A/N: Discerning AO3 readers might note that this work is part of a series now. Yeppp…
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Credit for the art in this chapter goes to the wonderful LianneSilver927, my little sister, who can be found on Tumblr under that name. Thanks so much for all the reviews!
Read the Oturi however you want. It's written to be ambiguous, because I have given up predicting what MAPPA will do. If you ship, ship away. If not, they're best friends anyway.
A note on the world of this story: Originally, I had them move to the U.S. for very clear, legal reasons (because they can get married in America), but as many of you know, Kubo has put out this wonderful tweet about how in the world of Yuri on Ice, people don't care about that sort of thing. I will do my best to follow some of the spirit of Kubo's tweet, so nobody in this story will be outright homophobic and certain things, like their reason for moving to the States, will remain unstated or heavily implied. Unfortunately, the story is already written, and I'm planning on keeping it as is. My reasoning behind this is that we don't live in a perfect world, as wonderful as that would be. In real life, Viktor and Yuuri would have a lot of challenges, challenges being faced by real life couples like Viktor and Yuuri today. I don't want to ignore or diminish those challenges by pretending they don't exist, but I will keep them implied and in the background in order to portray at least part of the world that Kubo wants to bring to life – a world where no one cares and love wins. (also I literally already wrote the first 2 chapters so).
Disclaimer: I don't own Yuri on Ice!
"Hello and welcome to the 2018 World Figure Skating Championship, coming to you live from Milan, Italy! We're just wrapping up the men's figure skating free programs today. For those just tuning in, the man to beat is still 22-year-old Jean-Jacques Leroy from Canada, with an amazing total score of 301.94!
The last skater tonight is Yuri Plisetsky from Russia. Plisetsky kicked off the season with a strong start, and was one of the favorites to win the Grand Prix Final in Nagoya after an amazing showing at the Rostelecom Cup and Skate America. Unfortunately, a bad fall during his free program in Nagoya left him trailing behind Leroy and Thailand's Phichit Chulanont. Since then, Plisetsky is back with a vengeance, bagging a silver medal at the Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang and winning gold at the European Championship. His free program tonight was choreographed by Viktor Nikiforov, his coach and skating legend. Plisetsky is coached by Nikiforov and former Japanese figure skater Yuuri Katsuki. Here he is with his coaches waiting for his scores…"
301.93 (2)
"WHAT?!"
Yuuri and Viktor grabbed at Yurio at the same time as he leaped out of his seat, holding onto his arms and stopping him from marching forward towards the screen. Yuuri shot Viktor a panicked look from Yurio's other side, one that Viktor quickly returned. Yurio's shoulders strained as he struggled to walk forward, held down by both of them.
"LET GO OF ME, YOU IDIOTS! THAT'S NOT POSSIBLE! I DEMAND A RECOUNT! CORRUPTION! THIS IS CORRUPTION! J.J. YOU PIECE OF SH—mmph!"
Viktor and Yuuri reached up at the same time, covering Yurio's mouth with their free hands and shoving him back into his seat. Yurio struggled to break free as Yuuri held him down, Viktor jumping up and making frantic signals for the camera to cut to something else.
Yuuri didn't release his hold on Yurio until they were well away from any cameras, standing in an empty broom closet while Viktor distracted the press outside. When he did, Yurio twisted away from him, a scowl of rage on his face. He wiped at his mouth where Yuuri's hand had been to keep him from talking.
"Why did you stop me?!" he asked, scowling at Yuuri. "That score is bullshit! I'm going to get J.J. for this! Is one of the judges Canadian? One of the judges is Canadian, isn't he?!"
"Yurio, come on—," Yuuri said, holding his hands up. "Be reasonable. And keep your voice down."
"No, I will not keep my voice down!" He walked away from Yuuri, his movements stiff in his skates, his fists clenched at his sides. As Yuuri watched, he clenched his fist, resting his arm on the wall. "Agh! How can this happen? Ever since I moved to stupid America with you guys it's been like this! How could this year be this bad?! Agh—I can't take it!"
Yuuri twitched. Yurio, oblivious to the change in mood, went on.
"I should have stayed in St. Petersburg! Then I wouldn't have to deal with you and the idiot and your family drama—and Oregon—I hate Oregon—who the hell wants to live in freaking Portland anyway—why couldn't you pick somewhere cool like New York or San—?"
"Bad…year?" Yuuri repeated, his voice soft.
Yurio broke off suddenly, looking over his shoulder with wide eyes. Yuuri was standing still, tense, a forced smile on his face. But his fists were clenched, and there was an obvious cloud of darkness around him.
Yurio's face paled.
"You medaled in every event you've skated in and think you've had a bad year?" Yuuri asked, his head tilted to one side. "Let me tell you about a bad year…"
"He's upset, of course," said Viktor, smiling his most conciliatory smile at the various reporters that surrounded him. "Who wouldn't be? But Yuri is an excellent skater. Next season, I'm confident he'll win a gold medal, and—."
