Chapter 2

Yuuri woke with a jolt, his stomach lurching and filling with pain as his eyes just as quickly filled with tears. The faces of his parents as they told him he was an abomination, a disgrace, were still fresh in his mind. As he heard the whispered words swirl through his head, bile began to fill his throat. Yuuri threw himself from the bed and ran toward the bathroom. His hands clenched the cold porcelain bowl, his knuckles matching the white of it as he tightened his grip. Acidic liquid forced its way violently from his throat, the painful sounds echoing off the bathroom walls.

As always Yuuri continued this until his stomach was empty and then continued some more. He carried on until his throat was raw and there were tears and snot streaming down his face. However not all of this situation was like all the times before. This time there was something different.

As the last of the stomach acid forced its way up his throat Yuuri felt a pair of hands on his shoulders and soothing voice whisper in his ear. He tensed. However the hands and the voice only attempted to sooth him more.

"You're okay Yuuri You're okay" the voice soothed. A voice that Yuuri recognised. One that he had heard over speakers. One that he had listened to over and over from a distance. One that he had longed to hear directed at him for years. This was not, however, how he wanted to hear it now.

Through the fog of panic and pain Yuuri's thoughts somehow became clear. He should not be here. Viktor should not be here. Yuuri had not wanted to wake up this morning. In fact he had never wanted to wake up again; so Yuuri pulled away. He dragged his tired limbs out of the grasp of the man behind him, even as said man began to protest.

Yuuri pushed himself up from the floor, using the sink to steady his already shaking hands. He turned to see a flop of silver hair and a pair of blue eyes that were looking at him in concern. However Yuuri did not want them there. For the first time in his existence he did not want to see Viktor before him. No. For the first time ever Yuuri was angry at his very presence.

"How dare you!" Yuuri yelled out. His throat was raw and his face pale. However the shock that was suddenly written on Viktor's face was evidence enough that Yuuri was still a formidable figure. Yuuri's cheeks flushed a vicious red as he saw not only shock but pity in the sparkle of blue.

"I didn't want to be saved." He yelled out again. His voice stronger this time. "I still don't want to be saved." With that Yuuri began, on unsteady feet to make his way out of the bathroom. He pushed past the hands that attempted to steady him and instead, with purposeful steps he made his way toward the balcony.

"Yuuri" a voice called out gently. Yuuri ignored it. His legs continued to push him forward, slowly, across the floor. He was shaky, each step sending pain rippling through his body. The aftermath of the previous day was finally upon him. His muscles were stiff and his head pounded. However he was still intent on one thing. If he made his plans a reality, then within moments he would no longer feel pain. He'd never feel it ever again. Therefore he pushed through the momentary pain as he took another step forward.

"Yuuri" the voice called again. It was calm, gentle, soothing. It was a way he had not been spoken to in months, by a person that he had always wanted to be around. It was hard. Yuuri's mind became fuzzy, his thoughts a jumble as his legs attempted to take him the few paces toward his destination. However his conflicted mind seemed to loose control of the straining muscles that held him in place.

As Yuuri made to step forward his legs gave way, his knees thudding to the carpeted floor. Shooting pains ran up the already aching knees and Yuuri let out a groan as his vision blurred. He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to regain some clarity. However before they reopened he felt a strong set of arms around him.

"Yuuri" was whispered again in a soft, almost wistful tone. Yuuri was picked up before being gently placed on the bed again, the arms still around him.

"Sleep Yuuri." The accented voice commanded in hushed tones. "It's only three in the morning Yuuri. Let's get some more sleep" the accented voice soothed.

Yuuri's head was heavy and as he listened to the soothing tones, his eyelids too became too much of a weight for him to bare. They flickered shut and Yuuri was once again dragged into the realms of oblivion.


Viktor Nikiforov was out of his depth. As he lay next to the lightly sleeping Yuuri his mind was a mess of conflicting was not the one that was there for people. He was not there to comfort those in need and he certainly was not the type to stop someone from attempting to kill themselves.

Viktor had friends of course; Chris, Yuri, Mila and Georgi. But they were all rink mates. The dynamic was different from a true friend. There were no one expectations in these relationships. They were ones of convenience; ones of practicality. There was nothing more to them than that.

There was Yakov, but Viktor was not sure that could be called a friendship. He respected the man, was willing to listen his criticisms and improve on them. However the relationship was between a coach and a student. He was not on equal footing with the man.

Of course Makkachin was a different matter altogether. But the relationship between a dog and their master was again another dynamic from that of a true friend. Viktor need not talk to Makkachin about feelings, or have meaningful discussions. No; in fact the dog was simply happy to see him. All Viktor needed to do to keep a good relationship with Makkachin was feed and walk them regularly. Of course the playing and the sleeping in the same bed were simply added benefits.

If Viktor actually thought about it, then he was sure that he had never had a friend. As a child all he had thought about was competing. Any spare time that he had spent outside the rink was spent with his tutors. Education and Skating had dominated his life from the age of four.

