A/N: Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it, and to all who don't, hope you had a great holiday anyway!

Note that the song suggested in this chapter can be found in its entirety on YouTube (which I linked to for AO3 readers), but is a little hard to find because most of the YouTube versions are the cut versions from a video game. It can also be found on Spotify in its entirety.

Why the hell did I decide it would be a good idea to put Yuri and Yuuri in the same scene and then write it from Yuri's POV? My head hurts _ .

Disclaimer: I don't own Yuri on Ice!


The trip to Paris for Trophee de France started with a short flight to San Francisco, which, given that it was late November, was a nightmare of hellish proportions. Once they were on their plane to Paris (business class, because what was the point of being a record-breaking practically world champion if you had to fly coach), things started to settle down. Yuri sank back into his seat with his phone in one hand, an earbud in his ear as he tried to find something good to listen to.

Beside him, Yuuri Katsuki stared out the window with both of his hands pressed against the airplane wall, not saying much. Yuri paused in his search for good music to look over at the other man. The Japanese Yuuri had the sort of anxious look on his face that Yuri recognized, and the dark cloud that hung around him was worryingly catching. Yuri leaned as far away from Yuuri as he could in the airplane seats because he could not afford a case of the nerves right now.

"Hey, katsudon, I'm the one competing, remember? If anyone needs to be anxious, it's me."

Yuuri turned slowly to look at him and his expression was even worse than the cloud hanging around him. Yuri wondered what on earth he could be so worried about.

"I just left Viktor alone with the children," Yuuri said.

Yeah, that would do it.

"Oh…" Yuri said, understanding. He looked away from Yuuri, going back to messing with his phone. Yuuri went back to staring nervously out of the window. He was making Yuri tense, but it really wasn't his job to comfort his coach.

Except he knew the katsudon well enough to know that if they didn't fix this soon, Yuuri would be useless in Paris as a coach. Yuri sighed, trying to think calming thoughts.

"Look," he said. "It won't be that bad. Viktor's a grown man—he kept Makkachin alive for years before you showed up. The worst that'll happen is they'll stay up way too late, spend a little too much money and eat unhealthy food. It's not going to kill them."

Yuuri blinked at him, as if surprised that the words were coming out of his mouth. Fair enough, Yuri sometimes surprised even himself.

"Yeah…" Yuuri said after a while, letting out a breath. "Yeah, you're right, Yurio. It's going to be okay."

He turned away from the window, sinking back into his seat. Yuri didn't know what possessed him to keep talking, but for some reason he said, "I mean, you know, as long as Viktor doesn't try to cook again. You remember the last time, when the fire department showed up?"

Yuuri sat bolt upright, eyes wide.

Sometimes, Yuri really hated his big mouth.


Yuuri was going to call him.

He'd been very good about not bothering Viktor and the girls too much and focusing on Yurio, but enough was enough. He was looking down at his Instagram at a picture posted by Viktor that showed him, Sonia and Clara seated on the couch with Makkachin at an ungodly hour of the morning with entirely too much ice cream on the coffee table in front of them. The three of them were holding up a Russian flag, and the caption directly below the picture was: 'Staying up all night to cheer on big brother Yurio! Shh, don't tell Dad~'.

He was so going to call him. Putting the kids to bed early and waking them up to watch Yurio's event was different from staying up all night! His thumb hovered over the call button.

A hand closed around his wrist in a vise grip, stopping him. Yuuri looked up to see Yurio sitting next to him in his Team Russia jacket. He wasn't looking at Yuuri and there was an angry expression on his face, but the look in his green eyes was half-panicked. Yuuri looked around and remembered that they were about to go out, that it was almost Yurio's turn.

He took a deep breath and, with great effort of will, locked his screen and slipped his phone into his suit jacket pocket. Yurio released him and Yuuri took a deep breath, getting to his feet.

"Alright," he said, putting a smile on his face. "How about we go warm up?"

Yurio snorted in derision, but got to his feet.


"Don't worry," Yuuri said after the short program finished and he was guiding Yurio (who finished in first place, no surprises there), to the exit. "I'll stay right here. You just have to talk to them for a few minutes and then we'll head back to the hotel."

Yurio rolled his eyes but didn't argue, stepping out into the lobby to the sound of high-pitched squeals and screaming. Yuuri followed a few paces behind with what he hoped was an encouraging smile on his face, but on the inside he was quietly thankful that he had never reached that level of popularity. He didn't know what he would do if he did—probably panic and never leave his room again.

