Chapter 3

The hotel was quiet in the morning. Yuuri's footsteps echoed down the hall when he stepped into the lobby and the receptionist glanced up, fixing a polite smile on his tanned face.

"Um." Yuuri wasn't sure what to say. "Victor Nikiforov told me to come here. Room 1168."

Paper crunched nervously in Yuuri's fist, rolled up in his fidgeting fingers. He'd found it propped on the bedside table when he'd eventually woken up, the note scrawled hurriedly between the gaps of print on a Spanish leaflet:

Gone to CCIB to get your bag. Ask reception about breakfast. Mention my name.

Be back soon

-Victor

So he had.

It earned him a quizzical look from the receptionist. An eyebrow arched down at the crumpled leaflet from behind the desk but the young man made no move to take it, reading from a sceptical distance.

Yuuri shifted awkwardly in his smart shoes. Smart shoes - matched with slack grey jogging pants and a long sleeved black t-shirt. It was a total disaster of an outfit, but it was all he'd found in the room; his trainers were in his bag. He was glad there wasn't many guests left lingering in the lobby to see him in his mismatched attire and wild hair, still damp from the shower.

Suddenly, the receptionist's eyes lit up. "Ah, yes!" he straightened up to attention, adjusting his waistcoat slightly. "Your special order."

Yuuri frowned. "Special order?" He'd thought was just getting breakfast…

An uneasy feeling curled in his gut catching the sparkle in the receptionist's eye. Or was that hunger? When was the last time he'd eaten?

The young man just smiled - a little too brightly. He must have been given a pretty big tip to pull this off. "Si, señor." he moved out from behind the desk. "Your coach left strict instructions, Mr Katsuki. Please - please, follow me."

A groan curled around Yuuri's tongue but he bit it back, following the staff with a sinking feeling in his stomach. What had Victor done? He wasn't sure he liked surprises anymore. He'd just come down for some simple toast - that's all he needed! Victor had already done enough for him as it was and he didn't want to be any more of a burden than he already had been, especially one that would be charged to the Russian's credit card.

He was led round the corner from the lobby, and seated at one of the small tables scattered between the bar and the glass wall. The spare, empty chair across the table feel like it was staring at him. Was Victor going to join him? No, he was at the CCIB. He'd said so in his note. Yuuri was alone waiting for his mystery order, the rest of the bar empty except for the handful of staff.

Thoroughly perplexed, he dumped Victor's note down beside the napkin and poured himself a cup of coffee. Maybe whatever was happening wasn't making sense because he was still half asleep. The rich, inviting aroma of caffeine hit him like a breath of fresh air and he inhaled greedily, senses singing to life. It was exactly what he needed. He leaned back in his chair, slightly more alive.

The world outside was brimming with life. People milled around the shiny black building across the road, spilling straight from the tram to the doors in thick throngs. He wondered what kind of building it was. Museum? Sports stadium? Gallery? Bright sunshine rained down from high in the sky, glittering off the shimmering walls beautifully. It was hot against Yuuri's arm. A handful of cars chugged along the wet roads, pausing at the red traffic lights of the intersection.

Yuuri sipped at his coffee and tweaked a small smile. It was actually rather nice; enjoying the quiet, being waited on, and watching the world go by. It felt normal. His memory loss didn't matter here.

Out of the corner of his eye though, something caught his attention.

It was scrawled so tiny between the thin lines of Spanish print on Victor's leaflet that Yuuri hadn't noticed it before, pulling the paper closer for a better look. It was in Victor's handwriting.

P.S I'm sorry.

The words were scratched out. Almost to the point of being illegible. Yuuri could still see through the aggressive lines though, to the apology they fought to hide.

He hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath until his lungs suddenly gasped for air. What was Victor sorry for? Yuuri's heart was pounding, and he didn't understand why.

A bowl whisked down on the table in front of him.

"Your order, señor."

Yuuri jumped.

He flashed a polite smile up at the waiter instinctively before it sunk in what he was smiling about. Victor's special order. Rice, pork, egg, vegetables - was this… was this katsudon? How had Victor managed to find katsudon in Spain? It even had chopsticks. He snapped them apart a little tentatively.

