November 20

Sports Champions Club

Saint Petersburg, Russia

"He's been grinning like that for hours." The horror in Natalia's voice is mirrored by the expression on Viktor's face, as the two watch in fear as Yuri Plisetsky, Yakov's new student, hums to himself, skating around the rink in a flurry of drills exercises without an inch of complaint.

One of the other kid skaters actually starts to sob - huge, fat tears gushing down their cheeks and snot dripping down their nose in a dramatic display for the whole rink to see - when Yuri, (Yuri! Of all people!) apologies for accidentally getting in her way.

Viktor's jaw hurts from gaping at the scene.

"I'm so creeped out."

Sports Champions Club, despite being Viktor's home for over a decade, was as overwhelming to him now as it was when he first entered the rink, at the meager age of twelve. It's exponential growth in recent years meant that there were almost always skaters of varying disciplines roaming on the various rinks, so the constant stream of sound was always enticing to Viktor. There would always be something entertaining happening.

And so, that's where Viktor stood now, watching as Yakov's pre-Junior's class (nicknamed that because all of them were far too young to compete at the Junior level) were currently going through the absolute bore that is skating drills.

They extend their arms out, gliding from one edge to the other, trying to get their ankles to follow what their bodies are trying to do. It's just a lot of boring stroking, from one edge of the rink to the other.

"But it's the foundation of all skating ." Yakov's irritating voice chimed in Viktor's mind. He was right, of course, but Viktor thought he was at a certain level where he could complain about skating drills as much as he wanted.

Viktor's main solace, a place he and all the senior skaters dubbed Central Command, was a single upper-floor bridge that connected from one side of the building to the other. It was a single, open corridor that overlooked the entire main rink. It was like being at a theatre, with Viktor standing so dizzyingly high up, he could look down at the rink like a king from his gilded throne. Talk about a power-trip.

And how could Viktor not come and watch the cute, little pre-Junior skaters? Especially when Yuri Plisetsky was on the ice.

It wasn't every day that Yakov would accept an underaged skater to come and board with him - the last had been Viktor himself. That had spread certain rumours around the rink within seconds.

Yuri Plisetsky's name was already making the rounds when they reached Viktor's ears, and what with the recent influx of FKKR representatives coming to watch over Yakov's beginner classes, well, it's obvious to Viktor who Plisetsky was. An heir to a dynasty.

Viktor scoffs, amused. He hasn't even won the Olympics yet, and they're already preparing for when he retires.

He swipes Natalia's coffee out from her hand, downing the drink with furious gulps. She cries indignantly, before bursting into maniacal laughter when Viktor hacks up most of the drink, his tongue burning.

"Do you actually enjoy that monstrosity, or are you just feeding the devil that lives inside your heart?"

"Not all of us drench our drinks in sweeteners and creams. Besides, it serves you right, asshole." She rolls her eyes, before turning her attention purely onto Leonid, smiling sweetly.

Viktor mimes throwing up behind his back, only for Natalia to rib him with her elbow. Leonid misses the whole interaction, but Viktor notices the tips of his ears turn red as he sidles up next to Natalia. Straight people , Viktor internally throws up.

Leonid turns towards Viktor, sighing heavily. "Yakov's put you on probation again."

"What?! That's ridiculous, what have I done?"

"Do I need to spell it out? The Canadian skater."

"Oh- the hockey player?" Viktor grimaces. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"You missed your flight and therefore, missed all of your scheduled interviews, just to get some mediocre dick. You know how worried Yakov gets about you."

"He's overbearing."

"He's protective ." Leonid glares at him. "Do we need to remind you of Quebec? You disappeared for three hours during the banquet party, just for Yakov to catch you post-orgy."

Viktor shudders in disgust. "The words orgy and Yakov should not be said in the same sentence."

"You were nineteen, Viktor. Of course he's going to worry."

"I was the youngest silver medalist in history! At the Olympics! I deserved to blow a little steam."

"Not when it comes at the expense of fucking up your priorities. You missed an interview with all of those sponsors- I'm pretty sure Danil still hates you to this day."

"He's a moskvichi- sympathiser. Of course he hates everything I do." Viktor simpers, turning back towards the rink. "Wasn't it him who put out that think piece on why Andrei was better than me, even though the buffalo can't land a triple axel without falling on his ass?"