With the help of event security, they managed to guide Yurio's fans into something that was almosta single file line, and Yuuri watched to make sure that Yurio was being polite and that he also ended the evening with all of his limbs. One girl in particular got a little too touchy during a photo opportunity, and Yuuri was placed in the uncomfortable position of having to pry her off of Yurio while also making sure that Yurio didn't chew her head off.

"Be nice to your fans," Yuuri said under his breath as security gently but firmly escorted the girl away.

"I am being nice," Yurio hissed, also under his breath as he straightened out his jacket. He did manage to look not-entirely-angry as the next set of fans—a trio of girls that seemed to have come here together—approached with posters to autograph. Yuuri stayed just far enough away to be within reach in case Yurio needed him, reaching back into his pocket for his phone. He was scrolling through a message from Viktor when he heard someone come up behind him, clearing their throat hesitantly.

"Ano…" said a feminine voice, and the Japanese filler word made Yuuri look up instantly. "Excuse me, Katsuki-san."

The words were spoken in Japanese. Yuuri looked over his shoulder, surprised. A young dark-haired woman, probably somewhere around Yurio's age, was standing there looking embarrassed to be speaking at all. She was wearing a Team Japan jacket.

"Um—," she said. "My name is Iwase Sayako. This is my first year skating in the Grand Prix Series, and I just wanted to say that I've always been a fan. A few years ago, when I was in Juniors, I had some issues and—and I was actually inspired to continue with skating after your comeback in Barcelona, and—um—I—." She drew in a deep breath and straightened up, then sank into a bow. "—It's very nice to meet you."

Yuuri stared at her, momentarily dumbfounded. A hand landed on the middle of his back, shoving him in Sayako's direction. He stumbled and looked back to see Yurio glaring at him. Sayako had spoken entirely in Japanese, a language that Yurio only barely understood, but it seemed like he had gotten the gist.

"Be nice to your fans, katsudon," Yurio said, before turning back around to greet the next person.

Yuuri straightened up, exhaling as he turned towards Sayako. He had never been good at this. But—

—he thought of Sayako's words. 'I had some issues…', 'I was inspired to continue with skating…'

—he could at least try.

"It's nice to meet you, Iwase-san," he said, replying in the same language, "The women's short program was today as well, wasn't it? I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention to the scores. How did it go…?"


"We're here live in Paris for the men's free skate at the Trophee de France, the second to the last competition in the Grand Prix Series. The competition this year is fierce, with several competitors in the running for this year's Grand Prix Final. First and foremost is last year's gold medalist, Jean-Jacques Leroy of Canada. The 22-year-old skater won Skate Canada by a large margin, and will attempt to do the same at next weekend's Cup of China.

Last year's silver medalist, Phichit Chulanont of Thailand, is also a strong contender for one of the six Grand Prix Final spots, with a bronze at Skate America and a gold medal at the NHK Trophy. Barring any major upsets, Chulanont's qualification is all but confirmed.

Yuri Plisetsky, bronze medalist at the Grand Prix Final in Nagoya, is currently in first place after his short program yesterday. After a gold medal at this year's Rostelecom Cup, the 18-year-old skater is practically assured of a spot in Vancouver—assuming he makes it to the podium today!

Other strong contenders include Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan, this year's gold medalist at Skate America, who will be competing against Jean-Jacques Leroy at the Cup of China next weekend. Leo de la Iglesia of the United States of America will also be competing at the Cup of China. De la Iglesia won silver this year at Skate America, and depending on his scores at the Cup of China, may be bound for his first ever Grand Prix Final! But Italy's Michele Crispino, with a silver medal at the Rostelecom Cup and a bronze medal at the NHK Trophy, may be hot on his heels, along with Emil Nekola of the Czech Republic, whose silver medal at Skate Canada makes him a strong contender for the final, depending on his performance in Paris today. Finally, Seung-Gil Lee of Korea is hanging on by a thread after placing fourth at Skate Canada and winning silver at the NHK Trophy.

It's an exciting show, ladies and gentlemen, so stay with us as we kick off the Trophee de France men's free skate!"


(Suggested Song: Xue Wu by V.K. 0:00 – 4:30)

Yuri handed his guards to Yuuri, skating out into the center of the rink as his name was called. He took a deep breath as the music started playing, trying to sink into the feeling of the performance. His free skate was the emotional counterpoint to his energetic short program, a story about his life and his feelings thus far. That and the white costume he was wearing often led people to compare it to his senior debut—Agape.