It wasn't something he usually ate for breakfast - though the time for breakfast was long over judging from how high the sun was in the sky - and it wasn't anywhere near as good as how his mother made it, but Yuuri wolfed the food down like he was starving. He probably was. It had to be nearly twenty four hours since he'd last had anything. He filled his empty stomach, body humming happily at being fed at last.

Glancing up to the TV at the bar, Yuuri watched the coverage of the Grand Prix. And himself. Old footage of him played, his old self smiling and waving with Victor's arm around his shoulders. He looked happy. Yuuri gulped as the camera cut to the commentator's box.

"There's still no word yet from Yuuri Katsuki after his fall in the ice yesterday, but it is understood that he has been discharged from the hospital," the presenter said. "Fellow competitor Phichit Chulanont posted a photo on Instagram with Katsuki late last night, but no official word yet from his coach, Victor Nikiforov, on the severity of his injury. It looked like a pretty nasty fall, didn't it, Stephane?"

The screen cut to another presenter, this one in the back wings of the stadium. Skaters stretched in the background, paired with their coaches. Yuuri didn't recognise any.

"That it did, Tom. It just reminds you how dangerous this sport really is."

"There have been a number of high profile head injuries over the years. How lucky is Katsuki to be out of the hospital so soon?"

"It's difficult to say. Head injuries have already taken one skater out of the running this year and just like Katsuki, USA's Joshua Thomas had been given the all clear by the hospital before he decided to withdraw from his season."

Yuuri gulped hard, forcing another chopstick load of rice in his mouth and dropping his gaze down to the food. He pushed the pork pieces around the bowl.

"I wouldn't expect to see Katsuki here today." Stephane's voice said.

"It seems his dream of winning the gold medal at the Grand Prix final is sadly not to be this year. Let's just remind ourselves what happened-"

The chopsticks clattered from Yuuri's fingers as the tune of his Eros programme suddenly played, skipped right through to the end of his routine. To his fall. He recognised that spot in the music. Oh no - his hands clamped down over his ears, mouth running painfully dry. Wide eyes picked out every single grain of rice in the pork cutlet bowl.

Bits of his short programme had started to come back to him. He remembered the determination when he'd first taken the ice, pushing himself to meet every jump and step, ignoring the strain of his body, and -

And then nothing.

Suddenly, his memory cut out.

He guessed that was where he'd fallen.

After a few minutes, Yuuri slackened his hands around his skull. The music was gone. The voices were back. His shoulders slumped in relief; the replay of his accident was over.

"-and there's Victor Nikiforov! Former five time consecutive gold medalist turned coach."

Yuuri's eyes snapped up.

Surprise flashed over Victor's face on the TV screen as he turned to the camera, caught somewhere in the back wings of the stadium. A bag strap crossed over his shoulder. Yuuri's bag. The Russian quickly slapped a smile on his face, fingers sweeping his silver bangs back from his eyes as he recovered. They looked just as red as Yuuri's.

"Oh." The smile didn't sit quite right on his face, no matter how much fake enthusiasm Victor pooled into it. "Hi!"

"How's Yuuri?"

"He's resting," Victor winked. "Doctor's orders!"

He didn't say anything about the memory loss.

"Is he competing today?"

A shadow crossed over Victor's face, his tone a little softer. Disappointed. "I've just been speaking to the judges. Yuuri's withdrawn from the competition." He chirped up and waved a hand at the camera: "See you at the Worlds!"

In a blink, he was gone. Whisked away before they could sling another question at him, the camera followed Victor's back for half a second before they admitted defeat and flicked the screen back to the commentator's box.

Yuuri had stopped watching though, stopped listening. He just stared at the screen with an open mouth. The bite of pork was still half chewed on his tongue, jaw going slack. Victor had … withdrawn him from the competition? Without even talking to him about it. He'd just pulled him out. Yuuri gulped down the food, sticking like a lump in his throat. Suddenly, it tasted bitter.

Victor couldn't do that.

Half of the pork and rice still on the bowl, Yuuri set his chopsticks down and stood up. He trudged back up to the room with his right leg limping, mind working furiously as he went. Furious at Victor.

He shut the room door with a near slam, hands curled into tight fists at his side. The indent of Victor's body was still pressed into the bed sheets beside Yuuri's. Now that he had Yuuri's bag, would he be on his way back soon? Yuuri wasn't sure he wanted to see him after that interview.