"Okay, okay. Enough about the Moscow skaters. I heard enough of it from Yakov." Natalia groans. "Was the lay worth it, at least?"

Viktor's face scrunches up, and he turns towards Natalia with a pout on his face. "Natasha, darling - it was horrible . It wasn't worth the lecture Yakov gave me at all . Remind me never to sleep with a hockey player ever again."

"Noted." Natalia grimaces. "What was a hockey player doing there anyway?"

"I have no idea, I think he's got a younger brother who competes in Juniors."

"Hmm, hockey players aren't your type Vitya. They're too brutish for our delicate, little flower."

"Exactly!" Viktor yells, affronted. "I deserve a man who will treat me with kindness, and will give me all the orgasms I am entitled to! Someone who will look after me and likes dogs! I deserve to be romanced !"

"Yes, yes. You're exactly right, Vitya." Natalia soothes him, rubbing his back gently.

"Stop patronising him- that's why he thinks it's okay to act like a spoiled child-"

"Oh hush, Leonid."

Instead of getting in between Leonid and Natalia's bickering, Viktor sighs heavily, and turns his attention back to the rink's shiny new toy. Plisetsky was a character within the rink already.

Within his first week, the boy had established himself as an ill-mannered prodigy - the complete opposite of Viktor who was and still is, the perfect media darling. The boy still had a lot to learn.

"There has to be some nefarious reason why the demon-child is happy. You don't think he made good on his threat to Gosha about sneaking into his house and murdering his pet rat, do you?"

"Georgi is positive that Ratsputin is merely on an adventure and will return home imminently."

Viktor looks up at Leonid unconvinced, eyes training on the feral glint in Yuri's eyes. "Just because there's no proof he hasn't killed Ratsputin, doesn't mean it's not a possibility. Maybe he's planning on killing someone else. We just need to figure out who."

"Vitya's probably right."

"Natasha! Don't encourage him." Lenoid scolds.

"But, Lenya! We have to, for the sake of the welfare of other skaters."

"Ugh, don't be so boring, Lenya." Vitya propels his body away from the railing, light on his feet. "Well, maybe I'll just go and ask."

"What-"

"Viktor, no. Don't go down there!"

"Vitya, you know he hates you. Yakov said you're not allowed with the junior skaters alone, anyway- and he's gone. Great, well done, Tasha."

"Hey, you have to be a little curious as to why Yura is looking so pleased with himself."

"You are a sick, sick woman. You have just sent Viktor after a child - it's a sure fire way to kill any child's happiness."

"It's Yuri Plisetsky. There is no happiness to kill."

It's with practiced ease that Viktor makes it to the rink's entrance within seconds, pushing open the door and breathing in the cold chill of the ice-rink. It's a familiar scent, warm despite the absurdity of calling an ice-rink warm, was the only adjective that accurately described the ice to Viktor, like a godly hearth, tended to by the great Hestia herself.

"Hello, children!" Viktor sucks in all the sudden gasps and shrieks of adoration coming from the young skaters, all clamouring towards him. He regrets not bringing his skates with him, clad in only his polished oxford shoes and stuck behind the ice-rink borders. He'd love to glide onto the ice right now and interrogate Yuri himself, but, well, if Yakov sees him here on his day-off, armed with his skates, he'd be a dead-man walking.

"Vitya."

Viktor flinches as the cold, piercing voice of his mentor seeps into his body, covering him in a shawl of death. "Yakov, darling, fancy seeing you here."

The older man cuts straight through Viktor's bullshit without even blinking. "What did I say about you staying away from the rink? It's your day-off."

"But it's so boring with just Makkachin and me! Natasha promised to show me her and Leonid's new lift, so I had to come."

Yakov looks unimpressed. "If that were true, you'd be over in Rink B, or up in the wings where I can see Lenya and Natasha are."

"I could only handle so much of their gooey, love-lined smiles before I imploded, Yakov. Save me from the distress. How's teaching the little gremlin?"

"If you're talking about Yuri, he's doing far better than you were at that age."

"Well, that doesn't answer my question. He's being awfully chipper today, don't you think? At least he's not biting anyone's fingers again."

The sigh Yakov let's out is a lament for his waning self-preservation. If he thinks about Yuri's propensity for violence any longer, he will burst some blood vessels. His blood pressure will never recover.

