Author Notes: First, I want to thank everyone who has left warm and encouraging comments from the last chapter. I really, truly appreciate it. I really hope that this story will not disappoint you, and that you will continue to read through the coming chapters. I also wanted to mention that you may have noticed the chapter number has been brought from 3 to 4- there are a lot of reasons for this, the most important being that I did not want to rush the story. The more I wrote the more the characters dictated their actions. So, instead of cutting things I thought important, I decided to add another chapter. It may happen again, or it may not. I haven't made the decision yet.
Now, about the not so fun stuff...
Unfortunately, not all the comments were so nice. The amount of vitriolic abuse I have taken for writing this story is mind-boggling, in addition to belittling. I have decided to ignore the accusations that I am somehow a homophobe, a pedophile (whaaaaaaat?) and that I took this story as 'a joke.' There is clearly nothing funny about my writing. I would also like to state that the fact that people have threatened to "dig" up my personal information is terrifying and unacceptable. I do take that as a threat.
In addition, yes- I am aware that someone has copy/pasted my story and replaced words and names. It is ridiculous and pathetic, and not worth my attention. It shouldn't be worth yours, either.
As always, comments that devolve into hate will be deleted. I don't have the time and energy to fight stupidity.
Links will be found in the end notes.
Onto other stuff!
I have decided that the anime itself is a great show of the beginnings of their romantic interest in one another, and opted against just rewriting scenes that we already have seen, instead focusing on what I think is more important. There are spoilers throughout all aired episodes.
Hasetsu does not exist in real life, but was heavily influenced by Karatsu, Saga Prefecture.
The doctor's office in this chapter actually exists in real life, though it is not in Fukuoka. Anyone who lives in Tokyo will probably be able to recognize this particular clinic, so I guess it is an Easter Egg of sorts.
More notes as well as annotations and a running Q/A are available on my Tumblr! You can follow me at rsasai
"Vitya! Don't do this! Can't we talk?"
Viktor looked over his shoulder, the snow caressing his cheek like a lover. The nip at his nose made Viktor smile, and it was the closest to alive he felt in months. He could taste the cold in the air, like a promise of sweet dreams when he laid his head on his pillow. He hadn't had a good dream since the doctor drew out black tar from his veins.
"Yakov, you are the best coach I ever had. Nothing will change that."
"If you walk away now, you can never come back." There was something in his words, a feeling of finality. Viktor turned and walked forward through the snow, following his footsteps backward. He dropped his luggage at his side. It was one bag-just enough to tide him over until his boxes arrived in Japan- but it felt like he filled it with bricks. The thud of hitting the snow reminded Viktor of the sound of the dirt he threw down on the caskets of his mother and father.
"Dasvidaniya. I'm sorry but this time I can't do as you say." He kissed the man's cheek, feeling his warm, gnarled skin against his chapped lips. He needed the man to know, to understand.
"Why do you do this to an old man?"
Viktor laughed. It was filled with relief, of breathiness and life. "Because this old man understands. I need... I need to find a reason to live. I wake in the morning and I have no reason. The doctors and the medicine... I think she was right, this season is over for me."
Viktor reached up and pulled up the zipper to his jacket. "This year I will find my inspiration."
"But what will I do without you?"
"Take care of Yuri. He isn't going to be happy I am leaving. And make sure that Georgi doesn't lose his mind completely. The tabloids have those pictures of his girlfriend making eyes with other men. You know how he gets."
The groan that Yakov let out warmed up a part of Viktor and he had to fight back his own laugh.
"That bastard will be the end of me. He's been asking for more attention for years. But you are the best skater in the country, Viktor. I know you want to make it to the Olympics, but if you drop this year you may not be able to compete."
But his mind was made up, and Viktor could not allow the man the false hope. "Yakov... we both know it. My career is dead."
"Don't say such foolish things, Vitya. You are young and you will get better."
Yet it was still an open, gaping wound that had yet to scab over, and the feeling of guilt ate at his insides. With Mikael refusing to answer any of his calls... Viktor was tempted to just leave a message on his phone, but if anyone else heard they would no doubt sell it to the papers. It was a punch to the gut to know that if he left it, if anything bad happened to Mikael and his wife, it would be on him.
What could he do? What was left?
Viktor pushed away the thoughts of Mikael and his blonde wife. Having spent the past three months as a recluse, hiding from the light, Viktor needed something bigger. He needed a promise, a future.
And that was Yuri Katsuki.
"I need to do this. Please, forgive me."
"Pain in my ass."
Viktor sighed and reached up to adjust his own scarf. He needed to keep his hands busy, to keep himself grounded. "There is another thing I must ask. I need a favor."
Yakov blinked and shot out his hand to cover his face as a particularly powerful gale knocked the snow into his eyes. "Vitya, what do you need?"
Viktor pursed his lips. "Can you start depositing my earnings into my Swiss account?" It was shameful to think that his government was capable of such cruelty, but it already showed that it had little qualms with doing it to others. When Mother Russia wanted blood, she got it.
The idea of being stripped of his entire life and livelihood was... It was possible. "The last thing I need is to be left with nothing to care for myself."
Yakov nodded but acquiesced. "They wouldn't do such a thing to you, Vitya. You are a star. The people love you, they would never hear a word against you."
Yet all Viktor could see was the photo of Mikael and his bride walking down a never-ending aisle, hand in hand. The press loved them, too...
"Yakov, do you remember last year when 7 Days and Girl's Tears published those pictures?"
