Yuri Plisetsky would not say that he was a morning person, but he did not have any trouble getting up in the morning for the opportunity to talk to Otabek Altin. Almaty is three hours ahead of St. Petersburg, so right around when Yuri was getting up and heading to the rink, Otabek was taking a short break to cool down for an early lunch. Yuri would not call his close friend every day, but he found himself looking forward to those calls during the middle of the week when the practice sessions seemed longest.

This morning in particular was an abnormal one for Yuri. He had slept through his alarm and was awoken by the ringing of his phone. He turned over, picked it up and nearly jumped out of his skin when he read Otabek's name. He doubled checked the time between his phone and his bedside clock before confirming the terrible truth: he had overslept. He quickly threw off the sheets and answered the phone, apologizing to his good friend before the other could even get a word in. He was answered with an entertained laugh.

"Lilia is gonna kill me." Yuri grumbled, fumbling between balancing his phone on his shoulder and pulling on pants before groaning and realizing that he could just put Otabek on speaker. Both Yakov Feltsman and Lilia Baranovskaya had reluctantly let Yuri live on his own. His coaches felt that the change in routine would disrupt his winning algorithm, but the young gold medalist had an itch to become independent. If he could win gold at his senior debut at the Grand Prix, surely he could manage to take care of himself. They agreed on the condition that they co-sign Yuri's lease and he stay in a flat just down the hall from them.

Otabek consoled his friend, explained that he was only human and asked him what his day would be like. Yuri gave a quick rundown of his plans as he pulled over a shirt; a long-sleeved, black athletic tee with a tiny Kazakhstan flag on the right breast that Otabek sent him as a birthday present. He asked Otabek how his morning was and what the rest of his day was going to be, buying himself time to quickly brush his teeth. He frowned when he noticed the shirt was a little short in length, the barest glimpse of his hips showing. Had it shrunk in the wash?

Yuri grabbed a granola bar as he sped out the door with keys in hand and a bag over his shoulder. Yakov would scold him for skipping breakfast, but something was better than nothing. He talked with Otabek all the way to his rink, forgoing his usual jog for the speed of a taxi. He walked through the front doors of the sports complex, saying his goodbyes when a terrible screeching noise echoed through the hallways.

"What was that?" Otabek asked.

"I'll text you later." Yuri put away his phone and decided that since he was already late, he could satiate his curiosity and spend another minute figuring out what that awful noise was. It was not coming from the ice rink, but rather from the long, winding halls of storage rooms and offices. He peered around one curving corner and found a curious scene: a bunch of old, decrepit junk littering the hallway while a door was propped open. The screeching noise was becoming unbearable as an unfamiliar woman tugged a large table out of the room. She was not a staff member of the rink; was she pilfering old supplies? He marched his way up to the intruder, getting a little angry as his approach went unnoticed. The woman flopped onto the table with an exhausted sigh when she finally extracted it out of the room. Vulnerable and unaware, Yuri attacked.

"Hey!" The woman jumped and flipped around, her golden brown hair falling loose from her messy bun. The color reminded Yuri of fresh baked bread, which made him hungry and made him angrier. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Quoi?"

"How'd you get in?" The woman, finally realizing that she was talking to someone her junior, found some confidence and answered.

"Russian… not good. English?" Yuri glared at her.

"What are you doing? How'd you get in?"

"I'm just clearing out the room. I'm Viktor and Yuri's costume designer, Eva Dupont." She straightened herself and Yuri was a little put off that he found himself looking down at her. It was so different and distracting that he did not register that she was examining him. "Your shirt doesn't fit. Did you know that?" Yuri felt a throbbing pulse in his forehead.

"It fits just fine!"
"Yuri!" The teenager groaned. He knew that gruff voice. He ever so slightly looked over his shoulder to confirm that Yakov had indeed found him. "You're late! And you're wasting daylight by harassing people! Get on the ice!" Yuri turned back on the woman.

"Don't interrupt practice." He warned, turning around and facing his punishment. Yakov did chew him out when they met, but it was not as bad as he feared. They were heading towards the locker rooms when his coach said,

"You slipped up, but you're doing well overall. I thought you would be sleeping in late more often." Yuri was a little stunned, staring to make sure that it was his old Yakov standing next to him and not some impeccable imposter. He did not expect this leniency between his lateness and his temper, but he mumbled out a thanks as he pushed back a lock of loose hair behind his ear.

Eva watched as her attacker left, a little perplexed from the excitement of an otherwise boring morning. If she was remembering the Grand Prix telecast correctly, that was the boy who took first place just ahead of Yuuri. Wasn't his name Yuri too? 'Pretty boy, but his attitude could use work,' she mused. Turning back, she examined her work. She managed to get the table out of the room, but it was still blocking the door. She sighed and readjusted her bun.

