A/N: Yaaas! Two updates in less than one month! It feels great to be writing again! Hopefully, I'll be able to sort out a weekly or bi-weekly posting schedule. Things are moving along for both Viktor and Yuuri respectively. I know some people had issues with them being separated, and wondered if it was really necessary. Yes, it's absolutely necessary. Yuuri has to face his demons and learn to love his current self before he can fully commit to loving Viktor. Otherwise, that shadow will just hang over his head forever and ever and keep him from being who he is truly meant to be. Viktor needs a little more of a push as well, to help him transition out of a life in which he was in the leading role and owning the spotlight, to one where he's trying to push someone else into the spotlight and put them first. There's so much growth ahead for these two, and I promise that their reunion will be epic AF. Thanks for hanging in there and still being here to read my work! *Bows*
It was 5:35 a.m., exactly one minute since the last time he'd checked his watch. He paced back and forth nervously on the fresh snow, further deepening the trough that he'd been carving out for the last 10 minutes or so. There had been an unseasonably heavy snowfall the night before, a rare occurrence in late spring, even for Russia. He had been absolutely shocked when he'd woken up earlier, pulling the curtains back to find everything completely covered in snow once more. He thanked the fates for his one stroke of good fortune, at least his car wouldn't need to be cleaned. His whole schedule would have been thrown off by a solid 30 minutes or so had his car been parked outside instead of in the covered garage. He hadn't switched out the winter tires for the summer ones yet either, so he'd been able to navigate the roads with relative ease. He glanced at his watch again…5:36. Where the hell is he?
The caretaker, Mr. Novikov, was always there to unlock the doors at 5:30 sharp. He was so punctual that you could practically set a clock to his habits. The man was uncharacteristically late today, and worry temporarily pushed his impatience and frustration aside, filling him with dread as he began running through the various reasons why that could be. So lost was he in his thoughts that he did not notice the approaching form.
/"…"/ - denotes Russian speech
/"Vitya? Sweet merciful god! Vitya, is that really you?"/
Viktor's head snapped up at the voice, and he smiled as he caught sight of just the man he'd been waiting for.
/"Gospodin Novikov! Good morning and good to see you! It fills me with great relief to find our dedushka safe and still in one piece!"/
The old man laughed heartily, unable to hide the effect that being referred to by the affectionate nickname had on him. His chest puffed out with pride and he held his head a little higher as he picked up the pace on his approach to the door.
"Grandpa" Novikov was a very visible fixture at the Sports Champions Club, having acted as the head caretaker for the past 20 years. He didn't just keep the building running and in good shape though, he ran "maintenance" on all the athletes, too. He kept an eye on all the regulars at the rink, watching them from the shadows and stepping in when he sensed that he was needed. He had this innate ability to show up whenever an athlete seemed to be struggling with something or was just having a rough day. He was a shoulder to cry on, a good ear to unburden yourself on, and gave just about the best hugs in all of Russia. In the world of competitive sports, athletes can often feel like mere tools—just a means to a golden end. Grandpa Novikov always made a point to remind athletes that they were still humans deserving of sympathy, love, and compassion. He was a respected father figure for all athletes who considered the SCC their second home.
Viktor himself had benefitted from the old man's guidance early on in his career. Shortly around the time that he'd gone pro, he'd hit puberty. Puberty was a particularly difficult time for any skater, and could have devastating effects on their career, depending on when it decided to hit them. He'd been flooded with a surge of hormones he didn't know how to process and felt overwhelmed by foreign emotions. His limbs seemed longer and heavier, throwing off his perception and messing with his jumps. He had tried to compensate by adding more power than he was used to, but it had just led to more wipeouts. He had become angry and combative, suddenly trapped in a body that was no longer recognizable to him.
What had angered him further was that no one had appeared to have cared about what he'd been going through at the time. Yakov and Lilia had carried on pushing him relentlessly, and not-so-subtly encouraging him to get over the whole puberty thing as quickly as possible so that he could return to his "normal" golden self. But how the hell was he supposed to get over something he had no control over? He had been constantly hungry around the time as well, the strict diet he'd been placed on no longer providing the calories his rapidly growing body needed to sustain itself. He got easily aggravated by everything and everyone, and was much mouthier than Yura had ever been. People had given him a wide berth back then, staying away for fear of being snapped at. The act only served to make him feel even more alone, however, and he'd grown sullen and unmotivated in no time.
Grandpa Novikov had approached him one evening when he'd been alone and skating aimlessly back and forth across the ice instead of running through his program like Yakov had ordered. The old man had called him over to the boards, waving some sort of parcel wrapped in a red checkered cloth. He had approached the man cautiously, not sure as to why he wanted to talk to him of all people, but still curious, nonetheless. He had known that the man was the rink's caretaker but hadn't really interacted with him much since joining the SCC. When he arrived at the boards, the caretaker had introduced himself, and offered to shake his hand like an adult. No one had ever tried to shake his hand before, and he felt more mature already for it.
