Monster
Viktor Nikiforov hadn't slept in more than 48 hours and slowly, though surely, he was beginning to experience the results. What had appeared to be a vending machine across the hall only moments before blurred into something resembling a gaping door, and being too fatigued to double check it's existence, the Russian skater had walked right into the black metal.
While the embarrassment of striking the machine was a stinging blow to his pride, it was nothing compared to the mental agony that occurred with the realization that a way out of his nightmares didn't exist. Viktor had been hoping, even praying that the door was real and that it would offer an alternate route to the pain he was feeling, but instead, he had hit cold hard reality. Literally.
At the Grand Prix Finals almost two nights before, skater Yuuri Katsuki, his fiancee, his student, his friend, his life and his love, had had a terrible accident on the ice.
Everything had been fine going into the competition; the short program the night before had been an utter success, landing Yuuri in third place behind Yuri Plisetsky and J.J. Leroy, and he had earned himself well a new personal best to add to his records.
Things were looking bright.
And then, Yuuri's anxiety had kicked in again. Maybe it was the pressure of coming out on top with a gold medal, or perhaps it was seeing how well his fellow competitors were doing and witnessing the growing gap of points each program put between his own and the podium. Whatever it was, it had finally drove the skater over the edge, and Viktor, despite all his efforts, couldn't do anything to stop it.
He had seen the urgency in Yuuri's eyes before he took to the ice, witnessed that cold look of desperation and longing screaming in his expression.
And what did he do instead of verbally addressing the problem? He fucking kissed the poor skater.
The gesture had always put the Japanese skater at ease before, calming him more than words ever could, but Viktor remembered pulling away that time and seeing something much more shocking than the usual tender fear. He saw a lonely Yuuri drowning in his eyes.
Viktor, being inexperienced as a coach, simply continued to encourage Yuuri out onto the ice with a nod and a smile. It was like working with a puppy. As long as you stayed confident and positive, the young dog would learn to trust you, to build their own confidence through yours.
Had he known what was coming, however, perhaps he would have never let Yuuri on the ice that night.
"Viktor, dear? Are you alright?"
Viktor didn't know how long he had been standing there, facing the dark grate of the vending machine, but he only just realized that he was clutching the sides with a dangerous amount of force, making his knuckles turn white and his palms sweaty. He immediately let go, cursing, and turned towards the gentle voice reluctantly.
Yuuri's mother, Mrs. Katsuki was standing behind him, her hand reaching for his shoulder. Just the sight of her, the familiar dark eyes and soft, concerned face was enough to make Viktor want to break down in tears and fall into the welcoming arms of the Hasetsu woman- but he managed to stay upright and composed. Somehow.
Running a hand through his disheveled hair, Viktor took a deep breath.
"Mrs. Katsuki, it's good to see you. I'm alright, really. . .how was your flight out here?" Viktor sighed softly, turning to hug the Japanese woman.
Yuuri's mother eagerly accepted the embrace, and, ducking her head to hide her tears, clutched at the Russian's shoulders with a stifled sob. "It was too long to bear. Where is he? Which room? Has he woke yet?"
Viktor didn't know how to answer. He felt guilty for believing he could possibly be in any more pain the mother of his fiancee, but now, holding her close to him and hearing her soft sobs, the coach knew just how wrong he had been.
Had he been in her position, watching what should have been Katsuki Yuuri's breakthrough performance from home, thousands of miles away, Viktor knew he would have been just as much of a mess, perhaps even more so.
His throat closing at the thought, Viktor swallowed and put on his best smile, slowly pulling out of the mother's quivering arms. At some point Mr. Katsuki and Mari, Yuuri's father and sister, had come up behind them, and he turned to speak to all of them, his voice wavering.
"Yuuri's condition is stable as of now. They cleaned up the cut and stapled the fracture on the back of his head, but he hasn't woken up yet. . .I'm sorry. I got him here as quick as I could, but he lost a lot of blood in the process."
A lot was an under exaggeration.
The T.V. cameras probably hadn't caught sight of it all due the angle of the shot, but Viktor had been there, crouching in the pool of his fiancee's blood.
Viktor couldn't get to Yuuri fast enough that night. The second his student showed no signs of getting up, lying motionlessly out on the ice, he was running, slipping, falling, sliding as fast as he could across the rink. It didn't matter that he had no skates on, nor did it matter how many times he practically face planted in the ice in the struggle to reach the Japanese skater on the farthest end of the rink.
All that mattered was that he got there and that Yuuri was ok. Gods above he had to be ok.
Yuuri wasn't a quitter. The whole world knew that by now. No matter how many times he flubbed his jumps or missed a step in the sequence, he always came back twice as hard and three times as determined. So the second he had fallen and he didn't move to get up, didn't move at all, Viktor assumed only the worst.