Viktor had never been close with his parents, the pair being estranged from one another, as well as from their son. Anton Nikiforov, an Architectural manager, spent his time traveling from country to country, leading projects that produced structural masterpieces. Zoya Egorov, newly named with the marriage to her equally new husband, had been close to Viktor in his early years. However at the age of four Viktor had been sent to boarding school and therefore lost almost all of the contact that he had once had with the beautiful woman.

With Viktor's departure from the family home, it seemed that his mother was soon to follow. By Christmas it was clear that the woman was unhappy, the tension over the two week break between his father and mother, clear to even the four year old Viktor. By the summer of that year his parents had finished the processing of their divorce. The next Christmas had been spent in two different houses. As his birthday past it was clear that his sixth year of life was going to be very different.

Viktor's first skating competition had been at the age of seven. Although he had been champing at the bit to be on the ice long before that. However, the school that he attended had not allowed him to do so, the policy being that the youngest competitor had to be at least six and above at the start of the school year. This meant that as Viktor's birthday was during the Christmas holidays, that he had to wait nearly a whole extra year to compete.

Viktor had, of course, had his own coach that his father paid for just after he had turned five, after it had become apparent that he had a natural talent. His school, having a year round ice rink, had hired said coach with the money that Anton had provided. Viktor loved every minute of it. On the ice he felt so free.

Viktor had been massively exited for the competition, more so for his parents to see him had never seen him on the ice before. Of course he had all the gear, his parents attempting to outdo each other as they bought him more and more expensive skates, outfits and training clothing. However they had never seen him even seen him set foot into a rink before.

The competition was an under eights qualifiers, that would determine whether Viktor would be able to progress to the under eight regionals and then to the nationals. It was the most pressure that the boy had ever been under. He would be competing against twelve other young men ranging from the ages of seven to eight. Three of the competitors were from Viktor's own school, the rest from others in the area.

As Viktor stepped out onto the ice he was unable to see his parents. However he knew that the school had sent out the invitations months ago. Viktor was sure that they must be sitting somewhere near the back. The rink was a big one after all and Viktor was very small. Viktor therefore stepped onto the ice and skated his heart out. He stepped off the ice knowing that he had done the best that he could. His smile was wide and his breath harsh as he was engulfed in a hug by his coach. The scores were released and Viktor was overjoyed. It seemed that he had won. It was the start of a winning streak that would seem to follow him through the rest of his career.

Although, as the tournament ended and Viktor clutched the trophy that he had received tightly to his chest, it seemed that disappointment would also be something that followed him. He waited and waited, his coach standing next to him as the stands cleared. His eyes sparkled with joy as he looked for his parents. However as the last of the spectators cleared the glee turned to sorrow. It seemed that his parents were not there.

It was then that Viktor made a decision, although he would not become actively aware that he had made it for many years. Surprise. That was his decision. He would surprise everyone. That was the moment where Viktor's skating became something that he needed rather than something that he wanted. He needed to suppose everyone with every aspect of his skating. Viktor grew out his hair, wore outfits that were unconventional and attempted harder and harder routines. Maybe if he surprised everyone then he would be surprised himself. Maybe his parents would come and watch him. However they never did. Neither Viktor's mother or father had ever seen him skate. Even as he won gold at the national championships and then the gold at the Olympics, they always made their excuses.

It was clear to Viktor that the reason for his detachment from people was the estrangement from his parents. He felt that if he made too much of an emotional connection to someone, then he would be let down. Even the few partners that Viktor had been with had been short relationships, none lasting more than a few months. However as Viktor lay there, Yuuri in his arms he realised that he was starting to rethink his ideas on relationships.

Ever since he had seen Yuuri at the last years Grand Prix final he had found himself interested in the young man. Even as he crashed and burned there was still the definite sparkle of potential in his moves. That potential had been realised as the young man had made his way up through the competition at a rapid rate this season, beating Viktor's own record on the short programme. Viktor had decided that after seeing the beauty of the young man's performance that he should invite him to the after party.

Viktor had asked for Yuuri's room number at reception and then made his way up to Yuuri's room. The young man had seemed upset and Viktor wanted to ensure that the Japanese skater felt welcome. Viktor had reached the door and let his knuckles rap lightly on the wood. However as he did so the door creaked open by itself. It seemed that Yuuri had left the door open.

As Viktor stepped into the room, his eyes were immediately drawn to the open window. He saw Yuuri standing on the ledge. His heart began to hammer in his chest as he sprinted toward the precariously placed Yuuri. He didn't think he'd ever moved so quickly in his life as he pulled Yuuri back from the edge.

As he had pulled the young skater into the bed he had never felt more scared. He had never been so close to the death of another. No one that he knew had ever died, let alone someone that he had a chance of caring about.

So as, for the second time in that day, Viktor prevented the suicide of Yuuri Katsuki, he let himself look at the sleeping face of the man that was still in his arms. He found himself wondering what was going to happen next. He seemed to have made a step, well a leap, into this young man's life. Viktor was really not sure whether he was ready for that. However as he looked at the sleeping face he realised that he would have to be.