Chapter 7

The tips of Yuuri's hair brushed over his eyes as he span through his pirouette, snapping his gaze back to the spot on the wall like he would scorch a hole right through it. His eyes were like burning coals, blinking a bead of sweat from his eyelashes.

"Are you sure about this?"

A space heater buzzed quietly in the corner of Minako's dance studio and a tiny crack in the window kept the air from getting too thick. Gentle waves of sunlight rolled in through the blinds and warmed the floorboards. The smell of salt hung in the air from the nearby coast - subtle but still there - and slow music played from the iPod docking station on the windowsill, though nobody was really listening to it anymore. The song looped over for the ump-teenth time that morning, forgotten.

Yuuri's shoes clicked as his foot grounded behind him, reaching an arm out gracefully in front. He breathed into the stretch burning down the back of his leg.

"No," he admitted.

There was little he'd been sure of since he'd woken up in that damned hospital in Barcelona but somehow since his and Victor's little tryst on the midnight ice, everything had only gotten worse. Uncertainty churned sickeningly in his stomach every time he thought about his plan. It had seemed like such a good idea when it had first come to him, even when he'd stopped to talk it through with Phichit.

Even if it wasn't, it was too late to go back.

"Phichit's already helped me make all the arrangements. If I don't do this, I…" Yuuri swallowed the hard lump in his throat. "I might as well just retire."

Last season, he'd finished in sixth place at the Grand Prix final. This season, he didn't even finish. He'd gotten worse, not better. He couldn't say it aloud though – it was too shameful. Minako didn't need him to say it; after half-raising him, she knew what he was thinking.

That was why he'd come to her after all, just like he had the first time. Last time, she'd been thrilled - hadn't been able to get him out the door fast enough! This time though… Yuuri didn't need to be able to see Minako behind him to feel the tension rolling off her in waves, arms folded stiffly over her chest. It wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting.

Yuuri wasn't going to pretend he was naive enough to not understand why she was hesitant though. Only one thing had changed since last time.

"What does Victor say about it?"

Yuuri froze.

Minako's toes nudged at his heel, correcting his posture and Yuuri paused to check the rest of his position, jolting himself back to the ballet studio. He tightened his core, relaxed his shoulders, and corrected his hips. Glancing over to the mirror along the wall, he thought he looked perfect. A second later, he took it back - guiding hands curled over his, softening his rigid fingers. He groaned softly in frustration, breathing life into the simple stretch.

Ballet had always been his solace. He knew he was in ballet, confident in the elegant arch of his body and the point of his toes. In ballet, everything was controlled by his own strength and balance - there were no blades, no catches on the ice, no slightly off angles that could send him sprawling. He was as safe and graceful as his own ability in Minako's studio. It was a comforting thought, even if he had lost a little of his flexibility over the last few months.

It wasn't the only thing he'd lost, he thought bitterly to himself, catching sight of the deep brown depths gazing back at him from the mirror's reflection. He barely recognized himself anymore.

"Maybe it's time for you to retire."

The moment Yuuri had been cornered in the bathroom by the blonde Russian teen - the first time Yurio had spoken to him - felt like light years ago, but he remembered every curt, crisp word like it was yesterday. They were embossed on his brain, resurfacing more often than he'd like since his accident in at the final. A part of him almost wanted to listen to them.

Nobody would blame him after all, not after the fall he'd taken. It would be so easy to bow out - expected, even! He wasn't exactly young anymore. His time was coming sooner or later at some point. Nobody would blame him...

But he would. He would never forgive himself.

And worse, he might be stuck with his nightmares forever.

Beep… beep… beep...

The air hitched quietly in Yuuri's lungs, like someone had punched him in the gut. He wondered if he'd ever escape the memory of the heart monitor machine from Spain...

"I haven't told him yet."

Whatever had happened between he and Victor on the ice on that drunken night out had changed more than just their relationship - it had changed Yuuri's memory. He was starting to remember. Only it was the wrong things that were coming back to him.

