II


"Again!"

Seventeen-year-old Victor spun on the ice like there was no tomorrow. His head was scrunched into a position that must've looked graceful from the outside but hurt in a way he felt as if his muscles were to rip apart. The next was the spin; the same damn programme again and again.

And ta-daa. It's over, it's finally over. He mumbled to himself, gasping for breath.

"Ridiculous, Vitya," the man at the side of the rink sneered, "Look at you. So weak. So fragile. You sure you didn't rig the final to get the gold? Now, now. Don't look at me like a dying whale. Again!"

Victor gritted his teeth. His left foot was burning with a large blister near the ankle. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and pulled his hair back into a messy bun, gliding across the rink to square one position. It was only yesterday that the GPF gala ended, and they had booked an immediate flight back. The rink was empty; all the people he had known – even within St. Petersburg – were out on vacation.

Then came another batch of yelling. "What do you think you are doing?! Come on, start over!"

Victor stared at the shadow of the man falling on the ice. It has been a while since Victor had stopped looking this man in the eye.

This man was his father.

Throwing back at the memories, Victor isn't even sure if he remembers his face. The man sure had an intimidating gait, that didn't stir even after he was confined to the wheelchair, tubes in his nostrils that helped him breathe, silver hair that didn't shine, and eyes – it's where Victor's memory got distorted the most – he had eyes like that of a demon: so red it almost dripped blood, and terrifying.

So terrifying.


"Victor? Are you okay? You look lost..."

He snaps back to reality. Yuuri is gazing at him over his glasses confusedly, as if he just watched Victor rise from the dead. It's half time at the movie, and people are struggling to get through the balcony, scampering to and fro. Victor scratches the back of his head. "Huh?"

Yuuri chuckles, "You're not really watching, are you?"

To tell the truth, Victor isn't even sure he remembers the name of the movie. "Let's get out of here," he suggests instead.

He wants to wonder if he saw a wheelchair in the movie that triggered his trance, but suddenly he's too busy observing the boy he is walking with along the pavement, passing countless lamp lights and cutesy shops. It seems Yuuri isn't much of a talker; there's no need of small talk to ease the situation – just watching his doe eyes light up at the sight of every certain shop passing brings in a strange sense of comfort.

Victor hasn't ever faced this before. People are always in search of constant validation, recurring pointless subjects just to keep that big fake smile on their faces, all the babble and chatter and ever-changing masks.

Yuuri is different. It's almost mystifying.

"Uhm, Victor," Yuuri begins, "You never told me what you thought of my performance yesterday."

Wow. All this time Victor wants to talk, but the moment the boy asks a question, he has so much to tell he is all of a sudden out of words. "It-it was really good," he does a double-take.

"Oh," Yuuri sounds a little disappointed, "Thanks."

"No, I mean - well," Victor has never struggled with words before, "It was really amazing. There were some technical faults but -"

He stops at what sounds like a little scoff from Yuuri. He prods, "What?"

"Happens everytime," says Yuuri, "All the reasons why I never medal at the Nationals."

He is underestimating himself. Victor protests, "That's not true."

"That's okay. I really don't care," he laughs lightly, "Hey, you want ice-cream?"

Victor remains unmoving against the lamp post even as Yuuri jogs ahead into an ice-cream parlour like it's almost what he has been looking for all his life. For some reason, Victor is so shaken he is almost unable to comprehend, much less the silhouette of the skater struggling with the door and two cones of ice-cream in either hand.

A skater who doesn't care if he doesn't win a medal?

"Here," Yuuri hands him one, "Sorry, after I bought them I realised I should've asked you what flavour you want..."

"You can't not care," Victor's mind is still stuck at the past beat. What Yuuri said is almost offensive; even if it has now become a part of Victor's life he doesn't want to associate with, it still stung. It felt as if Yuuri is spitting on twenty years of Victor's hard-earned glory.

Yuuri is a little embarrassed, "I didn't - I meant, it's the same thing all over everytime. Rules, regulations, repetition... you win one year and the next year someone else does, and no one even remembers you. Because of shit like this, skating itself loses its colour. I dunno, I just kind of baffles me."

You baffle me, Katsuki Yuuri.

"Who am I kidding though," Yuuri laughs as if he cracked an inside joke, "I don't really have the nerves to handle that kind of pressure."