Nobody else would be able to skate this, he thought. It was about him. About his desire to win. He could do this. Of course he could. It was, after all, about a subject he actually knew a lot about—himself.

He could do this.


He couldn't do this.

That was the thought that ran through Yuri's mind as Yuuri led him away from the rink, his gold medal a weight around his neck. He'd won gold and earned himself a confirmed spot at the Grand Prix Final, but after one missed jump and one actual fall that was really more a reflection of everyone else's failure than his own success. Really, he'd practically given them the competition. If he hadn't been skating against blithering incompetents, he'd probably be walking away with a silver or a bronze. And he knew it.

Worse, he knew that Yuuri knew it too. Unlike Viktor, Yuuri never gave lectures immediately after a competition—probably because he still seemed to be a little uncomfortable in his role as a coach—but Yuri could sense the lecture building. The Japanese man wore the same nervous false smile on his face that he wore whenever a reporter asked him an uncomfortable question, and the lines that creased his brow spoke of anxious thoughts. Yuri half-wished that someone would yell at him already and just get it over with.

His phone buzzed. Yuri glanced at it to see a private message from J.J. of all people. 'Congrats on the gold medal. Sorry about the fall. Bet you're glad I wasn't skating there, eh? See you in Vancouver!'

What followed was a string of Canadian flag emojis. He cursed Canadian passive-aggressiveness with all of his heart and resisted the urge to throw his phone against the hallway wall. There were reporters out here and this phone was new.

Yuuri glanced over his shoulder, his hand tightening briefly around Yuri's arm.

"Don't let him get to you," Yuuri said, his voice soft and sympathetic. That honestly just made Yuri feel worse about himself.

He scowled, jerking his arm out of Yuri's grasp. "I don't need your pity. I'll get him in Canada." He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and continued walking.

Great. Now Yuuri was trailing along behind him like a kicked puppy. It was actually making him feel guilty, and guilt was the lastthing he wanted to feel right now.

Ugh, why was his coach so pathetic? He had to distract Yuuri with something, otherwise Yuriwas going to start the yelling himself.

Thankfully, passing by the curtains that led out into the rink provided him with a suitable distraction. The women's free skate was going on outside, judging from the music and the way the crowd cheered. He glanced out at the ice through a half-open curtain, still scowling.

"Hey, isn't that that chick that came up to talk to you yesterday?" he asked. "Sayoko or whatever."

"Sayako," Yuuri corrected, but he turned to look anyway. Yuri watched him out of the corner of his eye. He still wore that look of confused disbelief, as if he didn't know why people would ever admire him in the first place.

Yuri snorted, rolling his eyes. God, his coach was pathetic.

"Sayako-chan!" Yuuri shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to make his voice carry. "Ganba!"


Viktor never did things by halves.

While he did occasionally forget his commitments and did have a tendency to make impulse decisions, when he decided to do something, he did it completely and thoroughly. He didn't just choreograph short programs for Yuuri and Yurio, he created the two best programs of the season. He didn't just decide to coach Yuuri, he helped Yuuri through the best skating season he had ever had at that point in his life. He didn't just decide to foster Sonia and Clara, he spent weeks fussing with the girls' bedrooms, making them perfect, and that was before they even set foot in the house.

So when Viktor agreed with Yuuri's suggestion that they do Christmas this year, Yuuri was expecting him to be into it. What he wasn't expecting was to walk in through the front door of his house after Trophee de France and wander into a winter wonderland.

"Surprise!" Clara shouted, tackle-hugging him in the foyer before he could even get his shoes off. Makkachin followed suit, barreling into his knees so that Yuuri had to struggle to stay upright. He quickly wrapped an arm around the back of Clara's knees so that he wouldn't drop her, his eyes wide as he looked around the house. The house—what he could see of it, anyway—had been transformed, with lights and wreaths and tasteful Christmas decorations everywhere.

Clara giggled, throwing an arm over his shoulder to steady herself. "Do you like it?" she asked. "We were decorating all weekend! You should see the tree!"

"Tree?" Yuuri repeated dumbly, slipping out of his shoes with the ease of long practice. Makkachin barked, running towards the living room, and Clara laughed, sliding down onto the floor and chasing after the large poodle. Yuuri followed, still feeling slightly numb.

In the living room was the most stunning Christmas tree Yuuri had ever seen. It was trimmed in silver and gold, crystalline ornaments hanging from it and glinting in the living room's light. Viktor and Sonia were still working on it, Sonia solemnly holding on to a box of ornaments while Viktor adjusted some of the tree's lower branches.