Flashing lights rolled over his head as they wheeled him through the hospital corridors. The bump of the stretcher in the ambulance knocked him awake at night. Instead of remembering how he met Victor, Yuuri relived the Russian's terrified scream careering across the ice until he woke up thrashing in his sheets, cold sweat clinging to his skin and wide eyes staring through the darkness of his room like if he so much as blinked, it would morph back to the CCIB where he'd nearly smashed his skull open. He didn't want to relive those parts of his memory; those parts, he'd rather stay forgotten.

He didn't want to think about it … which made it the onlything Yuuri could think about, dropping his frame into a deep plie. His thighs trembled from the effort and Yuuri focussed on the pain in his body instead of that in his ribcage.

It had been his new routine since the night of the not-date - which had so obviously been a date Yuuri wondered why he'd ever even bothered trying to deny it in the first place. Exhaustion burned through his body. He'd been dancing for hours; and before that, skating; and before that, running. He couldn't stop. He had to keep pushing. If he stopped, he might think about -

Beep… beep… beep...

Yuuri pushed his leg up behind him, lifting it parallel to the floor. An arm arched up over his head, followed by eyes too fierce for the gentle dance, chasing the thoughts away. Chilled air kissed his stomach as his sweat dampened shirt rode up, revealing a slither of sweaty skin above his hipbone.

"Yuuri…"

His muscles screamed for rest but Yuuri ignored them, fighting to hold his position. Just a little more,he willed of himself. His shoulders trembled.

They soon gave out. Yuuri huffed a breath as he dropped down, bracing his hands on his knees and gasping at the burn coursing though his spent muscles. Sweat stuck his hair to his forehead with a slap. His black t-shirt was starting to cling in uncomfortable places. "I know."

He could feel Minako's gaze searing into the back of his head, unusually serious. Yuuri wasn't sure he'd ever seen her so reserved. Glancing up, he drank in her pinched eyebrows and mouth downturned in the corners, the thin lines around her face starting to betray some of her age. She looked tired. She looked worried. About him, no doubt. About what he was doing.

Yuuri softened his features, tweaking an unconvincing smile. Even he could tell how forced it looked, feeling the tiny muscles in his cheeks pinch against it.

Something sad glinted in Minako's eyes – Yuuri didn't remember that from last time. "Just tell him," she said with a heavy sigh, head shaking. Strands of her mousy brown hair fell out of her loose ponytail. "He deserves to know."

The last of Yuuri's fake smile slipped away. I know.

Tomorrow, he promised himself.

He would tell Victor tomorrow.


It was an uneasy sleep the night before Yuuri resolved to tell Victor. Endless trails of mechanical bleeping shirked him awake every time he started to relax into the pillows and distant whispers of 'Will he ever wake up?'rolled through his head, so dramatic there was only one person they could be. They were a cage; they pinned Yuuri down to the bed with his fingers twisting in the sheets, cold sweat sticking his shirt to his back as ghosting flashes of white hot pain and blurry vision had him gasping for help. He spent more time than not writhing in his sheets. Each imaginary beat of the heart monitor machine reminded him of a ticking clock, running out of time - only Victor's face had joined the bleeping, the rush of pain, and wetness of blood. Silver bangs had swayed through his dizziness, his heavily accented voice murmuring his name …

It called across the ice the next day from the edge of the rink in a singsong tone, playful smile toying on his lips as Yuuri landed yet another double jump. Not enough, Yuuri thought bitterly to himself, skating over to the rinkside. It wasn't enough.

Victor handed him a water bottle and Yuuri squirted some straight into his mouth, a drop running down his chin and dripping onto his shirt. With all the sweat, he didn't even notice it. What he did notice was the way Victor's fingers trailed along his forearm as he pulled back, the way his sinful plum purple shirt hugged his toned torso.

