Since his relationship with Yuuri had started, Victor was finding that he was getting very, very good at reining in his natural, maybe overblown reactions to bad situations, particularly when Yuuri was competing. Skaters were already delicate—Yuuri even more so when stress started getting to him—and their coaches needed to be a steadying force for them.

Even so, it took every single ounce of his willpower to keep from vaulting onto the ice and carrying his husband straight to the hospital when Yuuri's ankle buckled as he landed after a quad toe-loop. He did, however, bolt straight to his side once the medics had gotten him off the ice, hovering anxiously as Yuuri was checked for concussions, ice burns, and finally had his boot removed. Given the grunt and what had to be a stream of Japanese swears that came from his mouth, he'd done quite a number on it. So, of course, there was no way he could get back on the ice.

The ankle was wrapped, and—very carefully—he was carted back to his and Victor's hotel room. There was the possibility of it being a sprain rather than a full fracture, so a day of RICE might bring down the swelling. Once the ankle had been elevated and Victor had done everything to make sure his husband was as comfortable as he could be, Yuuri let out an irritated huff and threw his arm over his face.

"I'm so stupid," he muttered.

"What's stupid is hitting your burn with your arm," Victor said easily, gently pulling up the offending arm to make sure the patch of gauze was still in place on Yuuri's cheek—as if the ankle wasn't enough, Yuuri had more or less faceplanted into the ice. "The last thing we need is for Japan's Most Beautiful Skater to have a scar on his face. Though it might make you look more rugged."

Yuuri shut his eyes with a grimace, not even registering the joke. "On a quad toe-loop. That's my best quad. And I fell like the shitty skater I am—"

"Katsuki Yuuri, you know that you're the b—"

"And now I'll have to retire because I broke my ankle!"

"We don't know it's broken yet," Victor said evenly. Yuuri shot him as withering a look as he could manage.

"You saw me fall. You don't think it's broken?"

Victor pressed his lips together tightly. It was definitely broken. Yuuri's body was surprisingly resilient, but the way his ankle had buckled…well, from experience, Victor was pretty sure he'd need surgery. But he couldn't say that.

"I'm going to get some ice for your wrist. I think you might have hurt it trying to catch yourself."

As he got up to get some ice from the bathroom—the sink was filled, just in case—Yuuri huffed again. "At least I got to compete against you once before I retired," he muttered. Victor's head whipped around, and he sent a frown to his husband.

"You are not retiring." He almost snapped out the words, then took a breath as he wrapped the ice in a towel. "You'll be out one season at most, even with surgery."

"Surgery?! You think it's that bad?" Yuuri started to sit up, but yelped at the movement. Victor was at his side in a moment, readjusting him to be comfortable before resting the impromptu ice pack on his wrist.

"That's the worst case scenario," Victor murmured, pushing back Yuuri's hair. "And, if that's the case, I expect you to win at least five consecutive gold medals afterward."

"Wha—Oh." Yuuri's expression softened. "Right. The 2009 GPF."

Victor nodded, then pulled his foot up to rest on the edge of the bed as he pulled up his trouser leg. Against the pale skin, a faint, silvery line shot up the length of his ankle. "Six screws and the scar to prove it. And I was back in six months. With your stamina, I'm sure it'll be half the time!" He grinned as he sat on the edge of the bed. "And you have a much handsomer coach guiding your recovery than I did. I'm sure that'll help, too."

Yuuri sighed, looking away from his husband. "But everyone's going to say…"

"Every news site and TV station will be saying you ought to retire," Victor said frankly. He leaned over to lightly push a strand of hair out of Yuuri's face. "But your coach says that you still have far too much potential to stop now." He smiled as he cupped Yuuri's uninjured cheek. "And your husband's decided he's the trophy husband in this relationship, and he certainly can't be that if you retire now."

Finally, a breathy laugh escaped Yuuri, and he shut his eyes as he leaned back against the pillows. "And so what do I do when the interviewers ask about my retirement?"

"You take a leaf from Yurio's book and tell them to fuck off."

Yuuri let out a real laugh this time, and he looked up at warmly at Victor. "Thank you, Vicchan," he said, turning his head to kiss Victor's palm. "Maybe after my surgery—"

"That's the worst case scenario, remember."

"—we'll have matching scars." He wiggled his finger underneath the ice pack, making his ring glint. Victor laughed before leaning down to give his husband a kiss.

"How romantic. I must be rubbing off on you," he teased. "Now rest, Золотце. You can't win those five gold medals until after you recover."