Of course it would be difficult for Yakov to not remember the chaos that rained down over their heads during those few weeks the year before. Two of the hottest girl magazines published a few pictures of Viktor and Mikael Loskov drunkenly walking the streets of Moscow. No one could forget the firestorm that blew through burned down everything in its wake.
Viktor could still remember the feeling of a gentle breeze and warmth in his belly when Mikael grabbed his hand and pressed him against a stone building. They were out of sight, but still the cameras were able to get a few angled shots. If he held his breath, Viktor could almost feel the soccer player's lips against his.
"You told me you got sick and he was helping you."
Viktor broke eye contact with his coach. "I... I'm sorry, Dedushka. I knew you would be angry."
"He is married, Viktor. What were you thinking?"
The anger was expected. Yakov always told him to never play with a married woman. He should have taken those words to heart.
"I wasn't thinking… He said he was going to leave her."
Yakov snorted. "Do not trust men who say they will leave their wives, because if they were going to they would have done it. They wouldn't need to say it."
Viktor pulled at his sleeve. "I know... I know, now."
The magazines and blogs exploded. Viktor hoped that it would have been the perfect chance for Mikael to gather himself and just answer with the truth. While homosexuality was considered to be incredibly taboo, being with another man wasn't illegal... not technically.
But Viktor knew it was a pipe dream then, just as he knew it now. Mikael could have lost his job, lost his sponsorships, lost the chance to play for Russia in the future. It was the same thing Viktor feared, the same reason he bit his own tongue and refused commenting to set the record straight when his lover came forward in a magazine, laughing the matter off with a wave of his hand.
Oh, that night. Viktor was drunk and vomited everywhere. He can't handle his liquor. I find it offensive you would call me a petukh and I am sure Viktor would feel the same. Don't confuse friendship for that nonsense. My wife doesn't find it funny, and neither do I. Maybe Viktor does, but he has always had a strange sense of humor.
"Did you tell him about this?"
Viktor shook his head. "He won't answer my calls. There is nothing I can do but continue calling, even if he won't pick up the phone." Nothing short of Viktor showing up at the man's front door would get Mikael's attention, and he wasn't willing to go so far. Getting punched in the face again would hardly be something unexpected.
"I... I don't know what will happen if I..."
If I got him sick.
It was hard for Viktor to formulate the words, and he let the sentence linger on the tip of his tongue before he took in another deep breath and closed his mouth. He pulled his top lip with his teeth and shuffled from one foot to the other.
"You have done your best, Vitya. What will happen will happen, you cannot control it. It is in God's hands, now."
God's hands.
God's hands shaped him, shaped the disease in his blood, shaped the world to hate and fear.
God's hands were not kind.
God was dead.
But Viktor only nodded to his coach and gave the man one last pat on the arm, drawing comfort from the scowl on the older man's face. "I hope you are right, and I hope he is kind."
Viktor had hope, despite the bleakness of the Russian landscape. He always liked Japan-the warm breeze, the sweet smell of trees that tucked away hidden treasures. Yuri Katsuki brought him a rush and thrill of something that was long ago missing, like the sun in the Russian tundra.
So, he picked up his things and continued his way forward.
He could hear Yakov cursing, but it held none of the vitriol he expected.
Yakov was always full of surprises.
Yuri Katsuki was a gentle soul, but hiding inside him was a burning fire.
Viktor could see it in the way the man moved with unsure and awkward steps, his hands uncomfortably picking at his clothes and his nails, how he would stumble over his words, despite being well-versed in English. His English was probably better than Viktor's, having lived in America for so long, but still he would occasionally use the wrong word or forget what he wanted to say entirely.
It was only as to be expected, Viktor decided. He felt almost as tongue tied as Yuri was.
But that fire was there.
Viktor noticed it immediately. It wasn't in the way his lips trembled before he noticed, but the determination that pulled them taut against his teeth when he did. His nose flared when Viktor questioned whether or not he could handle the pressure, even when his fingers picked at his cuticles until he saw the pink, fresh skin laid bare to the world.
It was open, vulnerable, wild.
Under his cute fluff and fear was something, someone, Viktor wanted to meet.
It took time to crack open the shell, and when it all came forth, Viktor realized he was already in over his head.
There was something that washed over him the moment the man looked up at him through dark lashes and deep brown eyes in the onsen. It spoke to him in a way that nothing had before, and Viktor knew that Yuri was his salvation and his damnation and everything in between. He couldn't form words, collect his thoughts, rationalize his decisions.
It was at Onsen on Ice when Viktor knew he was teetering on the balance, knew that one wrong step would send him over the edge. The whirlwind performance with the only purpose being to make Viktor proud, he had realized there was no hiding from it, not from himself at least. He knew how to hide from others, but admitting it to himself made his stomach churn and all he wanted was to rest his head upon the ice and allow it to sap out the fire from his body.
Instead he allowed Yuri to wrap his arms around him, and he could only accept it.
When Yuri, sweet and shy Yuri put his hand to his hair-that was the moment Viktor knew Yuri felt the same. Such a small touch, but to Yuri it may as well have been moving a mountain. It was the first time Yuri had dared to reach out and touch him of his own accord without thought or the desperation that has been their hug before Onsen on Ice. Yuri had been too afraid that Viktor would disappear.
Viktor feared it, too.
Fidelity.
Fires burned hot and fast, then sizzled out at the chance of rain.
No one stayed for long.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Viktor rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and yawned, moving his shoulders to get rid of the kink that worked its way into his muscles. No doubt a good massage would have helped, but there wouldn't be any time that day. It felt like the rain pounding against his window would break the panes of glass, but they held firm.