Yuuri's own outfit felt painfully ordinary compared to Victor's, even though it was no different to his normal attire. Suddenly, it made him feel as good as naked, raw and exposed. A self conscious arm crossed over his chest, feeling the dark sleeve bulge with his flexing bicep. That was new. He'd never filled out his sleeves so much before, never had so much space flapping about his narrow, toned waist. His body was changing, the month of hard work fighting to get back to his old fitness taking its toll in a not too unpleasant way. It made a change to gaining weight off season.

Victor's hand closed over his over the barrier. "Perfect, Yuuri," he said, body inching closer until the hairs on the back of Yuuri's neck stood on end. "I've been working on a new programme for next season. I can't wait to show it to you."

Yuuri nearly choked. Next season… right, Victor didn't know yet. Yuuri should tell him. He should tell him now.

He wasn't sure if it was Victor's words or his hand that made Yuuri suddenly breathless - Victor had barely touched him since their date. It sent shivers of surprise down Yuuri's spine at the sensation of Victor's fingertips trailing along his forearm as he pulled away.

The glow in Victor's eyes said he wanted to grab onto Yuuri, pull him forward and kiss him against the boards until they forgot how to breathe… but he didn't. He hadn't since Yuuri had thrown himself at him on their date. Not a touch, not a kiss, not a hug - still flirting! But nothing more than the odd wink or playful tone, like Victor was toying with him, teasing. The Russian's hand fell away.

Maybe he didn't remember it. He had been pretty sloshed at the time and had slunk off the next morning without a word to nurse his hangover.

More likely though was that Yuuri was just a bad kisser. Yuuri itched to run his hands through his hair and groan in frustration. It had been all tongues, and teeth, and raw need all thrown together in a heart stopping, intoxicating mix. Yuuri had never kissed anybody like that before - at least, not that he could remember - but with Victor it had felt right. Like his body was once again remembering better than his mind could. He remembered in painful detail the exact tickle of Victor's bangs over his cheek and the soft noises the Russian had made as Yuuri had worried his lower lip between his teeth.

He'd thought they'd been noises of want - wanting more- but he'd obviously been wrong. Victor hadn't kissed him since. He hadn't even mentioned it. There was no version of reality where that was ever a good sign.

The burning memory of where they'd kissed on that drunken night out ghosted through his mind, glaring at him accusingly from that spot on the ice behind him. He could feel the Russian's eyes scour over him, leaving a searing trail in their wake. It was distracting. So distracting. Blood pounded in Yuuri's head and suddenly the words he needed to say stuck in his throat. He took another swig of water, opening his mouth to try again.

Click.

What?

Yuuri turned to Victor, eyebrow arched curiously – right into the phone's camera lens. Sparkling blue eyes glittered over the top.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," Victor said behind the iPhone, hearing the smile in his voice. "You just looked so cutethen."

Yuuri felt his jaw drop, face heating up. Cute. Victor thought he was cute. Albeit, for one fleeting moment, but still … "Oh, um. Right." He didn't know what to say, tripping over his own tongue and actually choking when he accidently inhaledhis next sip of water instead of swallowing it. A strong hand patted his back while he coughed. It was only then he realised just how close Victor was.

Warmth radiated between them and Yuuri wasn't sure if it was from his skin or Victor's, or a combination of both. Their thighs brushed. Hot breath sighed across Yuuri's cheek and he nearly swooned at the molten aquamarine eyes that stared back at him when he glanced up again. How did Victor switch like that? One moment all dewy eyed, and the next just a hot mess that there were no words to describe.

"I've been talking to Celestino," Yuuri said before Victor robbed him of absolutely all coherent thought. His voice was annoyingly breathy.

A smirk flittered over Victor's lip. "Hm?"

"And, um…" his eyes fluttered shut as Victor's next breath flitted right between Yuuri's barely parted lips. "He's said I can come back. To…to train under him."

Honeyed cereal bar and the taste of coffee filled Yuuri's senses, drowning him. Victor's breakfast. He remembered. He remembered looking at the label and nearly having a heart attack, wondering how Victor could eat so much sugar and still look the way he did. It tasted damned good though and Yuuri fought the urge to moan.