By the time he had gotten to Yuuri, the ice around his head was stained blood, which had become a steady flow from the unconscious skater's head, was no longer being absorbed into the ice and was beginning to pool on the surface, a warm and sticky puddle.
Viktor took one look at his katsudon's beautiful face, riddled in a frozen pain, and broke right then and there. Everything around him had faded into darkness, and the only thing the Russian champion could see was the blood. He didn't know when it was that the officials had gotten there, or how long they had been speaking to him when they gently pulled Yuuri's limp body from his arms, but Viktor knew one thing.
They were terrified of him. He was a raging mess of tears and curse words, splattered with blood that was not his own. Though everyone at the rink knew that the blood was not his own, the quantity of scarlet staining his clothes was large enough that the paramedics checked him just to be sure. It was a waste of his time and had only earned the medical officials an angrier Viktor.
Even Yakov, who rarely showed any emotion besides pride or disappointment, was careful to keep his distance from his former pupil, a glimmer of fear lighting his dark eyes as watched the heart-wrenching scene unfold.
It was terrifying, almost as terrifying as Yuuri's injury, to see his former coach of all people treat him as if he were an uncontrollable monster. He never wanted to see that fear in anyone's eyes ever again- not if it was for him.
From beside him, Mrs. Katsuki let out another long sob, pulling him back to the present. Her husband draped a gentle arm around her shoulder, pulling the Hasetsu woman closer, and Mari offered a gentle squeeze of the shoulder, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes as well.
Viktor turned his head, unable to bear seeing the agony that crossed each of their expression's any longer. "I'm sorry."
Sorry would never be enough, and he knew it. But there was nothing else he could say at this time- he had never been good at comforting others.
His jaw clenched, he looked at the floor, ashamed he could offer little to the suffering family.
The four of them stood in silence a moment longer, listening to Mrs. Katsuki's sniveling with quiet sympathy, and Viktor thought he was going to go mad in the deafening silence, until a new voice quieted everything but the beating of their hearts.
"Are you Nikiforov, Viktor?" A flustered nurse appeared behind him, clutching at a weathered clipboard with trembling hands.
"That's me." He responded almost too quickly, a flicker of hope drying the tears he had not realized he was shedding.
The woman's expression darkened a bit and she bit her lip, but wasted no time in turning heel and taking off down the hall, gesturing for him to follow. "It's Yuuri Katsuki. He's awake."
She didn't need to say those words twice.
Viktor was peeling after her the moment his name left her lips, and by the sound of footsteps thundering behind him, the Katsuki family was on his heel.
The race to Yuuri's room felt much longer than a few seconds and the whole time Viktor fought to breathe, his lungs straining with anticipation.
It hadn't occurred to him that he had barreled past the nurse now, leaving her to stumble to catch up. She was screaming something after him, her voice high with warning, but none of that mattered now. His katsudon was awake and nothing was going to stop him from seeing him.
The second he burst through the door, Viktor could sense that something was off. It might have been the dim lighting of the room or perhaps the stale air, but it wasn't important.
Yuuri was there in the corner, sitting upright in the bed. His beautiful dark eyes sparkled with disbelief at the sight of Viktor charging him and his pale face was flushing unnaturally.
The Russian simply assumed it was because of how happy he was to see him, how embarrassed he was by the injury, but Viktor had never been so wrong in his life.
With a gentle leap, Viktor threw himself at the Japanese skater and pulled him into a hug.
"Yuuri!" He cried, peppering the boy's face with dozens of kisses before finally capturing the skater's mouth in his desperately.
He was alive, he was well, everything was going to be ok and god, did he mention how much he missed the way Yuuri smelled, the way he tasted- and then, the inevitable.
Yuuri let out a god awful scream and Viktor was thrown off the bed, stumbling back in disbelief. He hit the ground awkwardly, a sharp pain in his wrist registering somewhere in the back of his mind, but nothing was compared to the pain of his lover's rejection.
What was worse still was that Yuuri was looking down at him the same way Yakov had in the rink. Viktor's heart hammered and he became dizzy with realization. No.
His fiancee's eyes reflected the fear of a monster. Him.
Merry almost Christmas everyone! And if you don't celebrate Christmas, Happy Holidays and an early Happy Birthday to Viktor Nikiforov himself.
Sorry for being a bit late on my update, but with the holidays this weekend life has been hectic. I won't be updating again until sometime next week when I get my life back into order, and I might do a special Christmas chapter as well ;)
Also, thank you for all the lovely reviews! I love to hear your feedback and I am willing to adjust accordingly if you want shorter chapters or certain points of view. Just send in a review! It also helps me improve as a writer, so thank you everyone who sent one in.
I hope you're enjoying the story so far. Stay tuned for another chapter in Yuuri's POV. What is going on in that kid's head? Does he even recognize Viktor? Stay tuned ;)