Chapter 4 - Fangirling the Flames
No matter how loudly Yuri shouted "Viktor!" at his back, he didn't turn around. Within an instant, both Viktor and Yuuri were gone.
Beside the ice in his worn-out sneakers, Yuri stared across the empty rink from his perch on the guard rail, letting the phantoms sink in. He wrapped his arms around himself, clutching each elbow in its opposite hand, as if that grip was the one thing that could confirm his own existence.
"Yobaniy nasos…" he muttered under his breath in a beleaguered sort of astonishment. Invitation to the Grand Prix or not, how in the seven levels of hell did he think he was going to pull this off?
At the second click of the door closing shut, Yuri blinked back out of his imagination. He vaulted off the ledge, and stomped the two steps over to composed, silent Otabek, who had been unlacing his skates on the lowest bleacher and paying the absolute minimum attention to him.
"Why the hell'd you offer that? Sharing Viktor?" Yuri asked, although the sharpness of the words made it sound far more like a demand than a question. He planted afoot along the bleacher, hunching over Otabek to cast a looming, flickering fraction of a shadow across the fellow skater. "What, you think I'm pathetic enough it doesn't matter? Pity's a weakness, you know."
Placing his skates aside, Otabek laced up the steel-toed monstrosities that were his boots. He rose from the bleacher to stand on roughly equal ground, the shadows sliding off of him. He stared back at Yuri, unflinching. "You don't remember me, but I remember you, Yuri. We're rivals, you and I. What kind of competition would it be if we didn't start on equal ground?"
"Normal?" Catching himself as having answered with a question, Yuri tried to conceal the fact that he'd caught that particular habit from a four-year-old with a mask of aggression and confidence. "Fair is a fallacy. Play nice, eat ice."
Immune to the false bravado, Otabek looked down, straight into the confused face of a challenge he'd been waiting for since he was a child, with a small, genuinely confident smirk. "Take the offer or leave it on the ice. Either way, with Viktor or without him, you and I are going to go head to head at the Grand Prix. I, for one, can't wait to see what you can do."
Before Yuri could manage whatever grandstanding he'd desperately try to pull off next, Otabek turned to head up the stairs. He pulled his phone from his pocket as he went, texting the name of the restaurant to Viktor as he headed out. "I hope you like burgers and fries!"
Without a second's gap, Yuri fell into step behind Otabek, lengthening his stride to make up for the lost ground of Otabek's head start. He raised his posture to peer over Otabek's shoulder, trying and failing to counter his sportsmanship with an ill-fitting but gradually more convincing smirk of his own. "Maybe you should hope you like silver!"
The fake attitude dropped the instant Yuri was face to headlights with his ride.
The moment they stepped onto the parking lot, Otabek headed straight for his Harley.
He removed his spare helmet from his saddle bag and extended it towards Yuri, silently offering him a ride.
Yuri, meanwhile, didn't budge. Instead, he gaped on in dead-eyed uncertainty, as if he meant to point, but was too stunned to do more than plainly state the first thought that popped into his head. "You'll disfigure yourself on this."
Otabek straddled his bike and turned the engine over. He arched a brow back to Yuuri, asking without words whether or not he was coming.
The look was lost on Yuri, who had instead turned his head to stare away, across the parking lot. There, in that moment of hesitance born from self-preservation, Yuri spotted Yuuri and Viktor together in their car.
Far off in the admittedly minimal distance that was the other side of the lot, the intertwined pair should have been hardly a blip to anyone. Still, behind the steam they were casting across the front windows, Yuri could feel the not-so-private show of intimacy that was Viktor's mouth marking Yuuri's neck.
Without so much as a blink in hesitation, Yuri snatched the spare helmet from Otabek's grasp. He practically flung himself across the seat, both of his arms wrapping around Otabek in a cobra's grip. From here, with his helmet on and his head turned to the opposite side, he had thought Otabek wouldn't notice the nearly fluorescent shade of pink he'd turned to.