The air in front of him stiffened.

Then it went cold.

The tiny grate of blades moving against ice drew Yuuri's eyes open again and he watched Victor drift back a pace, something fragile glittering in his sea-green gaze. Sea-green – he was sad. His eyes went green when he was sad.

Yuuri's gut twisted.

Victor recovered quickly though, blinking his eyes a little bluer. His lips curved unconvincingly. "I hadn't realised you … I mean, I thought …" He cleared his throat stiffly. "Detroit?" The word sounded strangled.

It wasn't how Yuuri had imagined having the conversation. "No. Um, Bangkok? With Phichit. He's going to train the both of us there."

The colour slowly drained from Victor's cheeks and his smile faltered. Anyone would have thought Yuuri had told him that he was dying instead of just moving in with his best friend – even if it was half way around the world… "When?" It was barely more than a whisper.

Yuuri gulped. "I fly out in a few weeks."

Every word looked like it slapped a little more of the life out of Victor, a shuddering breath passing through his lips. It caught Yuuri's gaze distractingly. He remembered what it had been like to kiss that mouth, lips soft yet firm, and oh-so willing…

"I see."

A flush of red stabbed over Yuuri's cheeks. This was definitely not how he'd envisioned telling Victor he was leaving. In his head, there had been more excitement.

He didn't have a choice though. With Celestino, Yuuri had reached the final and placed – albeit poorly. Under Victor, he hadn't even finished both routines. He needed to go back. He didn't have much time left to compete; hell, it may already be too late for him now that Yurio had advanced to the senior division. If he had any chance of winning the GFP though in the twilight years of his skating career, it would be under Celestino.

And that was what he wanted to do. He wanted to skate like Victor had never seen him skate before, win the Grand Prix final and make Victor Nikiforov happy again. If watching Yuuri lazily dance his old routine made Victor beam then he could only imagine what him winning the Grand Prix would do.

For Victor, he could do it. But for that he needed to go.

"I …" Victor's eyes dropped a fraction, darting over Yuuri's shirt looking dazed. "Excuse me for a moment."

He hopped over the gap in the boards and unlaced his skates before he'd even reached the benches, swiping his phone from the side. Silver bangs hid his face. Was it just Yuuri or did his shoulders look a little shaky? There wasn't the chance to check, Victor already disappearing from view down the tunnel by the time Yuuri blinked himself back to his senses.

Yuuko strode up the corridor from the reception, pausing a beat when Victor passed her without even a turn of the head. The question was in her eyes long before she asked it, meeting Yuuri at the barrier. "Is he okay?"

Yuuri followed Victor's shadow down the tunnel, turning right down a linking corridor. The Russian was long out of sight but something about the tunnel seems darker now somehow. Foreboding. Warning Yuuri that whatever he would find down the end of it would not be pleasant, would not bring him the comfort he was looking for. He remembered the look on Victor's face - nothing good could come of seeing that expression again.

He swallowed hard. "I don't know." He knew.

But he couldn't just leave Victor.

He pulled his own skates off with more care than Victor had, taking the time to pull on his trainers at least. Victor had walked away in his socks. His trainers sat forgotten at the benchside. Yuuri had no idea what was going through the Russian's head, following the skirting board along the corridor with low eyes. The corridor was tighter than Yuuri remembered; walls loomed up high and the air seemed thicker than normal, choking him with the shadow of Victor's upset.

He had known the news wouldn't be the best, but if he just explained to Victor… what? What would he say? Even he wasn't fully sure himself that he was doing the right thing.

At the end of the tunnel, daylight glowed from the open reception. It looked enticing compared to the close confines of the corridor, but Yuuri had seen Victor dip into the adjacent corridor before he'd disappeared. Closed doors lined the walls. Changing rooms, lockers, and store cupboards. Yuuri knew every single one. Every door was firmly shut, not a single hint as to which one hid Victor from view.