The old man told that him he had a bit of a problem on his hands. His wife, Vera, had baked too many колобок for him (bless her heart), and they were way more than he could feasibly eat all by himself. He couldn't return home with any leftovers because he feared her feelings would be hurt, and he couldn't possibly throw them away because they were too tasty to waste. At the mention of the tasty treats, his traitorous stomach had unleashed an all-mighty growl, drawing hearty laughter from the caretaker and a fierce blush from him.
He had sat with the old man for a good twenty minutes that night, floating on a cloud of delicious sugary sustenance as he listened to him talk about his wife, their life together, and how she was probably the best baker in all of St. Petersburg. He had remained silent that first time, preferring to focus on the food and just listen along quietly. He had seen the love that Novikov had for his wife. It shone clearly in his sparkling eyes whenever he mentioned her. Vera Novikova was one very lucky lady. After that, it seemed like Grandpa Novikov would pop up whenever he'd be alone at the rink. The old man always had something tasty with him and he began to look forward to his visits.
He had eventually opened up to the man, sharing his fears and frustrations during the times they'd spent together. "Grandpa" had always listened quietly, only offering advice when requested. And when he did offer advice, it was useful and practical, not philosophical like the "advice" some of the others always tried to push on him. He had always made Viktor feel like his feelings mattered and were worth listening to. Later on, he'd learned that they'd had a child before, a boy named Anton, but that he had died from malnutrition during the fall of the Soviet Union. It had made clear sense to him at the time why the old man treated all the athletes, young and old, as if they were his own children. They were the outlet for all the love and nurturing he still had built up inside him. Puberty passed quickly after that, and soon he had become too busy to visit with Grandpa Novikov. He'd often catch glimpses of the man around the building and always took the time to greet him. Sometimes he'd find a freshly baked treat hidden away in his locker and would always smile as he snarfed down the products of St. Petersburg's best baker.
/"Come here, let me have a good look at you."/
Viktor obliged, and walked into the man's open arms. The feeling as "Grandpa" wrapped his thick arms around him just then was pure nostalgia, and for a split second he that affection-starved and emotionally distraught teen all over again. He was much taller than the old man now, and the height difference made things a bit awkward, but none of it seem to matter to either of them. They were both having a moment, and nothing was going to ruin it for them. They held on to one another for a few more moments before Grandpa Novikov began patting him on the back, signaling the end of their embrace.
/"It's good to see you, old man. How's Vera? You better be taking good care of her, or I'll steal her for myself."/
The old man laughed once more, taking a playful swing at Viktor's shoulder as he did so.
/"She's solid as ever, thanks to you. So don't get any funny ideas! I may be an old codger, but I'll still fight for her honor with my fists if I have to!"/
When Viktor was in his mid-twenties, Grandpa Novikov stopped coming to work for a bit. After speaking to Yakov about it, he learned that Vera was in the hospital, suffering from pericarditis. Fluid was building up around her heart and she needed to see a cardiologist immediately. The old man had been in a complete panic, desperate to raise the funds for the specialist, asking around if anyone would be able to lend him the money he needed. He hadn't had much luck though, and Vera was quickly running out of time. The old man was in the deepest and most hellish pits of despair and running the risk of losing yet another loved one, but no one stepped up to the plate for him. It seemed that while many had been thankful for Grandpa's loving care, not nearly as many had cared to help Grandpa when he needed it most.
After some discreet snooping, he managed to discover which hospital Vera had been staying at. He'd shown up with a bouquet of yellow carnations and paid off all her medical bills, and then also given the hospital details for an account from which any additional funds and future treatments were to be sourced from. The medical bills were all but a drop in the bucket for him, for he was already an established pro at the time, raking in more money than he'd known what to do with. He'd considered it a small gesture, a way to give back to the man who had been there so much for him at a time when everyone else had turned their backs on him. He had not given his name, but when you're Russian skating legend Viktor Nikiforov, you don't have to.
When Grandpa found out what he'd done, he had locked him in a bear hug so fierce that he'd heard his spine crack from the force of it. He'd toughed the hug out, and just held the man silently, doing for Grandpa what the old man had done for him so many countless times before. Tears had been streaming down the old man's face at the time, and he'd thanked him so many times that he lost count. Vera fully recovered from her illness and Grandpa was free to return to work once more.
/"Well that's a relief. It's good to know that you are still worthy of being called her husband. But don't get complacent. I'm always watching you!"/
The old man flashed him a watery smile as he reached over and gave his shoulder a hearty squeeze.
/"Sorry for my lateness today, I hope that I haven't kept you waiting too long. I wasn't prepared for last night's snowfall and it took be a bit of time this morning to dig my car out from under the snow. I'm not as spry as I used to be."/
Viktor shook his head as he smiled warmly at the old man. It had been just about 15 minutes since he'd arrived at the door, so not much time at all. He wasn't about to make the man feel bad just for being a little late. Grandpa Novikov turned toward the door, pulling a massive keyring from his pocket and immediately picking out the one key he needed from the other 200 or so keys on it. As he was unlocking the door, he looked back over his shoulder.