Throwing himself down on the bed, Yuuri ran his hands over his face and groaned. So that was it - his Grand Prix was over.

Victor's note suddenly crashed through his thoughts - I'm sorry.

Sorry wasn't going to cut it.

The worst bit was that he knew Victor was right. Even if Yuuri's head was fit to skate - which clearly spoke for itself, ceiling dancing between his fingers - the rest of his body wasn't. An angry purple bruise curled around his hip and up his spine and the black and blue lashings on his leg meant he wouldn't be able to run, let alone skate. He was breathless just from storming down the corridor; he would never make it through a routine!

Yuuri bit his lip against the tears building in the back of his eyes. It was all his fault. As his coach, Victor was obliged to pull him out of the competition on medical grounds if Yuuri wasn't fit, but he never would have had to if Yuuri hadn't screwed up in the first place. Yuuri fell. Yuuri hurt himself. Yuuri blasted his skull on the ice and scattered his memory to the four winds. Him - not Victor.

It didn't make the reality any easier though, Yuuri sucking in ragged breaths through his teeth. Adrenalin pumped through his system, heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Rolling to his feet, Yuuri tried to ignore the weight of his heart in his chest as he made a beeline for the wardrobe. He couldn't stay here. He had to get out. If he couldn't skate, he had to run. And if he couldn't run, he had to walk. He couldn't just stay cramped up in the hotel room with reminders of Victor and his own failure at every turn. If he couldn't change what happened, he was going to at least avoid it for a little while.

His coat was in his bag with Victor, but Yuuri wrenched one of Victor's off the hanger with minimal guilt and threw it over his shoulders. After a moment's pause, he borrowed a mustard yellow scarf as well.

Victor wouldn't mind. Probably.

As soon as Yuuri stepped out of the hotel doors, he smelled the sea air. That was what he followed. His steps were fast and blunt against the pavement, sending shudders up his injured leg with every stride and his limp deepening. It ached the muscle, gritting his teeth against the pain. His heavy breaths misted in front of his face, blurring the sandy coast below the platform he stood on when he eventually found the beach.

For a moment, he stopped. His thigh throbbed, leaning on his good leg to take the pressure off - though all that did was strain his hurt hip instead. Oxygen rushed to his head with his quick breaths, blood tingling in his veins at the fresh air.

It crossed his mind to go back to the hotel, but he quickly ignored the idea. When he caught his breath back a little, Yuuri sighed. He actually felt better.

Hands dug into the deep pockets of Victor's coat, he walked along the beach front at a leisurely pace this time, slow enough to make his limp almost unnoticeable and the pain next to nothing. The gentle roar of the waves soothed his highly strung senses, tension sighing away with every passing stride. The sea salt was thick in the air and Yuuri even smiled at the cries of the seagulls. It was so peaceful. He could have been back at home for all he knew, all the familiar sounds and smells of the ocean reminding him painfully of Hasetsu.

Not long, he told himself and his aching heart. Soon he would be back home.

The sound of Christmas music and cheerful bells wafted over from deeper into the city and Yuuri glanced across the road curiously. German huts of Christmas markets lined the adjoining street. It couldn't hurt, he thought, crossing over with steadily rising spirits. He wouldn't stray too far.

Sunlight battled with the grey clouds in the sky, brilliant and warm to the touch when it broke free. As soon as it vanished though, the icy wind descended. The snow on the ground had melted and even the slush it left behind had dried out, though the air was light and frosty to taste like it was ready to sleet down again at any moment. The cold nipped at Yuuri's cheeks, bringing a rosy colour to the surface. Tourists and street performers packed the streets and the heady, festive smell of mulled wine hung in the air.

Eventually, the cry of the gulls grew more and more distant until Yuuri couldn't hear them anymore. He smiled at the Christmas carols humming around him instead. He'd forgotten it was nearly Christmas.

He passed a little ice rink set up in the middle of the market, children skating in bobble hats and gloves while holding tightly to their parents hands. Yuuri fought the urge to have a go too; he didn't have his wallet to pay anyway.

