A/N: Hey there everyone. This is my first time writing for Yuri! On Ice, and I'm aware that there will undoubtedly be a hundred other stories based on the same prompt as this one, but I hope you like it anyway. :D
Yuri had noticed it a few times in the past. The way Viktor would watch the other skaters on the ice with such intensity, ocean blue eyes narrowed in concentration. The glint in his irises, admiration, though it wasn't for the skaters themselves. The only person who would received a look of admiration from Viktor while they skated was Yuri. The look in Viktor's eyes as he watched the other skaters dance through their routines was aimed purely at the skating itself.
He watched not the skaters, but their skates. The way the blades glided along the ice, leaving a light scratch and a dusting of white in their wake. Viktor watched the way the skaters flew in their jumps, eyes widening just slightly each time as ghosts of memories from his past appeared in place of those on the ice. It wasn't Chris doing a quadruple toe loop, it was Viktor as a teenager, preparing for a competition. It wasn't Yurio spinning gracefully, arms up and posture tense, it was Viktor on his own at his home rink, skating with only his thoughts.
Yuri had seen all of that, having always been at Viktor's side off of the ice during the past few months, and yet he'd tried to forget it. He'd tried to make himself believe that Viktor really did want to be his coach, that Viktor was truly done with skating. The illusion was fragile, and only as tangible as the ice that Yuri skated on. If he let his mindset slip even the smallest bit, it would break. Each time the illusion broke, the shards would get smaller and sharper until the day that it shattered, littering the cold ground around Yuri's feet with an irreparable reminder of his selfishness. That time would come soon.
It was on the first day of the Grand Prix Finale that the illusion shattered, just as Yuri had predicted. During Yurio's routine, Viktor disappeared from Yuri's side, only to be found in the audience with his eyes locked on his successor. His stance was rigid, and his hands were clenched into tight fists. The look on his face was a raw mixture of surprise, sadness, loss, and the slightest bit of jealously. Viktor could see how great Yurio had gotten, strong enough to surpass even the legend of Viktor Nikiforov with a record-breaking score. Despite the smile on the russian man's face, Yuri could see that something inside Viktor had been broken alongside his record.
The two watched the rest of the skaters, but Yuri was only able to observe with half attention. His eyes were on the skaters, all of whom danced like their lives depended on it, flipping and turning with easy grace, though his mind was on the man who sat next to him. It was very clear that Viktor was not as disconnected from skating as he claimed. His eyes followed every movement, and his hands twitched with every jump. Viktor could claim to be content as a coach all he wanted, but Yuri knew the truth; Viktor wanted to keep skating.
It wasn't about pleasing the crowds or placing first. Or, it was in part, to be precise, but that wasn't the biggest force pushing Viktor back toward the ice. The biggest force was the feeling. The feeling of adrenalin surging through a skater's body during competition, the weariness felt at the end of a tough routine, the bite of the cold on the bare parts of a skater's skin. That wasn't all, though. There was also the freedom. The ability to dance on the ice like no one was watching, to move freely, to feel the chill of the rink down to the bones, to surrender mind and body to the movements. The ability of the skater to feel like they were flying without ever leaving the ground. It was those feelings, feelings Yuri knew far too well, that Viktor missed, and that Yuri knew Viktor missed. It was those feelings that Yuri had stolen.
Later in the night, as Viktor hummed quietly to himself in the bath, Yuri sat on the bed, deep in thought. His brain was a whirlwind of voices, the complete opposite of the silence around him. All he could think about was Viktor, Viktor, Viktor. Viktor, the man who he had danced with while in a drunken state that he didn't even remember. Viktor, the man who had dropped everything and gone to Japan just to be Yuri's coach. Viktor, the man who had stood by Yuri's side for so long, who had been there for him as he struggled to claw his way to the top. Viktor, the man who had kissed him and hugged him and asked to stay with him forever. Viktor, the man who had given up the sport he loved to help Yuri, someone who experienced only failure after failure, never reaching the peak of the mountain he'd been trying to climb for years.
Everything that Viktor had done left Yuri with questions. Sure, Viktor was getting a bit old for competitive skating, but why had he quit out of nowhere to work with Yuri instead of easing his way out as an unforgettable legend? Yuri had been told before that Viktor was getting tired of how everyone expected the best from him, and how no one was ever surprised by his performances, but it was clear that the man didn't hate skating. Given that fact, why did Viktor give it up so easily? Most importantly, why did Viktor decide to be his coach? While it was true that they had bonded during the banquet the previous year when Yuri had gotten very drunk, and it was true that Yuri had asked Viktor to be his coach then, why did the man actually go through with it? Why had he decided to leave everything behind for someone who had failed so badly at the Final the previous year?
Too many questions, not enough answers. There was too much confusion and not enough clarification. However, there was a solution. Maybe Viktor wouldn't like it at first, and he'd probably come to hate Yuri, but it would be worth it in the long run. Viktor would think Yuri had only used him, he'd think Yuri never cared about him or loved him like he claimed. They would probably fight, and Viktor would walk out. He'd leave and never come back, but he would be free. He could return to skating, the sport he loved. He wouldn't be held back, not anymore.
When Viktor walked out of the bathroom, clad in a loose robe with a towel on his dripping hair, Yuri steeled himself. He let Viktor make a little small talk, waiting for the words he was expecting.
"So, what did you want to talk about?"
Yuri lowered his head, his eyes falling on the ground before he squeezed them shut. His hand tightened around his phone, fingers digging into the material of his pants until he could feel the pain of his nails against his legs. 'I'm holding Viktor back. I'm trapping him. He wants to go back out on the ice, and he can't do that if he's my coach, but he's too kind to walk out on his own. I want him to be free. I don't want to hold him back anymore.'
Eyes shut and head bowed, Yuri forced out six words that he didn't want to say. Ignoring the way each syllable stole too much air from his lungs and the way each word stuck a blade directly through his cracked and bleeding heart, he spoke.
"After the Final, let's end this."