Saga Prefecture was a beautiful place, but the language barrier was something that made him want to pull out his hair. He hadn't thought of it, Viktor admitted to himself. He figured that Yuri would live somewhere close to Tokyo, and only after arriving at Haneda Airport did he realize the mistake. Oh, and what a mistake it was. It meant once a month Viktor had to make up an excuse to find his way to Fukuoka, the largest city in Kyushu, to see more doctors and to have his blood drawn.
Each time left Viktor exhausted; it was three hour round trip for an hour of time spent in the clinic. It was a nice place; there was a small area of rainbow puzzle mats in the corner where children laughed and played as their parents sat on nearby brown chairs. There was almost always a young foreigner there when Viktor made his visits, usually hiding in the corner while playing nervously with their phone. It made Viktor sweat when he saw them across the waiting room, and it became a custom to wear one of Yuri's hoodies to the office to help hide his face.
"This is one of the only places in Fukuoka with English-speaking staff," the doctor explained as he snapped a tourniquet around his arm. "The university is only a few blocks away. Don't mind them, and they won't mind you."
It was only a bit of a comfort to take away the sting as the needle slid , Yuri's thin jacket brought him comfort on those days, usually rolled up in his lap, a reminder of what was at home at the end of the day.
During his doctor visit days, Viktor told Yuri to spend his time off the ice, to use the time to help his family or spend it with his friends. The man would shuffle his shoulders when Viktor asked how his day went, so it wasn't hard for him to guess that Yuri spent most of the day staring longingly at Ice Castle Hasetsu, wishing for his skates to meld with the ice when Viktor returned.
Yuri once tried to ask where Viktor went on those days, but Viktor quieted the question by slipping his hand under Yuri's cheek, running his thumb against the curve of his jaw. The Japanese man melted under his touch and Viktor only felt a little guilty using his sensuality against his unsuspecting victim.
Today was the same. Viktor smiled as he gently rested his hand against the small of Yuri's back at breakfast, watching at Yuri's cheeks reddened at the touch. Viktor didn't mean to tease, but for some reason the wave of comfort that came from Yuri's skin made the guilt wash away.
Then reality would always reveal itself.
"It's raining pretty hard today." Yuri adjusted his legs under him and Viktor watched as the man's shirt rode up, leaving a peak of the soft flesh of his stomach. There were stretch marks against the skin reminding Viktor of nails biting into his back, and he looked away. Yuri, sweet Yuri who never experienced the action of a lover scratching passion into his skin... he had no idea how alluring he was.
Yuri was healthy. Yuri was whole.
"We should go to the Ice Castle, I have an idea for my skate at the Nationals next week. I want to see if I can get the quad Salchow..." But then Yuri frowned when Viktor pulled back his hand.
"Sorry, Yuri. I have to go into the city."
Viktor could see the disappointment in Yuri's eyes and he could not tell quite what had upset him more-the loss of the warmth of his hand or the loss of his wisdom in skating for the day.
"Can I go with you?"
Viktor swallowed and put his hands on the table, staring determinedly at the rice bowl set in
front of him. He knew this question would come one day, and the thought of denying Yuri something as simple as traveling with him into Fukuoka made a part of him hurt. Yuri wouldn't be angry, but he would no doubt be disappointed... and more than disappointment, there would be wonder. Why not? What was in Fukuoka that Viktor wanted to hide from the world?
"I... I don't think that is a good idea, Yuri." He tried to smile, but all he could see out of the corner of his eye was Yuri's frown.
Yuri reached down and pulled at his shirt, hiding the sliver of skin from Viktor's sight.
It was for the best.
"It'll only be a few hours. Spend the time with your friend Yuko and the girls. I'm sure they'd appreciate the time with you, ya?"
"I guess. I just... I thought you would want to spend some time together."
The words stung. Viktor reached out and rested his hand against Yuri's but was not surprised when his student pulled away. Hurt, yes, but not surprised.
Viktor smiled sadly as he got to his feet and reached out to ruffle Yuri's hair, feeling the thick strands brush against his fingers the way a painter stroked his brushes against paper. "You're like a Monet," Viktor whispered loud enough for Yuri to hear. "Don't be mad. I'll see you later."
Viktor slid the door open, but turned when he heard Yuri's voice.
"Viktor..."
The way his name rolled off Yuri's tongue hit him somewhere unknown, somewhere he thought died with his diagnosis. It was a little silly to have such a reaction to a word. Perhaps it was the Japanese accent, where his name came out breathy like a lover would whisper in the throes of passion. It was erotic and innocent, a contradiction and a conundrum that made Viktor's heart swell until the realization that his feelings were no doubt mutual.
This was what love felt like, and in the night all he could do was dream of Yuri- of kissing, of touching, of allowing their bodies to entwine in passion and ecstasy. He could feel the heaviness between his legs as their mouths met with hunger and need, and the way sweet Yuri opened himself up to the other man. He hid nothing.
And Viktor would wake crying, Makkachin curled at his feet as his body shook with sobs and the humiliation of finding cum sticky on his thighs. It was pearly white, a mockery of colors.
The night sweats were mostly gone, but on those nights they always reared their ugly head, soaking the bed down to the futon below. Rather than admit to Yuri's mother the issue, instead he bought a plastic sheet and changed his own bed things, hiding the wet fabric in the washing machine before she had the chance to do it herself.
She would always pat him on the cheek and call him "Sweetie boy," one of the few words she could speak in English. It made Viktor smile and push down the truth that wanted to tumble out. But he never did; her sweet smile as she handed him new sheets reminding him of Sunday mornings long gone.