The more he walked, the more he lost himself in thought. He sucked in a measured breath, inhaling the smell of Victor lingering on the scarf around his neck. There was expensive cologne, strawberry shampoo, and something fresh, like the sea air only much subtler. Whatever it was, it was warm and comforting, Yuuri's heart singing in contentment.

He understood why Victor had done what he had with the competition. At least, he thought he did. Announced or not, there had been no way Yuuri would have competed in the free skate.

If his memories ever did come back, maybe he would understand more what went on in the Russian's head, what was behind those guarded eyes the camera had tried to drill into at the CCIB. Had he ever known? So far, he couldn't really understand how he and Victor could be together. They just seemed so different. Perhaps it was a publicity stunt or a joke? The tender look in Victor's eyes when he'd held Yuuri in his panic last night hadn't seemed like an act though, and there had been nobody to act for.

Yuuri's legs trudged on of their own accord, oblivious to the arch of the sun in the sky as it leaned westwards. He just walked, enjoying the gentle stretch on his abused muscles.

Eventually, he stopped, the air of his slightly laboured breathing misting in front of his face.

He blinked.

He didn't recognise the street around him. Spinning around, nothing looked familiar. Where was the Christmas market? Gone. In its place was just a standard street, flat faced buildings rising up either side of Yuuri with uniform, black railed balconies poking out from the sandy coloured walls. He couldn't see a street sign.

It was only then he noticed the sparkling light dancing on the horizon. Damn. It was late. The evening colours of red and pink glittered beautifully over the rooftops.

He turned around and walked back the way he thought he'd come. The sun stayed at his side, trying to guide himself back to the beach with logic, but after another half an hour of walking, Yuuri still couldn't smell the sea or hear the gulls. He was lost.

The breath rasped in his throat.

There was barely any light left, shadows stretching out over the pavement and reaching for him with long, grappling fingers. The dense street looked nothing like the area of the hotel.

He was tired, the pleasant ache of exercise now weighing his legs down like chains clamped around his ankles. Every step was a drag, and every breath was somehow shorter than the last. He forced them in and out of his lungs as measured as he could - if he panicked out here, there would be no Victor to help him this time.

What was the name of the hotel again? He hadn't even bothered to check. Walking along the beach, he hadn't thought he'd need it. He tried to remember the logo on his napkin from breakfast, but all he remembered was Victor's note staring at him from across the table.

After more fruitless wandering, Yuuri found himself in an open square. A tall, spiralled cathedral loomed behind him and a university choir group sang in his ear by the steps, adorned in festive hats and antlers. It would have been nice if Yuuri wasn't in such a panic, gulping at the last lingering shreds of daylight on the horizon. He still wasn't sure what to do.

His heart hammered in his chest, whistling in air through his chattering teeth. It was cold now without the sun, icy wind biting through the hide of Victor's coat. He should have worn a hoodie underneath it, borrowed some gloves or a hat…

Suddenly, his eyes settled across the street - a payphone.

He nearly whined with relief, stiff legs shuffling him across the road in a beeline for the box. Who used pay phones anymore? Apparently, Yuuri did.

He found some spare coins lodged in the corners of the coat pockets and rammed them into the machine. After that he paused, phone in hand. Who could he call? His first instinct was Victor but even if he did know the Russian's phone number, he would have been reluctant to call it. He'd already humiliated himself enough in front of him.

Instead, he dialled in one of the precious few numbers he knew by heart, holding his breath while it rang. And rang. And rang...

"Hi, it's Phichit! I'm a little busy right now but if you leave a mess-"

Yuuri hung up.

Voicemail.

Phichit must be competing, he suddenly realised.

He tried to ignore the sting that he should be performing his free skate too with the others instead of getting lost in ancient Spanish cities by himself.

Who else was there? He didn't know any of the other skaters numbers and the only help calling his mother would do is that she would rat him out to Victor. What other choice was there? As little as Yuuri wanted to face the Russian again after last night, he wanted to spend a night on the cold Barcelona streets even less…

Just before his finger hit the first button though, he froze. His mother wasn't the only other number he knew. There was one other, one that just so happened to be in Barcelona too. He punched it in quickly.

The dialling tone rang.

He was pretty sure he'd seen her yesterday, floating around at the back of the welcome party quietly with Minako. Just enough in view to let him know she was there but not in his face to crowd him like the other skaters had. She knew him too well for that. Hiroko had probably given her the heads up on his memory loss as well, unlike the others.