Sonia's eyes widened when she saw him, and she quickly looked away. It hurt Yuuri to see that. She had started being nervous around him after the incident in the attic, and that had only gotten worse after the mess with the teapot. But Viktor smiled to see him and stood up, brushing pine needles from the front of his pants, and the sight of Viktor's smile soothed the sting somewhat.

Viktor wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close as they both turned to look at the tree.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

Yuuri had the brief impulse to ask how much all of this had cost them, but he realized before he could form the words that he didn't actually care. He nodded. "I do."

Viktor's smile widened and Yuuri felt him shift his weight so that he was partly resting on him. He leaned in close to his ear.

"Okaeri," he whispered, the accented Japanese sending a shiver down Yuuri's spine. Welcome home.

Yuuri looked at the tree, at Sonia who stood there with the box of ornaments, trying to hide the fact that she was sneaking glances at him, at Clara who was rocking on her heels just in front of the Christmas tree, her hands behind her back as she looked at him expectantly, at Makkachin who lay beneath the tree, tail wagging. He felt a warmth run through him that chased away all of his nervousness about being gone, all of his jetlag, all of the weariness that had been building up since they first touched down in Paris.

"Tadaima," he said, placing a hand over Viktor's.

I'm home.


"You're still here?" Mason asked, his tone incredulous as he stood in the doorway to their room. Yuri scowled from his desk, not looking up from his homework.

"I live here, you idiot."

"It's Friday night," said Mason, letting the door close behind him.

"I know what day it is," said Yuri, tugging at his hair in frustration. This math class was going to be the death of him. Why had he decided to take math for his science requirement anyway? He was a freaking dance major. He already knew all the math that mattered. "It's the katsudon's birthday weekend, which means he and Viktor are going to be disgusting. No thank you."

"So you're going to sit here and complain about your math homework?" Mason asked. "Shouldn't you be preparing for that—that Final thing of yours or whatever?"

"Yeah, well, once you tell the university to excuse me from their stupid finals, I'll get right on that," said Yuri, shoving the sheet of paper he was working on to the side.

How did people do this anyway? No wonder it had taken the katsudon five years to graduate college, and that was without any major skating victories. He promised himself that next quarter he was going to take something easy, like introductory ballet. It didn't matter that he'd been studying ballet at Russian ballet academies practically since he could walk, had trained under Lilia Baranovskaya, and could probably audition himself into any damn class level this university had to offer—they didn't need to know that.

He pulled another sheet over to him, running a hand through his hair in frustration as he started writing. Mason came over hesitantly to look over his shoulder, and Yuri gripped his pen tighter, giving him a glare that just dared him to offer his help. It wasn't that Yuri hadn't accepted help on these math problems in the past, but he was so done with people being patronizing and looking down on him.

Thankfully, Mason was either too scared of him to say something or he was on the right track with the homework, because the other boy just shrugged and walked over to his own bed to sit on it with his laptop. Yuri rolled his eyes, going back to his work.

He was about halfway through the problem when a knock came at the door. Yuri sat up, exchanging a confused glance with Mason, who had already gotten off his bed to open it. A girl that Yuri had seen around before was standing on the other side, a Macbook tucked under her arm. He remembered her from the crowd that had been waiting in this room after the Rostelecom Cup. Apparently, she had started following skating after the Olympics or something and it was her fault that everyone on campus now knew who he was. What was her name again? Something American that reminded him of a folk song. Susie? Susan?

"Susanna?" Mason said in surprise.

Oh, yeah, that was it.

"Hey," Susanna said, handing him a beaten-up science-fiction novel. "I just finished with this. It's great—thanks for lending it to me."

Mason looked a little flustered as he took the novel from her hand. "Oh, um—right," he said. "I did lend this to you. Uh—so you liked it?"

"It was really interesting," said Susanna. "I mean, sci-fi isn't my thing, but—." She broke off suddenly, realizing that Yuri was there. She almost looked embarrassed. "—Oh, um—Yuri. You're still here."

Yeah, sure, Yuri thought. I'm just here trying not to fail college. It's not like I live in this dorm room or everything. Let's all point that out at once. Why don't we shout it down the hallway, just tell everyone on the floor all at once? Hey, guys! Yuri Plisetsky sucks at math!

Since he really was trying to control his temper better these days, he shrugged, inclining his head towards the pile of material on his desk. "Homework," he said.