When Eva was not cleaning and setting up her workroom, she took breaks by studying Viktor and Yuuri skate. She would quietly come into the rink and sit on the sidelines, a sketchbook on her lap and a pencil in hand, and scribble quick figures for several pages. Viktor would take long breaks to sit next to her and watch her work, which would then prompt Yuri to come by and scold Viktor for his lackadaisical attitude towards training. A handful of times, Yuuri's curiosity would get the best of him and he would stop practice to watch Eva draw Viktor's figure in quick, emphatic lines. Sometimes they were just an amalgamation of action lines to capture the moment, but other times Yuuri's jaw would drop with how quickly Eva could catch his fiancé's likeness in graphite. At the end of practice one day, both men took a seat by Eva and flipped through her sketchbook.

"Why do you do these?" Yuuri asked.

"They help me visualize your costumes in action." She then asked if they would be willing to sit down and finalize their costume designs this weekend. She would go out and buy fabric the following Monday.

"You're such a hard worker." Viktor commented. "Come to our place tomorrow; we'll do it there." Eva suggested a time in the morning and Yuuri shared their address with her. Yuuri then spent the evening cleaning the apartment while Viktor lounged on the couch with his poodle, watching his fiancé with an amused grin. It was not that their flat was dirty, it just needed a few details corrected to make it proper for visitors, according to Yuuri. When Yuuri was sick of Viktor giggling at him, he tossed a dishcloth at his face and asked that he dust. Viktor was a poor duster, finding more amusement in using the cloth as an impromptu toy for Makkachin to play with.

The next morning, Yuuri answered the door expecting to see a young woman with a single sketchbook in her hands, but what he got was a frazzled looking girl with an armful of folders with a small rolling case in tow. Eva greeted him with a smile all the same though.

"Good morning, Yuuri!"

"Good morning. Do you need help?" He stepped aside to let her through. She declined his offer and headed straight for the couch, dropping her folders on the low coffee table and unzipping her case. Makkachin was a bit too interested in the new bag, wet nose sniffing around in the compartments. Eva chuckled at the large dog and petted its large head.

"This is Makkachin, right?" Viktor confirmed her question as he came from the kitchen, three coffee mugs in his hands. He handed one to the seamstress who happily lightened his burden. "I love dogs." Eva made herself comfortable on the sofa while she continued to rub Makkachin's fluffy ear. Makkachin found the attention from the stranger much more pleasing than searching her bag and moved to lay its head on her knees. "I can't have one where I live though. One of my roommates is allergic."

"Then feel free to come by more often! Yakov doesn't like me bringing Makkachin to practice because everyone gets distracted." An excited spark suddenly glinted in the man's blue eyes. "But maybe Makkachin could hang out with you at the rink!"

"I would love that!" Eva began to ruffle up the fluffy fur with glee. "Would you like that, cutie?" Makkachin's large pink tongue lolled out of its mouth in an adorable smile of approval. Yuuri took his mug of coffee and waited for the elation to die down. Those two had an excitable nature that mirrored each other in an eerie yet endearing way. Yuuri thought it was better to let them tire each other out than interrupt and become the focus of their attention, remembering the measuring incident of about a week before.

"You brought a lot more stuff that I expected, Eva." Yuuri gently interrupted while picking up a folder. Eva explained that she brought over all the sketches she and Mr. Vionnet ever did. Between two men and two costumes for each, it added up to a lot of trial and error.

"I think that folder is yours, Yuuri." She said as she pulled out a box of colorful markers from her case. Yuuri opened it and was a little overwhelmed when it revealed not a small stack of sketches almost pouring out. "I think that's your short program outfit."

"This is just for one outfit?" He began to quickly flip through the pages. Eva gave a silly grin as if to say 'of course!'

"It looks rather typical for costume development." Viktor commented, picking up a folder to flip through.

"It may be a bit bigger than normal. Mr. Vionnet and I took really different approaches to all of the designs, so we had a longer preliminary process until we agreed on certain elements. But this," Eva pulled out a leather organizer and held it to her heart, "has all of the latest design approvals for both of you. So we can build from here."

"Then why bring all of these?" Yuuri was getting confused.

"In case you changed your mind and wanted to revisit a past idea." Eva tossed aside the remaining folders to the corners of the table, making space in the middle and pulling out a few illustrations to make the focus of their project. She then pulled out a sketchbook and pencil, flipping to a clean page and scratching some notes on it before saying, "So, what do we like and don't like about these designs?"

For the next week, Eva was holed up in her workshop working on the costumes. True to his word, Viktor made sure to bring by Makkachin to keep her company. Practice had somehow become grueling for Yuuri. Viktor was pushing him hard on the ice and though he could do what was asked of him, he was not satisfied with his work. He had come a long way from being limited in his jumps to hardly failing in anything that he attempted, but whenever he watched Viktor practice he could only think about how he was still coming up short compared to that god on the ice. He could not figure out what was causing the gap: between the support and love he had from Viktor and the impressive growth of his skills as a skater, he was completely happy. So what was this invisible wall that was stopping him from what he knew he could do?

