuuri skate his free program was the last catalyst he needed and when he reached Hasetsu, his heart was already dead on arrival.
"Just go away already, geezer."
Just one look into Yuri's eyes and Victor knew. Yuri knew that he had no plans to return. And why would he? He already had a decade's worth of medals under his belt. By this point, he was nothing more than a parasite, stealing opportunities from younger skaters who worked harder than he did. The only thing waiting for Victor in Russia was what he already had, and that just wasn't enough anymore. It was time to step down.
He'd grown used to Hasetsu, the quiet life suiting him after more than ten years in the spotlight. He'd found home with Yuuri, and when competition season was over they could retreat to their own little corner of Japan. He'd already been pretty much adopted by the Katsukis from the day he moved in and he wasn't prepared to give that up. Even if he'd only promised to coach Yuuri for a season, he wasn't about to quit as soon as the Grand Prix was over. But his little lie was motivating him, so for now he was keeping up the charade. Victor knew that Yuri could see right through him and the idea of him telling Yuuri frightened him. Not now, not until after the Final, that's when he could know.
"The ring you got from that pig is garbage."
Victor ran his left thumb along the band, gently turning it around his finger. He could feel it burning in his chest, anger once again coursing through his body. The attack on both his fiancé and their engagement tested him, making it harder for Victor to dismiss Yuri's comments as the petulant insults of a jealous child. He looked down at Yuuri quietly, noticing the gold band on his finger.
It was more than a promise now, it was a commitment. And it was commitment that Victor took very seriously.
Victor Nikiforov was dead, but he'd never felt more alive. The blood pumping through his veins ran hot, his anger dissipating and transforming into something else entirely. He was in love with Yuuri Katsuki, and if their meeting at last year's Grand Prix was the first spark, then his heart was now an inferno, leaving the old Victor behind in the ashes.
A new man had walked out of the flames, armed with a renewed sense of purpose. He'd neglected himself for too long, but now he had something to fight for.
Yuri Plisetsky may understand in time, especially after claiming the position of Russia's next champion. But if Victor could help it, he wouldn't follow the same path he did. It wasn't his job to take care of him, but he'd be damned sure he'd guide him from the sidelines. Yuri had the potential, but he was too volatile. He needed to control his temper if he ever wanted a chance at glory. Victor remembered the look in his eyes when he'd stared him down. For all his bravado, Yuri was still a child, and he had a lot of growing up to do.
For now, his rage was driving him forward, and Victor was interested in seeing how long it took before his fury flickered and faded.
"If I stayed in Russia as a competitor, Yurio wouldn't be this motivated to fight. And neither would I."
Yuuri stirred, breaking Victor's train of thought. He woke up slowly, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand.
"Ohayou, Victor."
Victor smiled.
"Ohayou, Yuuri."
"What time is it?" Yuuri sat up, turning to kneel on the bed facing his fiancé. Victor passed him his glasses and he put them on.
"10:20" Victor replied "You have time for a shower if you want one now."
"I'll wait until after. I'll need another one before the banquet anyway."
Yuuri stretched, yawning.
"Right, I'm going to get changed."
He leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on Victor's lips.
"That's all you're getting until you get rid of that morning breath" Victor joked "Go get ready."