How can this guy be so self-deprecating while shattering Victor's whole belief-system at the same time? Sometimes, Victor is too stunned to reply. He wants to listen. He wants to listen even more. Too bad Yuuri is a man of few words. Victor shrugs and paces ahead. "Where d'you live, Yuuri?" He tries to bring in other concerns.

"Right about the corner," Yuuri tells him, "It's a small apartment - hey, you have ice-cream on your chin."

Before Victor can, Yuuri reaches out to wipe it off with his thumb. When their skin make contact, Victor can't help but sense a quiver of electricity; he sees those curious brown eyes look up at him, they're so magnetising he can't shift the gaze... what is this nonsensical feeling... what is this strange palpitation inside his chest; it's a force that is blowing him away, breaking him brick by brick, building him anew.

Bringing colour to his monotone.

"I should head back," Yuuri breaks the moment, and for the lack of a better response, pulls out his phone, checks it and grins, "Mila's on a texting rampage. Uh, hey, there's some kind of banquet like thing tomorrow evening at the skating club. I'll see you there, right?"

Victor nods without thinking, and watches the boy pass, strands of his black hair swaying along the strong wind, his glasses flashing against the lamp light.

This spring sure is different. The kind that comes once in a lifetime.


"Oh, sure. When I asked, you said you have better things to do." Yuri grumbles under his breath, struggling with his bowtie and pulling out rough threads from his cuffs.

"I said yes, I couldn't take it back," Victor reasons sheepishly, "Look at you, putting in all the effort. D'you have a girlfriend at the club?"

"Shut up."

"Boyfriend?"

"Hey, fuck off, maybe?"

The party is at the club's community hall; it's brightly lit and playing jazz and bustling with people. Victor shows his guest card at the door, his heart pounding at the thought of facing a piece of his past again – so many skaters together in the same room, talks about scores and routines and the ice, et al; the last time he entered a competition, he wasn't in a mental state good enough to attend the after-party.

That competition.

"Victor!?"

When he turns, he is legitimately abashed. Just when he is reminiscing about it, he catches the attention of one of his former rivals, one of the many hundreds who witnessed him stop in the middle of the music, fall on his knees and start bawling like a child under the spotlight, five years ago.

"Chris! Haven't seen you in a while," Victor stretches out a convincing smile.

"Same here," the blond guy with an undercut, known for his notoriously sexy skating programmes, flutters his eyelashes even as he talks, "Since when have you been loitering in Detroit? I thought you're still at St. Petersburg, nice retirement life and all."

Victor has done everything to escape that past, that hell. "Almost a year," he answers.

"In the skating circles again, huh?" Chris smirks, "What are you thinking? Joining the association, or maybe coaching that Russian kid? He's really good. Though it hasn't been the same since you're gone..."

"Yuuri!"

It comes out automatically as soon as Victor notices a figure entering the hall, over Chris's shoulder. Yuuri looks the direction his name is called at; he is wearing a grey suit and a blue tie so unfashionable Victor thinks it should be burnt in a bonfire. For some reason, he doesn't seem to be his usual self; he seems dejected, even as he coldly turns his back and walks the other direction.

It pricks like a needle. He didn't even wave.

Yuri joins in from nowhere, a slice of pizza in his hand, and voices Victor's thoughts, "Jeez, what's up with the piggy?"


This party is such a drag.

Even more so because word has spread that "Victor Nikiforov is here," and people can't stop hogging at him. It feels like a dull, endless, pointless journey, from people to people, putting on countless appearances, fake smiles, talking of things he doesn't want to be reminded of. By the end of it, he is sitting at the bar counter, exhausted.

Somewhere between his ordeals, he has glanced at Yuuri's lone figure at a corner bingeing on champagne. He wants to ask what the deal is, but right now Yuuri is nowhere to be seen.

"I can't pass for nineteen?!"

Victor turns his head. It's Yuri, his arms akimbo, furious over something. It takes a second for Victor to realise Yuri is genuinely asking him.

"You're fifteen. You get called by Yurio. You like to wear cat headbands in your spare time. Wait," Victor screws his eyebrows, "are you trying to get a hand on the liquor?"

"Nah," he sighs, "It's a guy – what's going on over that side?"

Victor peeks ahead. Across the hall at the other side, right under the chandelier, there is a pole (it wasn't there before, was it, Victor can't possibly remember), there is a curious crowd, and right before them is a very excited young man, animatedly narrating something.