Yuri was so preoccupied on the task of not looking towards the car that he completely failed to notice Otabek looking over his own shoulder. Rather than point out the obvious, Otabek pulled out of the parking lot, straight past Yuuri, Viktor, and their kissing rendezvous.
Although Yuri had been sure to stay turned in the opposite direction, he had still raised a very specific finger and shouted as they drove by the happy couple. "Screw this in the mouth! Tint your fucking windows!" Yuri rolled his eyes towards the top of the helmet as they passed by.
The hold Yuri had on Otabek's waist was proof enough that he wasn't that uncomfortable with physical contact. Something about that car, specifically, had set Yuri into a huff, or so Otabek suspected.
It hardly took the first thirty seconds at the restaurant for Otabek to peg exactly what.
Lunch went about as well as could be expected. Yuri ate his burger with a scowl on his face only to stop partway through, twitch, and then went back to nibbling as if nothing had happened. Otabek, having chosen the restaurant, ate his cheeseburger and fries as if he didn't have to worry about his figure. Yuuri and Viktor had opted for grilled chicken sandwiches instead, and were as inseparably nestled together as the separate chairs would allow.
Throughout the meal Yuri had been throwing glares his way, but Yuuri had come to accept that as his normal expression, these days. Otabek kept glancing from Yuri to Viktor and Yuuri and back, little smirks and head shakes alerting Yuuri to some inside joke. Despite the sideways glances, the rest of the meal was pleasant—a fact which may have been made possible due to Yuri not speaking a word.
There was a point, when Otabek went to pay and Viktor followed after him to give him his instructions for the remainder of the day, when Yuri and Yuuri had been left face to face, alone.
Rather than deal with that prospective catastrophe, Yuuri took out his phone. He did his best to look interested in whatever random social media site he had pulled up in the rush to be preoccupied.
In spite of the food stuck to the side of his mouth—the natural risk and residue of him munching down so many fries in a hurry—Yuri still managed to look dour as ever while he stared Yuuri down. That same, fixated stare held for a solid fifteen seconds before he pointed towards Yuuri's chest. "Katsudon. Your shirt's backwards."
Despite knowing full well that he was properly dressed, Yuuri looked down at his shirt to find it perfectly in order. Smirking at Yuri and his childish joke, he turned his attention back to his phone before answering. "Very funny, Yuri."
It was the closest either of them could muster to a conversation.
Thankfully, it didn't take Viktor long to relay his 'orders' to Otabek, who said a quick 'goodbye' before heading for his bike. Within a fraction of a second, Yuri rose from the table, practically scrambling after Otabek in the rush to leave Yuuri behind.
Otabek hadn't noticed he had a tag-along until he was already beside his bike, putting his helmet on. When he caught sight of Yuri, he smirked back at him, amused. "Sorry, Yuri. You're riding with the love birds."
Taken aback with both a literal step and figurative, bulging eyes of discomfort, Yuri's stomach lurched down with a piece of news he found far more distressing than he logically should have. The emotional smoothie of confusion and irritation only amused Otabek more, so much so that he couldn't resist teasing him a little.
Otabek leaned towards Yuri, whispering at a hush that only Yuri could hear. "Don't look too green. He might notice."
The feeling, and related expression, of utter and complete dread was at least in part paused by the sheer confusion that came from the whispered remark. Yuri eyed him from the side, no longer that angry if only because he genuinely didn't get why he had to specify in the first place. "Why the hell would I look like an amateur?"
Hiding a laugh at how the intended meaning of that advice had gone entirely over Yuri's head, Otabek straddled his bike. He started the engine before looking back to Yuri. "We'll ride again soon. See you on the ice."
Relieved in the moment of passing peace, Yuuri stacked the trays from their table. He strolled past the ringing bell of the restaurant door, over to Viktor's side. His hand slipped naturally into his fiance's grasp as he watched the exchange between Otabek and Yuri from a distance. Although Yuuri couldn't hear what was being said, he saw the moment Otabek drove off without Yuri, leaving the befuddled Russian punk to the two of them. Shaking his head, Yuuri couldn't help but smile for some reason. "This shopping trip is going to be interesting."