"Are you going to watch the Cup of China?" Susanna asked. "The men's short program starts soon, doesn't it?"

Like he would have forgotten Otabek's short program. Just in case, though, he checked his phone, which had an alarm on it to remind him to tune into the livestream. He still had a little bit more time.

"I'm watching it," he said.

"Oh, cool," said Susanna. "Well, don't let me keep you. Thanks again for the book, Mase."

Mason stammered out something pathetic in reply as Susanna closed the door. Yuri snorted, going back to the math problem.

"She likes you," Yuri said.

Mason went red. "She does not!" he said. "She was just coming over here to see you."

"Yeah," Yuri said. "That's why she didn't know I was here and barely noticed me at all."

"She's a skating fan," Mason said, defensively. "You're like—like candy to skating fans."

"Whatever you say, Mase."

He finished off the math problem, gave up, and turned to the Cup of China livestream, which was open on a tab on his laptop. The men's short program was just about to begin, although from the looks of it, they were still going through warm-up. He caught a couple of glimpses of Otabek, but the cameraperson seemed enamored with J.J. for some reason, and he really didn't want to spend his Friday night watching J.J. prance around a rink. He looked away from the screen and back at Mason, who was now reading a book. The same book that Susanna had just returned to him. Yuri might have gagged.

"Hey," he said. "If you're interested in skating, come watch this."

"The Cup of China?" Mason asked, looking over at his screen. "That's the last of the Grand Prix competitions, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Yuri, turning on his TV and beginning the process of connecting the television to the laptop. "My friend Beka's skating tonight. He's really good too. You should watch him."

"Wait—," said Mason, giving him a dumbfounded look. "Beka's a guy! I thought he was a girl!"

"What?" Yuri asked, looking back at Mason.

"I thought she was your girlfriend!"

"What?!"

"Well, you're always so nice to him when you're on the phone!" said Mason.

"I'm nice to you," said Yuri, glaring. "Want me to stop?"

"Oh come on, it was an honest mistake!" said Mason. "Beka sounds like a girl's name!"

"It's short for Otabek!"

"I thought it was short for Rebecca!"

"What kind of name is Rebecca?!"

"What kind of name is Otabek?!" asked Mason.

"He's Kazakh."

"…You're looking at me like this should be obvious," said Mason.

Yuri rolled his eyes, muttering a few choice words under his breath for the American educational system. He might have been struggling in math, but at least he could find Kazakhstan on a map.

"Mason," Yuri said. "You are an idiot."

"You act like I should be insulted by that, but I have two older brothers. I've heard it all. And isn't that your friend Beka performing now?"

Yuri jumped, turning towards his TV screen. Sure enough, Otabek was already on the ice. He fumbled with the video's settings, the sound coming back on so that Otabek's short program music filled the room. By the time he sat up in his chair, Otabek was mid-jump, the camera focused on him.

It was a bad jump. Yuri's breath caught in his throat. You could tell, when you were in the air, if a jump was going to turn out badly or not, and Otabek's expression said he knew this would be a bad one.

He fell, sliding across the ice.

And didn't get back up.

Yuri felt cold horror creep into his veins, coiling in the pit of his stomach. On screen, he heard the roar of the crowd, their shouts of alarm, but it was all coming from a distance. The music continued for a few more pitiful bars before guttering to a stop, and the sound of silence was worse. There was a high-pitched noise in the background somewhere, his world shrinking to a narrow point that eclipsed only the screen.

"Uh—Yuri," Mason said. "—that's not supposed to happen, is it?"

Yuri shook his head, eyes wide, feeling like the world was dropping out from under his feet.


Yuri's Phone

WhatsApp Messages from Бека (Beka) – 9:23 PM

Otabek: Sprain

Otabek: I'll be fine.

Yuri: this season?!

Otabek: Next season. Or Worlds maybe.

Yuri: but you'll be back next year

Otabek: Probably.

Yuri: the hell do you mean 'probably'?!

WhatsApp Messages from Бека (Beka) – 9:31 PM

Yuri: hey jerkface don't ignore me

Yuri: i can see the blue arrows

Yuri: that's it, i'm coming there.

Otabek: Don't come here.

Otabek: I mean it Yura

Otabek: I don't want you to come.

WhatsApp Messages from Бека (Beka) – 9:35 PM

Yuri: …fuck man

Yuri: what the hell am I suppoesd to do?

Yuri: just stay here?

Otabek: Yes.

Otabek: I want you to win.