There was a loud crashing noise from the broom closet. Viktor broke off suddenly, looking over his shoulder. The sound of muffled shouting came from somewhere within.
The voice that was shouting was not Yurio.
"—a-and that's all I have time to say right now!" Viktor said hurriedly. "Thank you to all the fans for supporting Yuri so far, and come back to see us next season!"
He ignored all the questions after that, turning and running towards the broom closet.
"Wow, gelato! Vkusno!" Viktor said, from his seat at a table outside a small, Milan café. He was smiling as he took another spoonful of the confection.
He was the only one. To his left and right, Yuuri and Yurio sat with their backs turned to each other, Yuuri picking sullenly at his own gelato as Yurio messed around with his phone. The mood at the table was much heavier than Viktor would have liked.
"Come on, Yurio, you haven't even touched your gelato!" Viktor said. "It's delicious!"
"I don't want gelato!" Yurio snapped, looking over at him. "I want J.J.'s head!"
"Huh, I don't think they make it in that flavor…" Viktor said, taking another spoonful of dark chocolate gelato. "Yuuri, love, how is the stracciatella? I was thinking of getting that one."
"It's fine," Yuuri said, his words clipped. "It's great actually. You know, I'm grateful for the things I have, unlike some people at this table."
Well, this was clearly not going anywhere. Time to try a different tactic. Viktor set his cup on the table.
"I was thinking we should go to dinner," he said. "It's our last night in Milan. We should celebrate!"
"No thanks," Yurio said, looking up from his phone. "I have plans."
"Plans?" Viktor asked, brows raising.
As if in answer, the roar of a motorbike cut through the silence of the street, coming to a stop in front of the café. Yurio stood up as Otabek tossed a helmet to him, catching it in one hand.
"Later," he said, putting the helmet on. "Don't wait up."
Viktor watched as Yurio got on the back of the motorcycle, the bike roaring again as it took off down the street. The wind of the motorcycle's passing moved through his hair, kicking up a cloud of dust. Even Yuuri looked up to watch them go.
Viktor blinked dust out of his eyes. "Hey, Yuuri," he said. "You don't think…?"
Yuuri snorted, taking another spoonful of his gelato. "They have to figure that out on their own."
Yurio's departure had mollified him somewhat, and Viktor watched with relief as some of the tension left Yuuri's shoulders. Unlike Yurio, Yuuri rarely stayed angry for long. He took another spoonful of gelato, his eyes sweeping over the café. He had that look that Viktor loved seeing in him, those sparkling eyes, as if he were searching for something. It took a while for Viktor to see what he was looking at.
There was a family sitting by the window of the café, a man and a woman with a little girl and little boy. They were eating gelato. Seen from outside, it was picturesque, the lighting of the café playing interestingly on the glass of the window.
Viktor smiled, reaching for Yuuri's hand on top of the table. "Maybe next year," he said, "we can come here with the girls."
Yuuri tensed momentarily—he always did whenever Viktor drew him out of himself—but Viktor felt him relax quickly. A smile appeared on his face as he looked down, a flush on his cheeks.
"Next year's Worlds is in Saitama," he said.
"Even better," Viktor said, smiling. He traced a finger across the back of Yuuri's hand, resting his other elbow on the table and propping his head up. "Your parents can meet them."
"Mm," Yuuri said, twisting around in the chair so that he was turned towards him. He leaned closer to Viktor, the gelato momentarily forgotten on the table between them.
"Have you talked to your mother about this yet?" Viktor asked.
"I feel like I've been doing nothing but talking to my mother this past week," Yuuri said. "She's excited, of course."
"Hmm," Viktor said. He drew his hand back, only to adjust his position so he could interlace his fingers with Yuuri's. Yuuri drew in a breath and looked up.
"Do you think we're ready for this?" he asked, his eyes suddenly wide. In that moment, he looked terrified. Viktor wanted to kiss him. He squeezed his hand tighter instead, knowing that Yuuri still got embarrassed by public displays of affection.
"I think…" he said, "…that we're ready for anything." When Yuuri didn't respond, Viktor went on. "I mean…am I nervous? Yes, I suppose. But, with everything that's happened so far, I don't think there's anything we can't do. And besides—," He gave Yuuri a mischievous smile, "—we've had enough practice with Yurio."
That made Yuuri laugh, and it warmed Viktor's heart to see the smile spread across his face.
"He's a brat," Yuuri said, when he was done laughing.
"Always, love," Viktor said, drawing Yuuri's hand up to his mouth and pressing a quick kiss to the knuckle. "But—his being gone isn't entirely a bad thing. We have the evening to ourselves. What would you like to do?"
Yuuri flushed, looking back at his gelato. It had started to melt while on the table, and was now a mushy, unidentifiable mess. Victor waited, drumming out a rhythm on the side of Yuuri's index finger with his thumb.
"I think—," Yuuri finally said, face red. "I think I'm really tired. I think we should just go back to the hotel."