"Yuri, don't worry about it. Enjoy your day off and I'll meet you for dinner. You can tell me about your plans then."
Yuri gave a stiff nod and returned to picking at his rice bowl.
Viktor tried to hide his feelings as he made his way back up to his room and changed his clothing, making sure to grab the small folding umbrella he picked up from a local shop, putting the strap around his wrist. Before leaving he set in his earphones and zipped up his thin jacket. It was summer and the air was like steam from the hot spring, but no doubt the coming of autumn and the rain would make it colder in the afternoon and into the night.
He slipped on his shoes and headed out toward the station, listening to the soft melodies of potential songs for Yuri's future Long Skate. There were some ideas floating in his head, like little invisible pixies poking and pressing from every side, and it was difficult for Viktor to focus on anything but the disappointing frown on Yuri's face as he left. Every Axel and Lutz made him remember the look of devastation when he would fall to the ice after a bad landing.
Viktor wished there was another way, but he couldn't think of anything but lies. Sweet, happy lies that would make Yuri smile but would only hurt him in the end.
He was getting too close.
The trip went by quickly, the never-ending railway tracks giving Viktor time to think, time to come up with the best response to what was happening between him and Yuri.
Yuri had never been with a man or woman before, having dedicated so much of his life to the sport and to Viktor, a god upon a pedestal only meant to be worshipped from afar. It was hard at first to wrap his mind around; in theory, he understood he had fans. He met thousands upon thousands of them, even helped train a few in their junior years. He knew of the women and men who would throw themselves at his feet like bouquets, having picked up enough of them to have received the consequences as punishment.
But Yuri looked at him in a way that was wholly different to anything that Viktor ever experienced, in a way that made Viktor's lungs feel like they were breathing fire, evaporating away the moisture in the air.
He was life.
The rain was still strong as he walked from Hakata station up the winding side roads to the clinic, making sure to adjust his jacket to hide away his trademark silver-white hair. He took out his headphones and pocketed them. No one looked twice at him as he dodged a few people riding their bikes, the sounds of their bells chiming over the sound of the pouring rain.
When he arrived at the clinic he shut his umbrella and placed it on top of the stand, ducking under the walkway to avoid the splash of rain. He managed to get through the doors without any trouble, seeing the fog leave his fingerprints against the glass like a stain.
The clinic was on the third floor, but with the water on the steps he decided not to tempt fate, instead making his way to the elevator. It was a tight fit, barely enough room for two or three people, but it was enough for him.
Viktor thumbed the "3" on the panel and waited for the doors to close. Just as they began to shut something ran toward the elevator and grabbed hold of his wrist.
Yuri stared at him, his hair stuck to his face and shirt clinging to every inch of skin. His face was flushed and his breath came out in audible gasps, probably having run to catch up with him. There was a red stain across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and Viktor wondered what it would feel like if he rested his lips against the wet skin. Would it be as warm as it looked?
No. No. Yuri was what was good in the world, and Viktor knew that there was nothing he could give the other man but illness and death.
"Yuri? What are you doing here? I told you I would come back late-"
"Viktor."
The sweet rasp of his voice, the feeling of his warm hand against his arm, the way his eyes glowed with something Viktor saw only in his worst nightmares.
The door tried to close again, but when it hit Yuri's outstretched arm it pinged back open and Yuri pulled himself through and pushed himself against Viktor, pressing his lips against the other man's mouth.
Viktor felt his heart gallop into his throat and he fought the urge to throw Yuri off of him, to buck away like Yuri once did to him not so long ago when he had gotten too close.
It was what he should have done, it was what was right, but instead he found his hands reaching up to curl in Yuri's hair, feeling the strong hairs against the palms of his hands. He rested his head against the wall of the elevator and allowed Yuri's tongue to part his lips, giving away control just for a moment, just for that one moment.
He could feel his passion and Eros through the way Yuri pushed his hand against his chest and put the other against the wall near his head, though that hand quickly moved to push down his hood. It wasn't the best kiss Viktor received in his life; there was too much teeth and he could already feel the slick warmth of spit dribbling down his chin, but what Yuri lacked in experience he made up with in sheer unbridled enthusiasm.
It was the most sensual thing he ever experienced.
The elevator rode all the way up to the third floor and the doors opened then closed again before Viktor could pull himself away from Yuri.
"Yu-Yuri," he breathed out, wishing that he could have met the man in front of him sooner, could have promised him the world and all its wonders. He could have promised a lover who was healthy and safe, a set of strong arms to hold him close.
He was none of that now.
"Vikku," Yuri muttered as he leaned in again, resting his forehead against his. The black-haired man was shaking and he wasn't sure if it was from the water or from the kiss.
Viktor ran his hands from Yuri's hair down to his shoulders, feeling every tremor against his palms. "Yuri, no."
If a heart could have shattered in his hands, it would have. He could feel it in the way Yuri's legs seemed to lose some of their control and how his hands fell to his side. There was wetness of the rain against Yuri's cheeks and Viktor reached up to run his thumbs under his cheeks.
"I can't hurt you, Yuri. You're too special, too important to me. I can't..." Viktor wanted to cry; he hadn't cried while awake in so long, tried to keep his fears to himself. He wanted to hide the pain away in his love for skating, but when he got on the plane from St. Petersburg he hadn't expected Yuri to be the way he was.