"It's because of Yuri." Mila pipes up from behind Viktor, pillowed by her backpack as she bends down to tie up her laces. Her skates are a shocking pink, with glitter stars splattered across in a neon monstrosity.

"Because of himself?"

"No- Yuri ."

Viktor and Yakov share a confused look, evidently unaccustomed to the whims of a thirteen-year old. "Look, he's been hounding me to convince Yakov to let him come to the Finals. I wouldn't be surprised if he pounces on Yakov any moment-"

"YAKOV!"

All three of them have a bodily reaction, jumping in their skin at the loud screen of the young skater, who zooms towards the three of them on his skates.

"You have to take me to the Grand Prix Finals!"

" Huh ?"

" What ?"

Yuri ignores Mila's bellowing laughter at Viktor and Yakov's mirroring faces of confusion, and albeit fear . "I want to support Mila. She got into the finals in her first year of competition, of course I want to support a fellow rink mate."

Viktor might actually faint, Yakov isn't far from it. Mila just looks incredibly amused with herself, eating metaphorical popcorn. In the end, she comes to everyone's rescue. "He wants to see Japanese Yuri skate-"

"Shut the fuck up, baba . And it's Yuuri, two 'u's, you have to elongate it." He sneers back at her.

Viktor finally snaps, lips opening into a teasing laughter. "Aww, our little Yura has his first crush!"

"Shut up, old man!"

"I'm in my early twenties!"

"Say that to the grey hair."

"You take that back, you gremlin. It's honeyed silver!"

"It's a genetic deformity!"

"Alright! Alright!" Yakov pushes himself in between Yuri and Viktor, a hand reaching out to stop Yuri from propelling himself over the rink barrier to body-slamming the older skater. "Yuri, apologise for using that foul language. Viktor, stop losing to a ten year old."

"I am not losing - he's just acting like a sad, lonely- OW! Yakov, he bit me!"

Yakov pinches the bridge of his nose, the sound of Yuri and Viktor screaming at each other, with Mila cackling behind the two, forming a shit-storming headache to burst beneath his temples. "Viktor, shut up ."

All three of the skater's freeze at Yakov's tone. Yakov turns his eyes towards the young ten-year old and motions him off the ice.

"Mila!" He shouts, causing the young skater to jump. "Reruns of that step sequence, now. Vitya, go occupy yourself, somehow. I don't care." He sighs heavily, before turning his full attention to Yuri.

"Yura, come here."

"Oh shit."

"He used 'Yura' on him."

"Best not to be around the rink when he's like this ."

Yuri glared as both Mila and Viktor slink off to fuck-knows-where, feeling his blood boil. Yakov didn't look like he was angry, not like he did when Yuri had tried to do a triple axel without anyone watching. Instead he looked uncomfortable. Which was weird. Yakov was never uncomfortable .

"Now, Yura. It's sweet, looking up to this - was it Japanese that Mila said - Japanese skater, but I just want to warn you about meeting role models-"

"He is not my role-model." Yuri spits out. "He is my rival . There is a difference."

Just once, Yakov wished he had normal skaters. But no, here he is with one who's decided to flood the rink with his tears because a fucking pet rat went missing, another who's a ten-year old menace with anger problems and Viktor .

A Japanese Yuri - Japan was not known for its male figure skaters. Yakov vaguely remembers one male skater that gave Giacometti a run for his money a few years ago, but he wasn't a threat to either Vitya or Gosha.

He'd been good, able to do some spins that female skaters would find difficult to do, but had faltered completely in the jumping aspect. And then he lost his momentum by switching to a lousy coach and ran out of his luck. It's not unheard of in the business - the skater would probably burn up during seniors if he continued to fester away with a bad coaching staff.

But it isn't good for Yura - a down-in-his-luck skater would not be a good role-model for a skater who hasn't even entered Juniors yet. He remembers some rumours about the Japanese athlete, incredibly stand-offish and cold, staying close to himself. He would not be a good fit for Yakov's young and impressionable skater.

"It's probably best that you don't meet him, Yura."

"What?" Yuri screeches. "Why? That's bullshit-"

" Yura ." Yuri flinches at Yakov's tone, incessantly warm and unlike any sound his gruff coach had ever spoken to him before.

"Look, let's take Viktor as an example, how many junior skaters look up to him? Say he's their favorite skater, that they started skating because of him?"

