"I can't go on. I'll go on."
― Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable
Title from Duetto (Stammi vicino, non te ne andare) on the Yuri on Ice OST
When Yuuri got back to Detroit he barely made it to his bedroom door before collapsing. The hurt, guilt and anger of the past few days overwhelming him at last. He stayed in his room for most of the winter break, occasionally indulging Phichit by eating a trek bar or going for a run. He slept mostly and spent hours rewatching Victors old routines. He watched every performance of Victors first junior competition to his most recent Beijing Grand Prix victory. He took solace in the graceful lines of Victor's body, in the way he always seemed so sure, so passionate. He could almost imagine he was back home in Hasetsu, watching these routines with Mari on the giant box TV in the onsen lounge.
After a week of this, Phichit had apparently had enough and forced Yuuri to go to the rink with him. It was empty when they arrived. The afternoon sun shining through the high windows onto the ice reminded Yuuri so much of Hasetsu that he ached. It was his first time on ice since his disaster at Japanese nationals and his legs felt shaky.
As he skated lazy figure eights across the rink, Yuuri wondered when he had stopped trusting himself. He ran through his free skate from nationals and it went surprisingly well, he sensed Phichit smiling at him from across the rink. He landed the jumps and the step sequence was clean but the routine still made his skin crawl. The crisp happy tune reminded him of a Yuuri who no longer existed. A Yuuri whose heart was intact.
He went back to the rink every day for the rest of the break, practising jumps and old routines. After practice, he'd go for a long run along the Harbour or work on his stamina, strength or flexibility in the gym. On off days he'd practise ballet. By the time he got home each evening, he was too tired to stand, let alone to think.
As the break came to an end Yuuri had more or less found a routine. He went through each day on autopilot. Wake up; run; practice; class; workout; watch Victors routines and feel something, anything, for roughly 10 minutes; sleep and repeat. It wasn't sustainable but it was what he needed to do to cope. Yuuri couldn't remember when he'd gotten so fucked up but he seemed to be hiding it well enough. He smiled for Phichits Instagram stories, he looked thoughtful when Celestino gave him feedback and he called his family twice a week. Sometimes, unexpectedly, waves of grief and pain would pound over him, drowning him and leaving him bedridden for hours. But mostly he was fine. He was coping.
One afternoon in early January, Yuuri stopped coping. He'd missed his run and his body was awake enough to indulge the deluge of toxic thoughts in his mind. Selfish. Useless. Failure. Failure. Failure. Phichit was who knows where.
Yuuri decided to run down to the rink and skate till he could sleep. Grabbing the set of rink keys Celestino had given him ("only for when you're very anxious Yuuri") he locked the door and was on the ice in less than 30 minutes.
By the time he got there, he could breathe once again. He still didn't feel as confident on the ice as he used to. He didn't trust himself, but for once he forgot about that and let his body lead the way. He wasn't there to practice, he just wanted to be someone else for a moment.
His body took up the opening position, eyes to the ceiling. This routine was burned into the backs of his eyelids at that point. He was beautiful. Graceful. The soft chords surged forward in his mind and excitement flooded his veins.
"Sento una voce che piange lontano
Anche tu, sei stato forse abbandonato?"
He twisted his body, sinking to one knee, reaching out to a distant lover. He felt the hope and awe he'd felt when he first saw Victor skate. Time for the first quad.
Time seemed to stand still as he rotated in the air, body wrapped tight, he knew the jump was perfect. He landed on his edge cleanly and it was so satisfying— he had left Yuuri far behind. He settled into a camel and transitioned into a flying sit spin, feeling light as air. His thighs ached but it didn't matter, he was a three-time world champion in that moment. It was easy.
"Stammi vicino, non te ne andare
Ho paura di perderti"
His heart swelled with the strings of the chorus. He couldn't contain the feelings in his chest, so he put them into the triple lutz and then the triple flip. He didn't think because he didn't need to. He gained momentum, spinning into the ending position and resting hands on his heart; eyes to the ceiling once again. He felt so alive.