A pounding on the door woke them both sometime around two in the morning. From beside him, Yuuri groaned, turning over onto his side so that he was facing away from the door. Viktor followed him, annoyed at being woken up, and threw an arm around Yuuri's shoulder.
"We're sleeping!" he said in the direction of the door.
The knocking paused for half a second before resuming again, twice as frantic. Viktor sighed and gave up on chasing sleep, pushing himself up. Yuuri flopped onto his stomach, the blanket slipping off of his shoulders as he placed the pillow over his head. Viktor placed a hand on the back of Yuuri's neck in apology, fingertips brushing through his hair once before he stood up and walked away. He slipped on a bathrobe and tied it, opening the door.
Yurio was standing outside, looking determined.
And drunk. More than a little drunk.
Viktor watched him, raising an eyebrow. "Do you feel better now?" he asked, in English.
Yurio's response was to grab Viktor by the front of his robe and lean in, eyes narrowed. Viktor could smell the alcohol on his breath. With his free hand, Yurio shook a finger at Viktor's face.
"I will win," he said, in curt, guttural Russian. "Next season, I will win. I will practice every day, even at college, and I will beat J.J. at the Grand Prix Final in his own damn country." He pointed at Viktor, finger jabbing into Viktor's chest. "Make me a winning program. I don't care what it is. I will skate it. And I will win."
He pushed Viktor back and let go of him, stumbling in the direction of his room. Viktor watched as he opened the door and slammed it shut. He stood there for a while in Yurio's passing, blinking. Then, he straightened up and smiled.
"It would have been a winning program if I'd skated it," he said in English, half to himself.
Yuuri threw a pillow at him.
In the week before Worlds, Yuuri had called his mother several times. Mostly, it was to ask for general advice, because he had no clue what little girls wanted or needed, but there had been more than a few conversations in rapid Japanese about how nervous he was about all of this. He hadn't intended to call her for that reason, but sometimes, it did slip out.
By the time the 28th rolled around, though, Yuuri felt that the house at least was ready. The spare bedroom had been converted into the perfect bedroom for a little girl, complete with toy chest and writing desk, and thanks to some creative rearranging of their furniture, they had managed to move the computer and desk out of the office and into the living room, turning the small office into a second bedroom for Clara.
Now there wasn't anything else to do but wait.
Yuuri took a deep breath after checking the rooms one last time, then walked into the living room just as the doorbell rang. Viktor went to get it, as always. Yurio, from his seat on the couch, grumbled something about having to be up here for this.
Viktor opened the door, admitting the two girls and the caseworker. Sonia walked in dragging a beaten up suitcase behind her, her expression flat as she looked around the living room. Clara's suitcase was too big for her, and the caseworker was holding it. Viktor took it from her quickly and set it down.
"Um—welcome," Yuuri said, not sure how this was supposed to go. He gave the two girls a smile. "Your rooms are ready, and there's dinner too. I'm sure you're tired—."
"Sonechka!" Viktor said suddenly, overly affectionate as always as he rushed over to the older girl. "You can call me 'Papa', okay? This is Yuuri—you can call him 'Dad' so it doesn't get confusing."
Sonia looked up at him with a blank expression, but the look in her eye was one of barely restrained panic.
"Um—Mr. Nikiforov…"
Viktor's face fell. From his seat on the couch, Yurio snorted.
"Don't call him that, kid," he said. "Only the press calls him that. Just call him Viktor."
"No—," Viktor began. "Don't call me that! Call me—."
"—Viktor," said Sonia. "Which room is mine?"
"It's the first room on the right," Yuuri said, answering for Viktor, who was staring at Sonia with a crushed expression on his face. Sonia started walking without a word, her beat-up suitcase rolling across the floorboards. She found the room and disappeared into it, closing the door.
Viktor straightened up and turned towards the caseworker, who was watching with a sympathetic expression on her face.
"Give her time," the caseworker said. "She's been through a lot. It's going to take her a while to open up to you."
Viktor sighed, straightening up. "I know that," he said, running a hand through his hair. He drew in a deep breath, composing himself, then turned towards Clara, who was blinking at him with a confused expression.
"How about you, Klaroshka?" he asked, crouching down to her level. He smiled at her. "Can you call me 'Papa'?"
Clara looked up at him shyly, her arms clasped in front of her. "Papa…?" she repeated.
Viktor beamed, grabbing her under the arms. He picked her up, spinning her around. "Yes," he said, laughing. "Yes, exactly!"
Yurio rolled his eyes from his seat on the couch, going back to his game.
"Great," he said. "You're already being disgusting."
yuri-plisetsky
[picture]
3,206 likes 3d
yuri-plisetsky screw you, J.J. At least I have friends. ( otabek-altin because you never freaking post anything so w/e)
yuriangelqueen omg where is this?!
alicialovesskating you were so cool today! I love your free program!
Avl_insta tell otabek-altin to post more!
stalker_chicklolz WER U?
iceprinces33 Я люблю тебя так сильно! Is that right? I used Google Translate #tbh #butimeanit