"That's because they're idiots."

"Yura."

"Okay, fine, yeah so the old man has admirers, so what? He's stupid and a horrible rinkmate. He takes up all the rink-time and he never talks to anyone, and he's stupid."

"That's exactly my point, Yura. Viktor is not how everyone sees him to be. He's selfish and gets annoyed quickly. What do you think this Japanese skater will be like?"

"Not stupid like Viktor."

"Yuri - Viktor is nothing like everyone thinks he is. He can spin any story into his favour, he quite literally is the media's darling for a reason - but it's all fake. You've spent almost a year with him and you can see that. Sometimes, sometimes Yura, the illusion of a person is better than the reality. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Please, Yakov. Please. " Yakov swallows the emotion that builds in his throat. Never before has Yuri been so earnest, and Yakov is suddenly reminded that Yuri is only a young boy of ten. He had promised Nikolai Plisetsky that whilst Yuri was here in Saint Petersburg, he would do everything in his power to protect the boy.

"I'm sorry, Yura."

There is a sudden flash of hurt in Yuri's eyes, before it's blinded by rage. He storms away, not even putting on his skate guards. "FINE!" He shouts. "SEE IF I CARE!"

Yakov shudders at the sound of the door slamming behind Yuri. Children , he thinks with a scowl. This is why I never had my own.

Yuri's hyperfixation on this Japanese skater could cause more pain than Yakov refusing him to join everyone to the Finals. After all, the figure skating world does not have the best track record in history - it is not forgiving towards talented, young skaters.

December 8th

Kansai International Airport,

Osaka, Japan

"The All-Nippon Airways flight to Beijing, China will start loading in two hours. Please make your way towards the check-in area. I repeat, The All-Nippon Airways flight to Beijing, China will begin loading in two hours. Please make your way towards the check-in area."

The voice over the tannoy is muffled through Yuuri's earbuds, as he lays his head on Minako's shoulders. His mask is pulled completely over his nose, fogging up his glasses as he waits around for a JSF representative to meet him. It's almost two in the morning, and Yuuri just wants to sleep.

"Do they even know how to find us?"

Minako hums beside him, flicking through a complimentary magazine. "Hmm, I told them we were at Terminal 2's lounge, if they're late, we'll just message them that we're boarding by ourselves."

"Hmmm."

"Don't fall asleep now, Yuuri, there'll be time on the flyover and you can sleep off the jet lag when we arrive at the hotel."

"I've taken one flight already today, don't remind me." He bemoans. "Why is Hasetsu so far from all major airports? I hate travelling."

Minako ruffles his hair, before slamming her magazine closed. "Is that the representative?"

Yuuri peers out of his sleep-heavy eyes, towards a frazzled looking woman who is looking around the lounge area, out of breath.

"It's her." Minako leaps up, knocking Yuuri's head off her shoulder. "She's wearing the jacket. Which reminds me, when am I getting my official Team Japan jacket?" Yuuri tugs at his own black sports jacket protectively.

"Katsuki-senshu! Okukawa-sensei!" She skids to a stop when Minako and Yuuri make their way towards her. Her face sags in relief.

She bows repeatedly in an apology, back straightened at a ninety-degree angle of impeccable courtesy. "I apologise for being so late!"

"Miyamoto-san?" Yuuri questions, bowing in return. "From the emails?"

"Yes!" She brightens, "I am the main representative for Juniors, so I will be in charge of you, Katsuki-senshu."

"Then, please take care of us."

"Hai!"

Minako pats Yuuri's back, all-business and no rest. "Our bags are already checked in, so we should probably meet the others."

"Yes, of course!" Miyamoto snaps her head towards Minako, cheeks blushing. "Please follow me! Sato-san will explain everything once we are there."

The three of them make their way further through the Terminal lounge, until Miyamoto pushes open a door to what looks like a private room. There are people lounged around in seats, huddled together and decked in the same black sports jacket that Yuuri himself wears.

Yuuri cannot help but make the comparison that they all look like kids on a school trip, giddy with excitement. This was his team. Team Japan.

"Sato-san!" Miyamoto waves towards a senior figure, gesturing towards Yuuri and Minako. "We're all here."