Please pick up, Yuuri willed desperately. He didn't have enough change for another call. This was his only plan. If this failed him...

"Moshi moshi?"

Yuuri had never been so glad to hear his sister's voice in all his life. "Mari?"

"Yuuri?" She sounded surprised. "Where are you? Victor's losing his mind."

She was speaking in English. Yuuri groaned in his head - it would be a dead giveaway that she was talking to him. Pretty much everybody Mari knew was Japanese and there was only one Japanese person who she'd speak English with for out of courtesy for Victor. Him.

Yuuri sighed. "Please don't tell him." Admitting to Victor he'd gotten lost on top of the shame of his panic attack from the night before, the lingering irritation at Victor pulling him from the free skate… Yuuri ran a hand over his tired eyes. No, he couldn't.

The line clicked.

"Yuuri?"

Yuuri's heart plummeted. "V-Victor?"

The Russian accent curling around his name down the phone line was unmistakable. "Where are you?" Victor barked, voice urgent. "Are you okay?"

Yuuri gulped, throat running dry. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just a bit lost." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Is Mari still there? I don't know how much longer I've got left on this call…" And I can't think around you, he finished silently in his head. His cheeks felt warm.

"Yuuri, tell me where you are."

"Um."

Yuuri's heart thudded at Victor's stern tone, flashes of electric blue darting through his mind like Victor could somehow see him through the phone line. He gasped - was that a memory? Did Victor's eyes go icy blue when he was serious?

"Yuuri…"

Oh right, there had been a question. "There's a church." Yuuri looked over his shoulder. "I don't know which one. It's got three steeples and there's a square out front." He wasn't sure what else to say, glancing around him for clues. "There's a big archway?" His squeaky voice made it sound like more of a question than a statement.

For a moment, Victor was quiet. Yuuri could hear the cents of his precious call trickling away helplessly with every passing moment.

Finally - "Did you just come out of a Christmas market?"

"Yes."

There would be dozens of Christmas markets in the city this time of year.

"Is there a star on the front?"

Yuuri glanced across the square. "Yes."

"I know where you are." Was it just Yuuri, or did Victor's voice sound lighter all of a sudden? Like he was smiling down the line. "Stay there! I'm coming for you."

"Hey, that's my pho-"

The line crackled and cut off Mari's yell.

Yuuri hitched the phone back on the receiver with numb fingers. What had he done? He felt lightheaded as he wandered back to the steps in front of the cathedral and perched himself down on one, setting his chin in his hands thoughtfully. Victor was coming to rescue him. Again.

His fingers ran over his face, delving underneath his glasses and pushing them up his forehead. He groaned hard.

It couldn't get any worse. It officially couldn't.

Yuuri wished he could go back to sleep and start the day again. His head felt heavy in his shoulders, tilting to one side and his eyes drooped with exhaustion. The walk had been a stupid idea. Perhaps he needed Victor babysitting him at his bedside after all. No, the Russian was too busy pulling him out of perhaps his last competitive season for that.

The lull of the carol singers was soothing, even though Yuuri couldn't understand the song. It seemed to fit right in with the cathedral, setting a homely glow about the square. Romantic.

Yuuri frowned at the word.

His skin suddenly crawled under the coat, a strange sense of déjà vu settling in his bones as his gaze scoured over the stone face staring down at him. A shiver ran through him. He'd been here, he realised. Before his accident, he'd been somewhere in this square.

Yuuri wasn't sure how long he listened to the chiming of the clock and the carol singing, hugging his arms tighter around himself as the little warmth left in the air slowly disappeared. The last of the light faded. How much time had passed? He suddenly realised how dependant he was on his phone and how helpless he was without it.

Into the choir's tenth carol since his phone call, misty breath shuddering from his lungs, Yuuri started to wonder if Victor had gotten the wrong cathedral after all...

A car door slammed.

Yuuri dared glance up. He stumbled to his feet.

"Yuuri!"

Victor's coat billowed out behind him as he hurtled across the square and grey hair whipped away from his face. It just made his eyes that little bit more unignorable; sharp, but soft; determined, yet pricked with fear. Did he realise that he betrayed everything through his eyes? It stole Yuuri's breath away like a punch to the gut.