"Oh. Em. Gee!" The salesgirl behind the counter of the 'Pro Figure Skates Inc.' shop had taken one look at Viktor and Yuuri and nearly lost her mind. Eyes wide, smile even wider, she gasped and squealed in pure delight before coming around the counter to greet them. "It's you!" She squeaked with clear stars in her eyes at the sight of Viktor. Then, she looked to Yuuri. "And YOU! I can't believe it!"
In what was, one could assume, a learned response, Yuri had lurched away the moment he'd heard the pitch of a loud, squealing girl. He had pulled up the hood on his jacket, huddled over, and had physically moved himself to stand directly behind Yuuri to avoid her line of sight.
Yuuri smiled a bit sheepishly before looking to Viktor. While they were well known in athletic circles, he wasn't used to getting this kind of attention in public. Viktor, on the other hand, had absolutely no trouble basking in the glow of attention. If anything, he seemed to automatically reflect it right back at the clerk. "Yes! This is us. We are people!"
Straightening up a bit, the clerk smiled through a nervous giggle before looking to Yuuri and Viktor. "I'm sorry, I'm just such a huge fan of both of you. I always dreamed about meeting you two, I never thought you'd come into my shop!"
Viktor flicked his wrist in front of himself, dismissing the concern as one might a fly. "No, no, don't worry. We don't get recognized very often. It's quite fun for us too, actually. Though forgive Yuuri for being shy. It's been a while since he's been lavished with compliments that aren't from me!"
Glancing at the clerk's name tag, Yuuri smiled and extended his hand in greeting. "We apologize if we startled you, Amber. We're here to buy some skates for our friend here." Yuuri stepped aside as he spoke, allowing himself to gesture towards the sour looking, wild Yuri Plisetsky burrowing into his jacket behind him. "Something in a size seven or eight, perhaps?"
Viktor made sure he was smiling enough for all three of them when he bobbed in agreement. "Yes, for our grumpy, tiny friend."
Amber practically beamed with joy at the prospect of helping Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov pick out skates for their acquaintance. "Oh, of course! Right this way! Take a seat, I'll be riiiight back!"
As promised, Amber wasted no time in pillaging every shelf, back room and hidden cabinet. In no time, Yuri had been enshrined in a small fort of every professional level skating boot the store had to offer. In the eye of the shoe storm, as if he had suddenly become the king of skating boots sitting on his throne, stood Yuri. He'd open a box, slide on the shoes, stand up, and either walk around the store for a few minutes while stretching in odd positions, or simply sit right back down again without a word.
Yuuri stood off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, observing through a smile. The fact that Yuri was completely silent and docile in the presence of Amber, had not escaped Yuuri's notice. He made a mental note that if Yuri started misbehaving too badly, a tweet to that old Yuri's Angels account might be in order.
After the last of the boxes had been carted out, Viktor looked right back to the clerk with a smile. He extended one of the rejected boxes back to her in its place. "Thank you, Amber! We won't be needing this, but we're looking, still. Also, if you can set aside blades? Standard John Wilson, if they're there in back?" he asked.
Amber perked up with an obedient, eager "Of course! Just one sec!"
"Thank you!"
In Amber's absence, Viktor crossed through the boot tornado, directly over to Yuri. He took a knee, bent over, and pressed his hand to the top of the boot, marking where Yuri's toe was resting with his palm.
"You may not have long to wear the boot in, so, we may want a second lightly used pair that we can treat in case the first ones don't wear in time through practice." Viktor reached his hand around the back, next, holding the heel of the boot. Had it been Yuuri standing this close, he may have rightfully been concerned about being kicked in the face. Viktor having no such fear, just kept talking to the boot as if it could answer him. "What did you think of the Riedell? Those have more support at the base overall, usually."