At the Grand Prix, Viktor remembered the shock as Yuri turned his back to him, and he assumed that the boy was like the other Yuri-his head a little too high, a little too self-assured. Most of the videos of interviews were in Japanese, those that were in English had his coach do most of the talking. Viktor assumed, ignorantly so, that Yuri didn't want to bother wasting his time with the press, but it wasn't that case at all.
What he met was nothing like what he imagined, and Viktor was thankful for every moment of time he had to share with this Yuri, this shocking man that had already grown so much between the few months they spent together.
"How can you hurt me, Viktor?" Yuri whispered, his voice breaking the silence.
"I... I have to go in there, Yuri... You can wait for me. Can you do that?"
Yuri pulled their foreheads apart and hit his hand against the button to open the doors, allowing Viktor to get by, but at the last moment Viktor grabbed Yuri by the hand and pulled him out of the elevator. He held the hand as though it were the only thing between life and death.
Yuri gripped back just as strongly, and he had to fight the urge to look at Yuri's face. He couldn't break apart, not right there in the middle of the waiting room.
The young half-Japanese woman sitting at the rounded reception desk shot them a surprised look, though if it were at himself or Yuri he couldn't be sure. Her cheeks turned a shade of red as she stumbled out of her chair to bow.
"M-Mr. Nikiforov, g-glad you made it. Papa-I mean Doctor Fujimoto will be with you in a moment. You and your... friend ... can have a seat." She gestured toward the brown block chairs, though Yuri looked around uncomfortably as he dripped water on the floor.
"Ah... un... eto..." Yuri squeezed Viktor's hand. "Towel?" He asked the woman, who nodded and stood away from her chair, running into the back area, emerging with a handful of white towels that she handed over to Yuri.
Yuri let go of his hand to accept the towels, making sure to thank the woman in English, though it was clear they were both unsure of what to say to one another. It was cute, actually, watching the two using a language that was clearly not their native tongue to communicate just for his benefit.
The two headed toward the empty waiting area, Yuri dripping water every which way, making Viktor smile with each drip. They dried themselves quietly, Viktor rubbing the towel against the stain of water Yuri's chest left behind on his jacket. When he had done the best he could, he leaned over and rubbed the towel against Yuri's head.
"You're all wet," he muttered as he stroked the hair, feeling it bristle under his fingers. Yuri's hair was strong like horsehair, something Viktor never experienced before. His own hair was thin and soft, like a woman. It was both the reason he let his hair grow out and the reason he cut it when he left the Junior skating division. Looking too much like a woman brought about attention that was not safe.
His hand brushed across Yuri's skin and he pulled his hand back as quickly as possible, not wanting to bring any more shame to his student. He should have pulled away sooner, he knew that their relationship would never be able to work. He only gave false hope to the both of them.
Even his own heart beating in his chest wanted to break, but he couldn't let it. If it broke, he would give in to the feeling of Yuri's skin on his, their lips meeting, the passion and fire that was everything Viktor ever dreamed it would be.
And in his nightmares he would slither inside Yuri like the monster he was, full of taint and death.
"Viktor, why are we here? Are you sick?"
Viktor curled his hands around his knees and hunched forward. "I'll tell you, I promise."
"Is it bad?" There was a childish note to his voice, a lilt that reminded Viktor, again and again, that Yuri did not see the world the same way he did. His parents were alive, he was healthy, his world was whole. There was optimism in his voice, still. The world had yet to crush that out of him.
"If you're sick, we can take care of you- I can take care of you." There was panic, now.
The receptionist called his name and Viktor stood, unsurely looking at Yuri. He was shaking now, his entire frame wracked with panic. Viktor wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come out, and he remembered the silence of the beach. They were able to to click together so easily, to understand one another so fundamentally, and yet here they were-the chasm building between them.
Would Yuri want him to stay as his coach? Would he want to even look at him? Would this burn this comfortable, warm, perfect world down to the ground?
"Just... please wait for me."
Viktor reached out and ran his fingers across Yuri's forehead, pushing away some of the strands sticking to his skin. Knowing this may be his last chance, he leaned down and pressed his lips against the man's forehead, feeling the shaking subside. He tried to smile, but it was almost painful.
He pulled away and headed toward the doctor's office, unzipping his wet jacket. A young nurse smiled at him as she gestured to the chair. Having been going to this particular clinic for near six months, he knew she spoke only basic English, so he quickly removed his jacket and rested it on the nearby seat and took a seat in the other.
"Arm."
Viktor swallowed and nodded as he stretched out his arm and watched the woman pull out a tourniquet, wrapping the blue latex tight around his arm. It always burned when she did it, but he knew it wasn't her fault.
The veins below his skin seemed to pop up to the surface, sickly blue, and she wiped a cold alcohol pad against the crook of his arm. This nurse was his favorite. Despite not being able to communicate, she was fast and never once missed.
Viktor nearly threw up as the first gush of blood hit the plastic and he had to turn away from the sight. He could almost hear it filling and it rolled his stomach. She snapped off the tourniquet and pat his hand, wrapping a small blanket with little kittens around his shoulders with her free hand.
The process only took a few minutes, but by the time she collected her half a dozen tubes of blood, Viktor felt woozy. It could have been the blood, but he was still pretty sure that it had more to do with Yuri. Yuri, poor Yuri, sitting on the brown blocks outside, like a prisoner waiting to hear the judgement.
Yuri, trying to will his heart from breaking.
Life wasn't fair.
He watched the nurse as she pulled out the needle, seeing his red blood against the starkness of his skin. It still, even after six months, felt like black tar would come crawling out of his veins, but it was a little easier now to fight the urge to panic when he saw it. He tried to imagine a field of poppies, something that was beautiful and pure, something untainted by his hand.