Half way down the corridor, Yuuri's steps slowed. His ears pricked curiously. For a moment, everything was silent and Yuuri wondered if Victor had just stormed right through the corridor and had looped round the building rather than stopping to mope. Then –

Sniffle.

Yuuri's breath caught.

Definitely sniffles. Somebody was crying - and there was only one person it could be.

Yuuri took another step, treading softly. Blood pounded in his ears so loud it nearly drowned out the soft cries leaking into the corridor and he paused for a moment to calm himself. His left ear tingled.

The sniffles were broken by gasps, and the gasps were broken by hushed, urgent words. Some English. Some Russian. Yuuri couldn't pick out the words themselves – eyes honing in on the plain blue door a few paces away – but he recognised the tone. Victor sounded so different speaking in the different languages. Any other time, it would have been melodic and beautiful to listen to. But right now Victor was crying and Yuuri felt his heart tug painfully in his chest.

He stopped in front of the door. Supply closet. Mops, and spare boarding panels, and crash mats. Victor was crying in a supply closet.

Yuuri's palm flattened silently against the wood, inching closer.

"… I don't know what to do, Yakov."

A choked sob broke off behind the door and Yuuri's breath hitched quietly. It wasn't just a few tears – Victor was giving the full water works.

Yuuri had never seen him cry, but he could imagine it. He spent enough time over his life crying himself to know what it was like. Nose running, eyes so full of tears that the world was a blur, and throat raw from trying to suck in air that just wouldn't stay in his lungs no matter how much they screamed for oxygen. Cheeks ached from his face scrunching up and blood pulsed loudly in his ears, drowning out everything but the sound of his own gasps. He couldn't imagine seeing Victor like that.

But he could hear it.

"Help me."

Yuuri's forehead touched the door, scrunching his eyes shut. Oh God– he hadn't imagined it would be like this.

The next words were a garbled tangle of Russian and Yuuri wondered what Yakov might be saying back on the other end of the phone. The man had always seemed so cold and rational to Yuuri. He couldn't imagine him consoling a grown crying man down the phone line from St Petersburg. What timewould it be in Russia? Ridiculously early, that was for sure.

Victor switched back to English. "He'sleaving ! He doesn't want-"

He spilled back into Russian without skipping a beat and Yuuri lost the conversation instantly. His meagre tourist phrasebook Russian couldn't keep up.

Yuuri didn't need to understand the words to understand the pain behind them though, to make sense of the reason why Victor was sobbing his heart out in a supply closet. Him. All him. Something curled around Yuuri's heart and squeezed, choking. He didn't want this. He just wanted to be better – for Victor. To see him happy again. It was all supposed to be for him...

Fingers curled into a fist against the doorframe and Yuuri gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to just rip open the door and swallow Victor in his arms. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to hold Victor and whisper in his ear how everything would be okay until his tears dried and he stopped trembling, murmuring comfort in English, Russian, Japanese - whatever language Victor wanted to hear. Yuuri would find a way. He'd stroke his fingers through Victor's soft silver locks and kiss that damned engagement ring on his finger if that was what he wanted. He would do anything.

Then he blinked and gasped, eyes shooting wide. Behind the door, Victor's sobs started to soften. Yuuri held his breath.

His gaze darted over the door, stunned by the desperation welling in his chest. It hurt.In more ways than just one. He'd never felt anything like that before; not from his panic or anxiety, or stress or nerves. It was new, and raw, and brutal. It frightened him. Victor made him feel that.

But Victor didn't feel the same, he reminded himself quickly. He might be upset that he'd lost his one and only pupil but Victor had made it clear that he didn't want anything from Yuuri more than that. He hadn't kissed him. He didn't want him. Victor had made that quite clear.

Yuuri backed away from the door with numb steps, cursing in his head when his trainers made a soft padding sound on the floor. Could Victor hear it?

Yuuri turned on his heel on instinct. He wasn't stopping to find out.