Yuri raised his left foot, mimicking half of the approach to a jump with the leg Viktor wasn't anchoring down. "I'm more stable on these."
Unhindered by this, Viktor stood up. He raised his hands in a clap. "Ax, that's a relief. With those mood swings, I didn't know you were stable on anything!"
Unlike the knock against him Otabek had tried minutes ago, that one, Yuri managed to catch at full force. His eyes widened in pure, almost mortified shock that Viktor had just very loudly and very cheerfully essentially called him crazy.
Viktor's smile beamed back, undeterred. "Now, do a spin! And that's not of your eyes."
Not in a position where he could ignore the instruction, Yuri did as he was told. Without raising his arms into the proper stance for anything but huddling for warmth, he mimicked what would have been the motions of a layback spin. He, naturally, had no momentum to finish a rotation on solid carpet, so he had to march the rest of the way through and reposition himself to stare straight on back at Viktor.
"Next time, I'll spin your damn head, Vik-chan," Yuri grumbled.
Excited, Viktor turned as well. He moved away from the stack of boxes, to paw at Yuuri's shoulder and call his attention. "Aw, how sweet! Yuuri, listen, he remembers your old dog." With the same, amused sparkle of someone knowing full well what they were saying, Viktor gestured back to Yuri. "Now grand jeté to a fifth arabesque!"
Hearing footsteps from the back which could, very well, have been the clerk returning, Yuri didn't back-sass Viktor at all. Instead, he suppressed an eye twitch, focused on the order and, in the small amount of space he had inadvertently cleared amongst the boxes for his spin, moved from a first position stance into the leap of a grand jeté. In spite of the special limitations restricting the jump, it might have even seemed graceful—aside from, of course, the hands he hadn't bothered to remove from his hoodie.
Viktor's attention called aside after watching the display he'd asked for, he checked right back to the cashier again. "O, Amber, do you know what other customers thought were better on the heel huggers, this SP-Teri or the Harlicks?"
While Viktor was distracted with the clerk, Yuuri kept a watchful eye from the sidelines. He had faded so far into the background that, it seemed even Yuri wasn't bothering to glare at him, anymore. Instead, he'd been staring ahead, at a mirror. Yuuri made a conscious decision not to pay attention, until, from the corner of the eye he'd planned not to watch through, he saw a pose.
In the middle of the chatter, gear, and throne of skating boots, Yuri had set a hand along the bench. He stretched up, then back, with his left leg straight on the ground and his right overhead. Then, once he'd stabilized, Yuri fidgeted to move his right hand off the bench and try to grab his boot from over his shoulder. He flailed a bit, his back arching slightly off center, or his arm just missing, but, from what Yuuri could see squinting at him, he was pretty sure that Yuri was trying to mimic the central pose of a full Biellmann spin.
For that split second, even Amber, who had been excitedly discussing the effectiveness of various support systems for supporting the foot during intense jumping patterns, had paused when she caught sight of the stretch. Normally, male skaters only attempted half Biellmann spins, as they'd physically lack the kind of flexibility required. Yuri was one of the few male figure skaters to perform a full Biellman at senior competition in the past due to his feminine, petite frame back then—but despite his age and what should be a changing physique, it seemed he wanted to push himself.
Spotting this struggle which was, while flailing, strained and crooked, at the very least a form of effort, Viktor observed with interest. His forehead creased as he considered how long to watch.
After a few lingering moments of watching Yuuri's reaction, Viktor left one Yuuri's side in favor of the other. He set a supportive hand under Yuri's leg, supporting his unstable stance. "Start with a stretch. Stop the hand, just the leg, and bend the top knee," He moved Yuri into the position as he described it, posing him back into a lower, more stable half pose.
With any potential topples averted, Viktor took a step back, rejoining Yuuri along the wall to observe. He cupped his hand under his chin in pondering. "Wait, is that how you look when you like something? You like that pair?"