"Yuuri?!"

Maybe the sound reverberates in that hall, or the distance isn't as much as Victor assumed, because the man happens to have heard it and is now walking towards them. It is, indeed, Yuuri. But his blazer is gone, the knot of his tie is loosened, he has a bottle of champagne in one hand and is grinning for no reason.

Oh no, he is drunk.

"... And that... that is how my career ended... partner dumped... career ended," he is practically slurring at this point.

"What the hell, pig?!" Yuri yells at him.

"Pig? Who you calling pig, huh, chickpea? You... think you better...? You think... you have moves... lil' kitty?"

Unfortunately, it doesn't take a lot to rile up an already riled-up Yuri. "Are you actually challenging me?"

Yuuri laughs, "Yeppp."

"Arrgghrrrr..."

"Skate off! We'll skate off! Nononono... No ice here. Whatta shame. Dance off, then!" Yuuri is absolutely stoked at the idea, even as he points to a random guest in the crowd, "You, yes, you, can you please get the music louder? We are... -hic- about to have a dance off right now."

"Tch, I'm not embarrassing myself," says the kid Yuri. Although his fiercely pulling off his coat and handing it to Victor and stepping ahead tells otherwise.

"So the Russian punk chickens out. Anyoooone else?"

The next thing Victor knows is the glorious spectacle of the two Yuris trying to outdo each other at hip-hop in front of a partly-cheering, partly-shocked crowd. Competition after-parties are supposed to be boring, formal affairs. This kind of craziness is usually... not allowed. If only that'll stop them.

What makes it even funnier is that Yuuri seems to be low-key stripping with every big move without even realising it. Victor pulls out his cell phone immediately. Click click click. This is too fun to not join.

Eventually Yuri runs out on stamina. The Japanese is the clear winner, and only if he stops at that.

"Sweet Moses, it's my turn now!" It is Chris this time, and to everyone but Victor's disbelief, Chris has already thrown his shirt and trousers aside, flexing his muscular biceps and challenging Yuuri to get on that pole. That pole. Is that a makeshift pole? Did Chris bring it hoping something like this will happen? Victor knows Chris too well; he can totally buy that theory.

Down and defeated, Yuri is now scandalised at the sight before him. "What... the... actual fuck... is going on?"

Victor probably doesn't even register his words; he watches Yuuri and Chris climbing onto that pole, stretching out into poses even as the current dance-off transgresses into a partnership instead. He stares at the Japanese boy, now only in a tie and boxers, holding up Chris's body and his own by a mere arm, his eyes narrowed into a seductive smoulder.

This crazy, sexy, no-holds-barred party animal is the same guy who was struggling to put his thoughts into place last evening, isn't he?

"It's ... my turrrn now," Yuuri announces loudly; the tie has somehow reached to forehead, tied about like a bandana. "I challenge..." he is looking around for options while someone hands him back his shirt, "I challenge you, Vic-Victor Nikiforov!"

Oh, shit, he's pointing at me.

Suddenly, Yuuri makes a U-turn and begins to walk towards him. Victor stands frozen, as if his feet are glued to the floor, his heart thumping like it will crack out of his ribcage. Yuuri breaks into a laugh; his eyes are wide and full of wonder even as he launches himself on Victor, hanging by his neck, rubbing himself against his body.

"Victor - Victor Nikiforov - I'm your biggest fan, Victor. You're my friend, aren't you, Victor? You're Friend A," Yuuri chuckles, staring into him. He's reeking of alcohol; he brings his face so close their noses are almost touching, "You'll dance with me, right? My family runs an onsen at Hasetsu, you'll visit us, right? If I... if I -hic- if I win this dance off, you'll be my coach, right? Be my coach, Victor!"

Victor gasps.

Katsuki Yuuri.

Katsuki Yuuri is a nervous stuttering mess, often moody, tactless, even cold – insane, seductive, shamelessly brazen when drunk – he cannot leave a good first impression to save his life. But he is breathtaking. He is beautiful. And he is making him an offer to return where Victor has forbidden himself to, in a manner he can't refuse.

God, Victor, you are in deep, deep trouble.


Sooo I've been searching about for ideas, and I guess I have some ideas now about how to go with this story. I'll try to upload chapters faster, I've been really busy, college and whining about being nowhere in life, lol. Tell me how it was!