She bandaged it with a little Rilakumma bandage, the bear staring up at him with big black dots for eyes. Viktor smiled as she pat his arm, wishing he knew how to tell her it was a good choice.
"Viktor, glad to see you are doing well," Doctor Fujimoto said as he walked through the door, looking up through his glasses. It reminded him of Yuri's glasses, the way they were just a little too big for his face. "And I saw you brought a friend? Is that Yuri Katsuki?"
Viktor nodded and quickly mumbled an arigatou to the nurse who returned with a packet of cookies and a small bottle of juice. He took care not to jostle his arm as he opened the pack and took out one of the cookies, only staring down at it with disinterest.
"You know we can't let you leave until you eat it," Doctor Fujimoto joked as he pulled up his seat. "And it is good that you brought him. I saw that the National Championship is coming up soon-he's going to perform, right?"
"I didn't know you cared about skating," Viktor remarked. He put the cookie back in the packet.
The doctor laughed. He was a carefree man, the lines around his mouth showing his ability to give away smiles with little compunction. He reminded Viktor of what a young, happy Yakov would have been like; serious when needed, but still happy. So… not much like Yakov, actually. The exact opposite, if he were to be honest.
"I can't say I do, but I figured it would be better to figure out something about it since you were my patient. I know it's good to have other things to talk about."
It was true. the overwhelming feeling of his disorder sometimes felt like a weight on his chest, holding his head underwater. And not having anyone to talk to... it was self-created isolation.
"Does he know about your diagnosis?"
Viktor shook his head. "I didn't... I didn't want him to worry."
"I hate to ask, but if he is your sexual partner, you need to let him know."
Viktor shook his head again. "I've... we've... I haven't..."
"There are cameras in the elevator. You gave Mariko-chan a fright..."
Viktor could have cried, but instead he laughed. It was all he could do, like letting the dam break, and he allowed himself to laugh, unable to quiet himself.
"Our first kiss-in an elevator-my doctor watching."
The doctor looked suitably uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Mr. Nikiforov."
Viktor shook his head again. "He isn't my lover."
Viktor hated the taste of the words. Had it been two years before, no doubt he would have already taken Yuri to his bed. Yuri had no idea how enticing he was, how perfectly his body moved to the music. He was sensuality in its purest, most natural form. It was the first sin, given freely.
Yet now...
"I'm going to tell him after this... It isn't going to work. I can't."
"Viktor, this isn't a death sentence. I know it has been hard, but you have been responding to your medicine incredibly well. Your CD4 count is a little below 400, and your viral load is slowly dropping."
Viktor stared blankly at the doctor. "I don't understand." The humor was gone.
"Viktor, you're getting better. Your immune system took a hit from the pneumonia back in February, but your scans have run clear since July. Your immune system is getting back on track. You still have a relatively high viral load, but it is slowly going down as well."
"But what does that mean?"
"It means that the medicine is working, and it is suppressing the virus. I can't tell you how long it will take for your body to completely recover, but... this is good news, Viktor. It's very good news."
"Am I cured?"
Viktor knew it was not possible. Medicine had yet to come up with a cure. He wanted to eat the words right as he said them, and the doctor seemed to understand.
"You know the answer to that."
Viktor closed his eyes, reaching up to touch the soft blanket around his shoulders. "I know... I just..."
The doctor didn't respond, instead resting his hands on the paperwork haphazardly spread across his desk. "I spoke with Doctor Marks in New York."
"Hn."
"She thinks it would be best for you to stay on the treatment she originally prescribed, and I agree. You seem to be doing fine on them."
Viktor didn't know how to respond to that, instead taking a swallow of juice to try to calm his jittering nerves.
"Your viral load is still a little high, but if you use proper protection, then you drop the chance of infection. There is a small chance of building a resistance to the drug, but for now the most important thing it to get your viral load down. I know you have been very worried about spreading the virus, so you may be a little more comfortable with holding off until you become undetectable."
Viktor blinked at the doctor, then sucked in a breath between his teeth when it clicked. "No. I can't have sex with him."
The doctor adjusted his glasses and looked up to Viktor. "I'm not saying you need to, but if you want to there are safe ways-"
"I won't kill him."
"Viktor, no one is talking about you killing him-"
But Viktor could only hear the blood rushing in his ears and he stood and wobbled for a moment before the nurse appeared from the back doorway and grabbed his arm, gently guided him to the seat.
"Viktor, calm down. Calm down."
He could hear the words but it was fuzzy. All he could hear was Kamkin's voice, his words on repeat. The ice in his voice, the freezing cold.
"You will no longer be indulging yourself in sex. If you infect another person, you will go to jail."
Viktor stared out at the wall behind Doctor Fujimoto's head as the man spoke, but he couldn't concentrate on anything he said. He tried to occasionally look at the doctor, but it became too much and he allowed himself to close his eyes, just for a moment.
He was exhausted.
He could hear the moment when the doctor quieted and head the door close, and it was only then he allowed his eyes to open.
There was a new packet of unopened cookies and another bottle of juice on the table, the crumbs still on the floor where his last ones must have fallen. He hated making a mess for the nurses to clean up.
There was a knock at the door, and Viktor made a brief sound to let the person on the other side know he was still there.
It was Doctor Fujimoto.
The man rested on hand in the pocket of his lab coat as he entered the room, making sure to close the door with a resounding thud. "Your friend Yuri wants to see you, if you'd like. I can tell him to wait in the reception if you aren't ready. But, if you are, we can move you into one of the family rooms. It's more comfortable there."