"Yes, please." Sato is an elderly man, hair peppered with white streaks and combed back immaculately. He looks like he should be wearing a suit rather than the big puffer jacket of the Japan's team official uniform. "If we all sit down, I will begin the debrief."

Yuuri squishes himself on a spare seat, with Minako standing closely next to him. His glasses had taken a maddening role to shorten Yuuri's fusem, slipping down the bridge of his nose no matter how much he pushed them back up. His mask feels tight around his ears, but he'd be damned if he caught something on the plane. Yuuri always did have a weak constitution whenever he flew.

Minako places her hand on Yuuri's back, soothingly rubbing. It lulls Yuuri, and his eyes begin to droop. "Just a bit longer, kid."

He pinches his leg, flinching at the sharp stab of pain that settles up his thigh.

This was all his fault. Instead of listening to Minako and napping from five, like she told him to, Yuuri had snuck into the rink and practiced the new exhibition piece. Minako had found him, an hour before they were meant to leave, unpacked and sweaty. And Yuuri really was paying the price for it now.

"We'll be walking through the terminal doors, where there will be reporters waiting to wish us luck as we leave. You won't have to speak to them, just wave as we move towards the plane door. Once we arrive in Beijing, we will take two separate buses to the hotel, which is around two hours from the airport. Once we reach the hotel, you will be left alone with your assigned JSF member and your coaches."

Sato takes a cursory glance around all of the skaters, and Yuuri himself takes it upon himself to do the same. There are not a lot of them. Yuuri, from what he can see, is the only single male skater out of them all. He's also the only Junior skater.

Yuuri had done his research earlier, just as he had done with his schoolmates. It would paint him as a horrible kouhai if he did not know his senpai 's names.

Takahashi Riku, 21, Ladies singles. This was surprisingly only her second time qualifying for the Grand Prix Finals, despite competing in the senior circuit for over five years. She was currently ranked in the top fifteen of ladies figure skating, and the only high ranking ladies' skater out of Japan in recent years.

Sato Hitomi and Yuma Takemi, aged 22 and 24 respectively, pairs skating. They were surprisingly a young team, pairing up for the first time only last year. They had gripped on their tailcoats of the other, more experienced pair couples, and was the surprise that the JSF truly needed.

And finally, David Yamaguchi and Kihara Yumi, aged 27 and 25, ice dancers. Yuuri actually remembered them from the future. It's not a stretch to say that at this moment in time, Yamaguchi-san and Kihara-san were the faces of Japanese figure skating. They were Japan's best bet for a podium finish. The question was where . If they executed all their lifts correctly and the French skaters made mistakes, maybe they would get bronze.

Yuuri had always appreciated their step sequences when he was younger, and to see them now, whilst they were in their prime- Yuuri would absorb as much as his eyes could. If Yuuri's memory served them right, they would actually get bronze, after the French team made and fell on a risky lift as well as missed the timings on some twizzle spins. It was Japan's only medal at the Grand Prix Final then. The other skaters Yuuri did not even remember .

He tries to appear as non-threatening as he is, bowing nicely to all the members when they look his way. David, in particular, grins at Yuuri, waving when they lock eyes. Yuuri finds himself breathing a little easier.

Perhaps the flight wouldn't be too bad.

For once in his life, Yuuri's intuition wasn't wrong. He had slept soundlessly through the entire thing, and when he had awoken, he was greeted to the sight of Minako and David becoming fast friends. The two were snickering across the aisle to each other, lobbing bits of torn up, magazine papers at each other.

It's times like this that Yuuri sits in disbelief, wondering how on earth Minako was older than his mother. Sighing, he stretches his arms up, and Minako recoils when he accidentally bumps into her shoulders.

"Oh, Yuuri-kun. Did I wake you?"

He yawns, eyes watering. He pulls down his mask so that it rests on his chin and flounders slightly for his glasses. Once the world shifts back into focus, he turns back to Minako to answer. "No. Did I miss the snacks?"

She hands over the complimentary snacks; it's just a little yogurt cup with some fruit, but Yuuri wolfs it down quickly, settling his hunger.

"How much longer do we have?"

"Hmm, about half an hour? You slept through most of the flight. I had to amuse myself elsewhere."

"Yeah, I can see that." Yuuri snorts, eyes trained on David and his partner. "You're getting friendly."

"Well, you won't believe this! It turns out that I know David-kun's aunt! She used to be a fan of mine."