He wished he'd held onto enough to move though when Victor suddenly opened his arms mid-stride. Yuuri realised what was happening just a second too late.

"I was so worried!" The Russian slammed into Yuuri, clinging his arms around his neck to keep them both from toppling. "When you'd gone, I just thought the worst. After what happened yesterday, I -"

He bit his tongue just in time.

Yuuri finished the rest of the sentence in his head for himself though - Victor thought he would be having another panic attack. His jaw tensed slightly. Did Victor think that Yuuri couldn't even take a stroll without panicking? That every time he got a little fluffed up, he needed his coach to hold his hand and pull him through it? Just like he pulled him from his competitions.

He shucked Victor off, stepping back.

Victor staggered.

Surprise flashed in the Russian's eyes - and a stab of hurt. He covered it quickly though, cracking a stiff - and clearly forced - smile. "I'm just glad you're okay."

His gaze rose over Yuuri's head.

In the dim glow of the evening Christmas lights, the cathedral really was beautiful. The old stone looked almost golden and the tiny paned windows sparkled with reflections and starlight. It reminded Yuuri of hopeful eyes, gazing up longingly at the moonlight. Dark tipped spirals framed the brilliant archway and the star was illuminated like a beacon, dancing out over Barcelona beautifully.

Was that why Victor was smiling? Did he find it beautiful too? No, Yuuri realised with a furrowing brow, recognising the distant sparkle in the corner of the Russian's eye. Victor was remembering something.

It wasn't hard to guess what - his gaze dropped to Yuuri, glittering softly. Expectantly. "You came here…" his voice was wistful.

"Where are we?"

The sparkle in Victor's eyes died.

It was almost sad to watch but Yuuri was still too annoyed at Victor to let himself feel sorry for him just yet. He just watched Victor's expressions unfold, trying to work out what was going on in his head. Despite how simple a front Victor seemed to put on the surface, he suspected there was a lot more going on underneath.

Whatever it was though was guarded in a blink, a firm shield dropping down over the Russian's gaze. He was giving nothing away.

When he paused at the scarf around Yuuri's neck though, something cracked. His lips ghosted apart, tweaking at the corners. "Is that my…"

Yes, Yuuri answered in his head with hot cheeks, glaring down at the pavement at his boots. Yes, it was Victor's.

"I-I'm sorry." Damn, he was nervous again. Why did Victor's piercing gaze make him feel so exposed? "I wasn't sure how long you'd be gone and - and I wanted some fresh air. I, er - I mean, I don't remember where the CCIB is and I just thought a walk would clear my head, but-"

Yuuri clamped hand over his own mouth, cutting off his rambling. Victor's amused smirk burned into him like a brand - he was loving it! Yuuri's face burned.

He was just in the middle of reminding himself that he didn't care what Victor thought when he glanced up and caught Mari's drab stare over the Russian's shoulder. A stray strand of brown hair poked out from underneath her black bandana, falling over her eyes. She blinked like it wasn't even there. She'd obviously not been in as much of a hurry as Victor had.

Her arms were folded over her chest. "You know, the CCIB is just over the road from the hotel."

Yuuri's heart stopped with a humiliated thud.

He felt the colour drain slightly from his face. No. He did not know that. Did she mean the short black building he'd been admiring at breakfast, the one that had been so busy and crowded outside? Yuuri shut his eyes. He couldn't bear to look at anybody right now. He'd even thought about what a great sports venue it would have made. All that stuff he'd seen on TV, thinking it was half a city away and he was helpless while it unfurled - it had all been just across the road!

"I'm sorry it took so long." Victor chuckled. "You looked so peaceful this morning, I couldn't bear to wake you. I just wanted to watch Yurio but I guess I got a little carried away."

More heat flooded Yuuri's cheeks. Why did Victor have to say it like that? And in front of his sister no less. He didn't really want to advertise to his family the fact that he was apparently sharing beds with strange, attractive European men.

His head hung.

He'd made a fool out of himself again.

His thumb span the gold band around his finger to distract himself from the myriad of thoughts trampling through his head, wishing it could turn back time. Before he'd woken up, before his short programme yesterday - back to when his world had made sense, whatever that had been. To when he looked in those blue-green eyes and understood exactly what looked back.