"I don't know what to say to him."
It was the truth. Viktor had no intention on ever telling Yuri he was sick. It was something he wanted to protect Yuri from, to never be the cause for him to lose the spark of passion in his eyes. How long had he been Yuri's idol? And how quickly would he destroy that fire?
But the kiss, that rough and passionate kiss with too much teeth and saliva, it made Viktor feel something he hadn't felt in months. For those few moments, it was like he was a new person. He was not the old Viktor, the playboy with a phone filled with numbers he never intended on calling. He was not the sick Viktor, sobbing on the floor as he coughed up phlegm and tainted black blood.
For that moment he was above that, he was something he could have been proud of, somebody he knew Yuri needed him to be.
Yuri made him stronger.
And yet here he was, weak and afraid.
"You can tell him however much or little you think is important."
Viktor didn't like the answer. "I don't want him to hate me."
"Viktor, you have an illness. I don't pretend to know what you are feeling right now, but I do know that I have had many patients who have been in your shoes. I don't recommend doing this on your own, especially when there is someone who wants to be by your side. After all you've told me about him, he doesn't strike me as the type of person to run away from a challenge."
"If I got him sick, I could go to jail."
"Who told you that?"
"My doctor."
"Doctor Marks?"
Viktor frowned. "No, my Russian doctor... he made me sign papers, saying that if I infected anyone I would go to jail." Viktor looked up to Doctor Fujimoto. "He said I won't get my medicine. I've heard what happens to people like me in places like that. I don't want to die as a petukh."
"A what?"
"In prison... it's a man... they don't consider him a man. So they... they use him however they want." Viktor couldn't continue speaking, his throat dry and hands shaking. "I can't live like that."
"Viktor, this is Japan. This is not Russia. Rest easy, we have no intention on sending you to jail in the unlikely event you infect your partner accidentally."
The words were meant to be a comfort, but Viktor could not help the feeling of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. "I... I don't think I'm ready for sex."
"Then go out on a date."
The doctor's answer was so simple that Viktor couldn't help but laugh, this time a laugh that did not make him want to panic. How true- having spent so much of his life surrounded by sex, it was hard to think of a relationship without the touch of a warm body against his, the passion in his belly as hands roamed and the sheets went wet with sweat.
Not the sweat of nightmares, but of pure adulation.
But a date? "Like coffee?"
Doctor Fujimoto laughed and responded with a "Sure, why not?" But he was smiling, something the doctor carried around with little fear. It was so different from Kamkin.
"Viktor, you're a young man. You have all of the time in the world before you. Take care of yourself and you should live a long, happy life. And no one should live a long, happy life alone."
His sincerity bled into his words, and Viktor wanted to believe him. More than wanted, he could feel desperation pulling at him from every direction.
He needed to believe him.
"Is it still raining?"
"I think so."
"Then I want to talk with him in here, please."
Viktor took his time pulling himself up out of the seat, his legs still feeling a little weak. He picked up the now dry jacket from the seat, pulling it on and holding onto it, wishing he could drown in the smell of Yuri's body wash and the wisp of cologne. He followed the doctor through the opposite door he entered into the hallway, seeing a few small rooms tucked away. It wasn't a big clinic, only four patient rooms, and he felt incredibly lucky that the office was not busy. He wasn't sure if he could have this conversation outside of the clinic.
"Here, you can stay as long as you need to. It's a little past noon and we have a quiet day, so I'll come by before we close up shop. I'll have Mariko-chan bring some coffee."
"Thank you, Doctor Fujimoto... you don't have to do all of this."
The man clapped Viktor on the shoulder and looked at him seriously for a moment. "It isn't any trouble, Mr. Nikiforov. If he has any questions, I'd be happy to answer them for you. Just let me know."
Viktor nodded and the doctor let go of his shoulder and opened the door, hitting the lights on the side of the room.
It was cute. Little panda bears adorned the walls, the ceiling hanging small paper stars above their heads. There was a light in the corner and the medical equipment was concealed from sight with an arrangement of curtains. There was even a small stuffed poodle on the couch in the corner of the room.
"Most people feel more relaxed here than in the other rooms. It's a lot more friendly."
It was hard to imagine a child feeling anything bad here. It was like cutting off from the rest of the world, just for a moment. "I think it is a good place."
Viktor headed for the couch and picked up the poodle, running his hands over the soft fabric. It wasn't the same as Makkachin, but it was still a comfort. He took a seat, sliding off his wet shoes. He hadn't even realized they were still on, but it felt so much more comfortable to slide his legs onto the sofa, under him. He could feel the hems of his pants were a little damp and he hoped that it wouldn't do too much damage to the couch.
When the door clicked open he saw Yuri's messy head of hair and the big glasses, and it made Viktor want to reach out and push his hand through it again, just one last time. If Yuri wanted to leave, he would let him, but all he wanted in that moment was to feel his hair against his hands.
"Viktor..." Yuri said hesitantly as he closed the door, letting Viktor's name hang in the air. "I'm scared."
"I'm sorry for scaring you. Here, come." Viktor patted the couch seat next to him. "I... this is hard for me."
Yuri's clothes were mostly dry, though his hair was still quite wet. Viktor could tell from the way Yuri rubbed at the back of his head, the way he did when the sweat on his scalp while skating made him cold. When he sat down Viktor could see him shiver.
"Are you cold? Here," Viktor reached out and pulled off Yuri's jacket, wrapping it around Yuri's body. "I don't want you to catch a cold. You have Nationals next week, remember?"
