[A/N: Because at the time of writing this announced international figure skating competitions for 2017 were limited up to and including the ISU World Championships (taking place in April), the following championship titles and dates are projected based off of previous years: Oct 5-7, 2017 Autumn Classic International; Oct 26-28, 2017 Skate Canada International; Nov 23-25, 2017 Rostelecom Cup; Dec 8-10, 2017 Grand Prix Final (while the GPF location for 2017 has been announced, I have changed it to Beijing for the purpose of this story).
Story narrative picks up here, moments before Yuuri's free skate performance, after placing second in the short program, behind Otabek. This is the first time in the season that Yuuri hasn't placed first in the short program, and therefore the first time he hasn't performed last in the free skate.]
"Yuuri…" I catch his glance, motioning for him to come closer to me. He's nervous all over again, anxiety written all over his face. Out here, the fear from last year hasn't changed, despite everything. Instead of striking out, even the idea of placing second has him shaking in his boots. Calm him down, I tell myself. "Don't blow this."
His eyes stay locked on my lips after I say those words, and they start to water. This time around, I'm not mistaken. I'm not here to break his heart, I'm here to make it stronger. I give him a chance to respond, but his threatening tears speak loudly enough.
"Yuuri, when I'm here the only person you're skating for is me," I state unwaveringly. "Uh, and yourself." Stupid. "Out on the ice, there is no team to back you up, and there are no opponents to shut you down. Everything that happens out there is you. No matter who your competitors are today, you'll do fine if you remember who you are and why you're here."
He exhales deeply, then inhales slowly, clearing away the shuddering in his throat.
"Thank you, Victor," he says, hugging me gently with his thin, spandex covered arms. "Heh, you've still got to work on your pep talks." I peck at his cheek, accepting the poke at my pride in exchange for his confidence.
"You're going down, piggy," Yurio shouts abruptly from his place in the stands, his eagle-like vision presumably having caught sight of our public display of affection. Yurio's words don't intimidate Yuuri now, they seem only to strangely motivate him. We've still got a good ten minutes before the his performance starts, so Yuuri uses the fuel to finish his last minute stretches.
Simultaneously I steal of bit of his lip gloss, surprised at the strong artificial watermelon flavor, but certainly not disappointed. Then I take his glasses out of my pocket and put them on, transforming myself into a totem of comic relief and taking a few selfies beneath the thick lenses.
"Victor," Yuuri calls from his position on the floor. I glance down through the blur, not entirely able to discern his features.
"Yeah babe?" I respond sarcastically, imagining my own handsome face.
"You better watch me with your own two eyes," he grunts. I take off the frames, putting them back into my pocket, and offer up my hands to help him stand up. He takes them, despite being able to fully support his own weight regardless, and returns the awaited peck at my cheek.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," I say. The MC starts announcing his name, then, calling him onto the adjacent expanse of dreams.
"Fight!" Yurio shouts from the stands. I meet his eyes again, wholly mystified by the uncharacteristic expression of excitement after the jeer he spouted only minutes ago. A number of supporters wearing cat ear headbands sit a few rows back, cheering all the same for their number one opponent. Yuuri's face is calm and graceful, and my heart clenches in admiration of the posse he has effortlessly gathered. My faces grows hot immediately, his still figure waiting patiently there for the music to cue his routine. It's like all that patience in his stance has been stolen from me.
It starts. Ahh, that's my music. A hundred times-no, a thousand times-I've listened to this harmony. I worked through literal sweat and tears to figure out how to obtain this sliver of perfection that I can take full credit for. But Yuuri is the one who makes all that labor worth it. No matter how long I strained over it, he did so longer. Every time I watch him skate it's as if I'm seeing it for the very first time. He's continuously evolving-he's getting smoother and faster and calmer every time, in every new challenge. It keeps getting harder and he keeps eating it up. His stamina is unstoppable-he's got me racing to keep up. But I'll keep running, if that's what it takes.
He falls in the landing of his fifth quad, something unusual but not unexpected. We knew what we were risking with this new program, and we agreed not to fret over any unavoidable mistakes. I cringe as I always do when skaters tumble, but try to quickly relax my face in case he looks to me for reprieve. He swings his body around instantaneously and continues, keeping the momentum of the routine as usual, but something is wrong. He's trying to mask it, but there's pain in his eyes. I can feel my eyebrows furrowing in worry, but maintain a forced smile.
If Yuuri were to see it up close, I'm sure it would never fool him...but I'm tired of pseudo news covering our relationship with overdramatized headlines. Such stories used to excited me, but now...I'm tired of it all.
I don't have long for tangential thoughts about my facial expression before the climax of the program hits. A triple straight into my favorite part of any performance: the spin combination. I cover my mouth and nose with gloved fingers to hide my joy and worry. He's crying. My whole body has embraced the luxury of tension that Yuuri doesn't have. I wish everyone, even all the boisterous supporters, would disappear and let me race out to save him from his suffering. I hold myself together though, lowering my hands and chewing on my cheek. A small debt for a big reward...I wonder if this is it.
When the performance ends, Yuuri gracefully slides to a wide spinning stop. He holds his hands above his hips, wrapping them around his wheezing chest. I can tell he's in the shape to collapse, something some skaters allow themselves to do (and he has already in past competitions), but he stays on his feet, bowing gently to the screaming hoards. When the flowers stop falling, he coasts straight to me, his feet barely pushing off the ice. He reaches my arms and I hoist up his weak frame.
I release the first question that's wracking my brain, abandoning the soft tone I had planned in my head. "Are you okay? What did you hurt?"
"I'm fine," he says, but he's holding back something. I squeeze him tightly, stroking through his damp hair. "I'm sorry…"
"Stop that," I say, supporting his weight with my own strength and guiding him toward the Kiss and Cry. "Yuuri, you're so amazing. I saw everything, with my own two eyes, and I couldn't believe how well you pulled that off, even after everything we've practiced. But I want you to be honest with me."
We sit on the cushions of the sofa, the pressure demanding patience again. It pains me how much of this is waiting, but it has always been this way. I meet Yuuri's eyes, soaking in this silence, realizing the time I have now to press him for an answer. I stare into their tiredness and find more inexplicable pain. "Tell me."
He puts his hand out, pointing to the Makkachin shaped tissue box beside me. I place two into his palm and he blows his nose.
"Blood," I gasp quietly.
"I bit my tongue," he says, showing me the swelling momentarily, "but it's fine."
"Anything else?" I press him, pulling down his lip to examine the clotting wound in his mouth.
"Victor, I'm fine," he says, taking my hand in his and moving it away. His cheeks are rosy, from heat and inner conflicts, and I accept his response for the time being. Any moment now the score will appear.
"210.71, making his combined score 326.54, puts Katsuki Yuuri in the lead..."
I wrap my arm around his shoulder, smiling brightly at the camera for him. Yuuri smiles calmly, but I can feel the irritation resonating from his concave posture.
"That's enough," I say, kissing his forehead, "Yuuri, you were amazing."
The screen above us cuts to the crowds. A little yellow blob is sitting motionlessly, presumably in shock. No matter how Yuuri is feeling, I'm so unbelievably proud. We walk gingerly to the back rooms from the Kiss and Cry, pushing through the unforgiving hoard of flashes.