/"Where have you been hiding yourself these days? I haven't seen you or Yuuri around for almost a week now. Is everything alright?"/
Viktor felt a pang of longing at the mention of Yuuri's name but managed to keep his smile from faltering as he answered.
/"He's visiting some family back in Japan at the moment. Don't worry, you'll see him on that ice again before you know it!"/
The old man nodded. He had immediately taken a shine to Yuuri, and in true Grandpa Novikov fashion, had taken him under his wing. The old man collected "grandchildren" faster than magpies collected shiny things. He was going to be incorrigible to the bitter end.
As soon as he was in the building, Viktor made a beeline for the changeroom. He quickly threw on his practice outfit and grabbed his pen, notebook and iPod before shoving the rest of his things into his locker. He laced up his skates nice and tight, and then slipped on the blade guards before hurrying down the hall to the ice. He stopped by the equipment locker on the way, using the key that Grandpa Novikov had given him to access its contents. He grabbed all the colorful pylon markers and stacked them on top of each other until they formed a wobbly tower of plastic. He braced the leaning tower against himself with one arm and then used his free hand to close the padlock on the equipment locker. When he got up to the boards, he gingerly lowered the tower of pylons over the wall and onto the ice on the other side. Finally having both hands free once more, he quickly removed the blade guards from his skates and pushed the door open.
When he took that first step onto the ice, it felt nothing short of electric. His whole body was tingling with excitement and anticipation, two particular feelings he hadn't associated with skating for a very long time. He couldn't wait to start working on his new short program and knew that he'd have a solid hour alone at the rink before the first class showed up. He picked up the pylons and sectioned off one end of the rink for himself. He would use the full length of the rink while he could, and then switch over to his little corner once people started arriving.
He popped on his wireless earbuds and put the iPod in his pocket. His earbuds had voice recognition and their own AI assistant, so he would be able to just ask it to pause, rewind, or play back the piece without having to mess around with the actual iPod. He pushed play on it manually the first time and just listened to it as he went through his warm-ups. He was already visualizing the program in his head, and the more he listened to the song, the more ideas he got. He was feeling so antsy that he briefly considered rushing through the warm-up and getting going on the choreography but knew deep down that that would actually be the dumbest thing he ever could do. Purposely putting himself at an increased risk of injury at his age and this stage of the game was just pure madness. So he just took a few deep breaths and forced himself to calm down and finishing the warm-up properly.
Once he was finally done, he got down to business. He set the song on repeat and just listened to it as he worked his ideas out on the ice. A spin sequence here, a jump combo there, and a few dramatic flair elements here and there. Every time he got struck by some new kind of inspiration, he'd skate over to his notebook and scribble it down. He was completely lost in his own little world and did not even notice when Yakov took the ice with the young beginners' class. He missed the look of pure shock and surprise on his ex-coach's face when he'd spotted him, and also missed how the man had begun running interference for him and keeping people from trying to talk to him or distract him.
One such person was none other than Yura himself. His jaw had practically hit the floor when he'd spotted Viktor on the ice so early in the morning and had been halfway over to needle him about it when Yakov had barked at him to back off.
/"What? I'm just going to say hi."/
Yakov practically rolled his eyes as he grunted at the Russian Tiger before him. He knew his skaters better than they knew themselves, sometimes, and he certainly was very aware that Yura was not about to just leave it at "hi".
/"I don't care if you just want to talk to him about the weather, you're to stay away from him today. Pass the message on to the others. Anyone who disturbs Vitya today will get an hour of extra drills."/
The young blonde skater paled at the mention of extra drills. Yakov only handed them out when he was feeling particularly pissed about something (or someone), and he did not go easy on the skaters who earned his ire.
/"Geez, old man. What crawled up your ass this morning and died?"/
Yakov glared icily at Yura, a sure sign that he was displeased with his use of what he considered "vulgarities".
/"How about you pull your head out of your own ass for a minute and look, I mean REALLY look at Vitya today. Do you not notice something different about him?"/
When Yura turned his attention back to the aging legend, he squinted his eyes and forced himself to take a good look. He watched Viktor for a minute or two before he was able to see it, that spark that the legend had had for skating when he'd first met him as a child. He hadn't seen it for quite some time now, but it was clearly on display now. Whatever had happened since they'd found his wasted ass passed out in his own filth that day had obviously been some life-altering shit. Viktor looked focused and driven and was nearly vibrating with excited energy. It was like the Viktor of old was back with a vengeance. The silver-haired skater was in the zone and could see now why Yakov was trying to keep people from disturbing him. He didn't want to risk having that flow ruined. Grudgingly, he acquiesced to Yakov's request and skated off to tell the others not to bother Viktor today and to pass the message on. The King of the castle had returned, and he was apparently there to reclaim his crown.
_Terminology_
Gospodin (Господин) – Russian for "Mister"
Dedushka (дедушка) – Russian for "grandfather"
Колобок (kolobok) – Russian sour cream donuts
Pericarditis - inflammation of the pericardium (the fibrous sac surrounding the heart). Symptoms typically include sudden onset of sharp chest pain, which may also be felt in the shoulders, neck, or back.