Yuri looked up at him through hooded eyes, eyes that told Viktor that he couldn't have cared less about skating at that very moment. "Viktor, please... just tell me. Tell me what is wrong. Can I fix it?"
His breath caught in his throat and Viktor reached out to run his hands over Yuri's face, thumb tracing his lips and his chin, letting his index fingers wipe across the dusting of freckles dotting his cheeks like the stars on a midsummer night.
"You can't fix me, Yuri. I'm sick."
Viktor tried to memorize each freckle, the clusters against soft skin.
"I thought I was invincible, Yuri. I did a lot of things I'm not proud of... and now..."
"Viktor. Don't apologize to me. You don't need to."
It was hard for Viktor to listen to those sweet words, those naive and foolish words. "Yuri, don't, please let me just say this."
Yuri seemed to fight against saying something before nodding his head. "Okay, Viktor. I'll wait."
Viktor didn't want to look at Yuri's face, but he made himself do so. He needed to see it, to know. It was self-flagellation at its finest.
"Yuri, I have HIV."
The air was gone from the room and Yuri's eyes widened. Viktor wanted to pull away his hands, to free Yuri from the prison of his illness, but the other part wanted to hold him captive. This was his sun, his fire, his brightness.
"But you're healthy."
Viktor blinked at the response. "I'm on medicine... I was sick back in February. My lungs... I had pneumonia."
Viktor didn't want to tell him about the phlegm and feeling like he was drowning on land.
"But you're healthy now. I... I don't understand."
"I am, I'm taking my medicine. But that doesn't mean I'm not sick."
Yuri drew in a deep breath, his nostrils quivering. "But you're healthy. You're here, you're alive, you don't look sick. You skate as you always have, You smile. You aren't dying." Yuri reached up with his hands to grab Viktor's face, and it was only then that Viktor let his hands fall. "You aren't dying... right?"
"No. I'm not dying. Not right now." It felt weird to admit that, even though he did not understand the words himself. It didn't matter how many times the doctors repeated the words, it was still hard for him to comprehend, to wrap his mind around. "I'm…. I'm still alive."
Yuri choked back something and let go of Viktor's face. Viktor didn't know how to respond, letting his body go slack, returning his hands to the poodle stuffed animal. This was what rejection was like, wasn't it? He had expected it, after all. He deserved it...
"Vikku." There it was again, that nickname that made Viktor feel like he was unraveling from within, that Yuri found the string to pull him completely apart.
"I... I don't know a lot about... this. I've barely even kissed you."
Viktor closed his eyes.
"You don't need to kiss me for me to be your coach." He knew how important it was for Yuri to have him there, how much he had grown since Viktor became his coach. It was like watching the sun realize that everything revolved around it. He was no longer so scared. "I would never punish you... I want to be your coach. I want to be with you, in any way you'll have me."
"No, no Vikku."
Oh, he didn't want him as a coach, either? He had gotten so lucky with Yakov. Maybe Yakov was right, that chasing the fire was bound to leave him scorched.
Viktor did not want to open his eyes, instead leaning forward, pulling the poodle stuffed animal closer to his face.
"That came out wrong, Vikku. No, please."
Viktor lowered the poodle and raised up his face, opening his eyes enough to see Yuri.
Yuri's cheeks lost their color and it was so clear he was on the verge of tears-Viktor could already see the hint of them on his eyelashes- but his fists were clenched and his eyes were bright like burning stars. "Viktor. I'm staying with you. I... I want to be by your side." He reached out and pulled away the stuffed poodle, interlacing his fingers with Viktor's.
He was scared, that much was obvious. His hands were shaking and his breath came with shattered stops, but despite that Viktor could feel the strong pulse and grip as Yuri pulled him closer, and he allowed his head to fall onto Yuri's shoulder. It was an uncomfortable position, but in that moment, feeling the warmth of Yuri's skin radiating from under his shirt, Viktor would have given anything to spend the rest of his life like that.
"You don't hate me?"
"No, never."
"You're going to stay?"
"If you want me to."
Viktor breathed in Yuri's smell, like dusky spring afternoons. It reminded him of joy, of strong arms wrapped around him as he flew through the air, of his papa's laughter and his mama's warm skin against his own as she reached out and pulled him across the ice. There was nothing but clean air and the sound of their laughter and the clink of the metal against ice.
"Yuri," Viktor whispered against Yuri's neck as he ran his thumb across Yuri's hand, "can I kiss you? Is that okay?" He would understand if Yuri said no. This was foreign, this was terrifying, this was infection and disease.
But... there was a chance for him to live, to really live.
And he didn't want to do it without Yuri by his side.
Yuri swallowed and Viktor felt the other man pull away. How had he managed to not cry Viktor could only assume was the same way he held himself together-barely, and with the promise that the morning would come no matter what happened.
It was a hesitant kiss, that much Viktor knew. It was a kiss that was so soft he was unsure if their lips were even touching. It was a butterfly kiss, one that was fleeting and fragile, one that would break apart if he touched its wings.
It was everything Yuri was, and everything Viktor needed.
Viktor wasn't sure if he should reach up to cup Yuri's cheek, and was blessedly released from his thoughts when Yuri pressed his fingers against Viktor's scalp, threading his fingers between his hair.
When Yuri broke the kiss he rested his forehead against Viktor's.
"I'm scared."
"Me too."
"Can we be scared together?"
Viktor looked into brown eyes, deep and endless.
"I think I'd like that, Yuri."
Viktor could hear his heart beating in his ears and he listened to the blood pumping through his veins without flinching.
He could hear Yuri's heartbeat, too.
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