Yuri raised his chin higher, his nose now pointing to the ceiling. He strained to speak up enough that the words could even carry through the weight of the stretch. "Shut up."
"That's not how you say yes, Yurio. Did you catch amnesia and forget English?"
Smirking lightly at the banter, Yuuri shook his head. He glued himself along the wall, letting Viktor play in peace.
"Amnesia's not contagious, durachok."
"And down." Viktor clapped his hands, again, taking the small victory that Yuri's word of choice for him had already downgraded from son-of-a-bitch to something that was often meant as an affectionate joke. Again, Viktor checked back on Yuuri, eager and thoughtful. "Yuuri, can you find Amber? I think we should offer to take a picture with her. It'll be fun."
"Oh, yes. I'll be right back," Yuuri bobbed his head. He pushed away from the wall, leaving the banter behind to move toward the back of the store. He opened the cracked door to the stock room, to find Amber kneeling on the floor, searching through drawers.
Yuuri knocked on the door to approach his presence. "Amber?" In spite of the effort to give some forewarning, Amber still leapt in surprise. Yuuri chuckled nervously. "Sorry. And thank you for all of your help. We really appreciate it."
Amber sprung to her feet, turning to Yuuri's side with stars in her eyes. "Oh it's been my absolute pleasure! Is there anything else I can get for you?" From that look of sheer admiration, as if he was some form of deity, Yuuri knew he could have asked her to do practically anything and she'd probably have agreed.
"Actually, Viktor thought that you might want a picture with us. We figured it was the least we could do to say thank you for all your help."
Amber made a sound that, from her smile, Yuuri could only assume had been meant as a yes. The well of admiration in her eyes practically spilled over into tears of joy as they walked out into the store together.
By the time Yuuri made it back, Yuri was plopped into the boot warmer, waiting for the newly heating leather to mold to his feet. Viktor set three other boxes down at the counter, waiting. He sprung away from their future purposes, back towards Yuuri and Amber, the instant they came into sight.
With a smile, Yuuri took Amber's phone, a shiny pink case appropriately adorned with the silhouette of a female ice skater. "You take the picture, Vitya. You have the longest arms."
Amber was squealing and visibly bouncing up and down in place with glee as she watched her phone pass from one of her idols to another.
Viktor held out the phone, and wrapped an arm around Amber, his hand landing on the edge of Yuuri's shoulder. Yuuri in turn wrapped his arm around her lower back to move in a bit closer, centering Amber at the middle of the picture. Viktor held the phone out as far as possible, angled it for the most flattering light, and cheered "Say cheese!"
A couple of safety shots later, Viktor stepped back. He handed the phone to Amber, who cradled it to her chest as if it was the most precious thing in the world. The tears, which had been welling for hours, poured out along with her cheer. "Oh, my goodness! Thank you both soooo much~! I love it!"
"Of course. It's nothing compared to your help!" He set his hand on Amber's shoulder, giving her a quick, friendly sort of passing pat. "Thank you for your support! Of us and his feet."
His point made and the last of the photos taken, Viktor allowed himself to check back on Yuri who was, at the moment, back to standing, and was walking around in circles in his new boots. "Are you planning to take those off? They're already cold"
Yuri didn't so much as pause to look back at him. "I know how to wear in boots, you idiot."
The dry, passionless way in which Yuri dismissed it was just so straightforward that Viktor couldn't help teasing back. "I know! I had to check with you because of the contagious amnesia. I thought you gave it to me, but then I forgot I forgot, so, here we are."
It took Amber a few minutes to calm down to cash them out, but by the time they left, she'd given them her card and told them to contact her if they ever needed anything. Little did any of them know, before they'd so much as buckled in to leave the parking lot, Amber had posted the photo on her Instagram, Facebook page, Twitter, Tumblr and her fan club website. By the time they'd made it home, the picture had gone viral, all because of one sulking figure in the background; a figure that looked suspiciously like Yuri Plisetsky.