Makkachin had sneaked out of the sewing room and was nudging a wet nose under Yuuri's elbow, looking for attention. Yuuri smiled and stopped untying his skates to accommodate the fluffy poodle. The dog's large eyes were staring out at the ice, obviously watching Viktor as he stayed late, practicing step sequences and spins while he cooled down. Yuuri sighed and hugged Makkachin close. His fiancé was intoxicating to watch. To him, Viktor was incapable of making a mistake even in practice. He almost never fell while practicing his jumps, even after taking a break for a year. He was, however, capable of making himself dizzy during his spins when he was not paying attention. Yuuri found the slightly off balance Viktor cute as these slip-ups only came up at the end of his practice and the first sign that he was getting tired. Yuuri finished pulling off his skates and rolled his ankles.

"Viktor," Yuuri called. His fiancé paused his conversation with Yakov and gave him his attention. "I'm going home. I'll have dinner ready for you."

"Thank you, Yuuri!" He happily waved, a giant, goofy grin on his face. "I'll be home soon!" Yuuri waved back and picked up his skates to leave. Makkachin followed. He made sure to peek into Eva's workroom and wish her a good night. She paused in pinning a mock-up together to wave back and wish him a goodnight too.

"Vitya, what's going on?" Yakov asked, his wrinkled brow furrowing more as he studied his most prolific protégé. Viktor waited until his fiancé was out of sight, then sighed and collapsed against the rink wall in a dramatic fashion. Yakov held back an eye roll at this supposed adult.

"I don't really know what it is."

"Are you just looking for attention? You shouldn't need me so-"

"That's not it at all, Yakov." If he had the strength, Viktor would have jumped in the old man's face, but all he could manage was a glare from his pillow of folded arms. That was all the answer that he needed to know that Viktor was serious and troubled over something.

"You're going to have to overcome whatever this is if you want a chance to reclaim your place at the top. Your Yuuri is in the best form of his career. And Yuri is starting to grow. It's either going to make him unbeatable, or overtake him."

"Threatened by a sixteen-year-old." Viktor scoffed.

"Are you going to tell me exactly what's bothering you? Or did you just want to wallow for a bit longer?"

"Yakov, I think that year off did more damage than I anticipated." He picked himself up and pushed back his hair in frustration. "I kept up my strength by practicing with Yuuri, but going over these routines feels… forced. It's underwhelming even when I'm pushing myself. How can I surprise everyone when I don't even like what I'm doing?"

"What do you think is causing this uneasiness in you?"

"I don't know. Maybe I've picked the wrong music."

"It's not the music, Vitya. You don't make novice mistakes." The older man gave a reassuring pat on Viktor's shoulder. "And you're not threatened by Yuri, either of them." Viktor raised an eyebrow, not certain if he agreed with the assessment.

"Then what is it?"

"I can't tell you." Viktor let out an unsatisfied grumble, frowning. Yakov flicked the man's ear as punishment; how dare he growl at his coach. "Telling you would ruin your growth."

"Yakov, I'm twenty-eight. There's no more growing to be had."

"You can be an idiot. You're a gift horse trying to look into your own mouth; of course you can't see well."

"Did you just have a stroke?" Viktor was certain what had come from the old man's mouth was complete gibberish.

"I'm perfectly healthy! Don't come to me for help if you're going to ignore me."

"You didn't tell me anything though!"

"You are hopeless." Yakov pulled Viktor up to stand straight and pushed him to leave. "Go home, relax, and think about it again when you're not being childish." Viktor thought about pushing the issue, but he had been stressing about his abilities all day and he rather liked the idea of returning home to his fiancé. Yakov stayed with him while he changed and packed his things, talking to him about the minutia of the other skaters, mostly about Mila Babicheva as her performance in the women's skating competition last season was marked with great strides compared to the year before. They left together but parted ways at the curb. Viktor hugged his coach and thanked him for his help, even if it was oblique. Yakov managed a chuckle and wished his student a good night.

Viktor opened the door to his flat and inhaled the comforting smell of a homemade dinner and the happy barks of an old friend. He hugged Makkachin close as Yuuri peered from around the corner of the kitchen.

"Viktor! You're a little early."

"I was too excited to return to you. Couldn't practice." He said as he carried Makkachin in his arms like a giant teddy bear. Yuuri's cheeks bloomed a light pink shade and Viktor's heart melted. Even though they had been together for several months and Viktor said such things daily, Yuuri still felt the words whole heartedly enough to blush in his peculiar way of appreciation.

"It'll be a little bit before dinner is ready."

"Dinner I can wait for. But dessert," Viktor put his dog down and took a hold of his fiancé, turning his face so they were facing each other for a kiss. "I will be impatient for."


A/N: FF formatting is driving me up a wall. I'm sorry if I jump randomly between scenes. I write it with a little marker indicating that the scene is changing, but these line breaks seem like overkill as a replacement. Opinions? Would a handful of line breaks bother you? As always, thank you for reading! More to come!