"From back in the olden days?" Yuuri thinks the bruise forming at the back of his spine is worth it for the way Minako sputters at him.

"I'm not that old."

"You're old enough to be my mother - in fact, you are older than her."

"Shut up!" She slams a hand over his mouth, pouting. "You're so mean to me. Maybe I'll switch over and coach David-kun and Yumi-chan instead."

"Did someone say my name?"

David Yamaguchi, in the flesh. He's handsome, with a strong jawline with a quintessential Japanese idol-like image. He meandered his way to stand beside Minako in the middle of the aisle.

Yuuri bows immediately, no matter how groggy he was from sleep, he'd be damned if he was known as impolite. Not when Viktor of all people had to be the one to point out that Yuuri could be a little unwelcoming at times. (It's not his fault that his anxiety comes across as cold and unfriendly! But Viktor had never forgotten to remind Yuuri of the way he had come across to poor Minami when they had first met.)

So Yuuri tries to make himself look like the cute, polite kouhai that he is. Hopefully, Yamaguchi-san was actually one of the nicer senpais than Yuuri was used to.

"Nah, don't worry about it kid. I watched your Nationals!" He looks like he's being nice, eyes alight with kindness. "Okukawa-sensei was telling me how you choreographed your own stuff, that step sequence in the short program was insane. How'd you figure out how to do the counters and twizzles that fast?"

Oh.

Oh .

He's talking to Yuuri, not at him, not even down at him. He's speaking to Yuuri as if they were equals, or at least of a similar age.

"I- I adapted some of the ballet drills Sensei makes me do onto the ice. It helped with my control, and then I just trained to do them at that speed."

"There were a lot of reruns." Minako snickers, and Yuuri flames at the reminders of his past, practice failures.

"Ballet drills on ice? Huh. Never thought of that." Yamaguchi-san looks inquisitive. "I've only ever done ballet as off-training. Maybe I'll implement it more on-ice-"

" Could all passengers put on their seatbelts? Landing will commence soon. Could all passengers put on their seatbelts? Landing will commence soo-"

"I guess that's my cue. Good luck at the competition, Yuuri-kun, I call you that, right? Let's break that world record!"

"Ha?!"

David laughs, a full guttural sound from the base of his stomach. "I'm not stupid kid, you land all of those jumps and execute that step sequence like you did at Nationals, then there's no way Nikiforov's record is staying in tact."

"I- well- That's the plan, senpai !"

David's eyes widen, before his face spreads out into a brillaing grin. He can't help himself but to reach over and ruffle Yuuri's hair.

What a cute kouhai .

December 9th

Hotel Nikko New Century Beijing,

Beijing, Republic of China

Yuuri is nervously tapping his feet, finger's drumming against the small table as he waits. There are two cups of coffee in front of him, his own, just a simple bitter black coffee that his taste buds had become accustomed too, and another sugary monstrosity , a hot chocolate lathered in salted caramel drizzle.

He takes another deep sigh, bringing the mug up to his lips and taking tentative sips. This was it.

In a few moments, he would see Christophe Giacometti for the first time in what feels like years .

As much as he loved Minako, Yuu-chan and his family, they were not staples in his life, not like Christophe had been, especially since after his marriage to Viktor. It was expected that they would see each other a handful of times during competitions, but after his marriage to Viktor, the man had been a major part of Yuuri's life. Like he'd said before, Viktor and Christophe were a package deal. Sometimes, without him even knowing, the Swiss skater would be knocking on his door at three in the morning, having caught a flight to see the two of them because he'd been bored.

Over the past few months, ever since Yuuri had inhabited this body, had reversed the fallen sand in his life's timer back up through the hourglass, Christophe had become an irreplaceable person in Yuuri's life. So sue him for being a little anxious.

But like with most of Yuuri's worries, there is nothing for him to fear.

Christophe walks through the entryway of the hotel cafe, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and nose chilled red from the outside cold. He surveys the room for a little, before he starts to run .

"Christophe, wait! You'll hurt yourself- OOF !"

He slams into Yuuri, arms wrapped around his shoulders in a tight embrace. The two end up as a pile of entangled limbs on the floor, but Yuuri has not felt alive like this in months .

"Wait, so you tried to sleep with your choreographer?"

"Assistant! Assistant choreographer! He was interning under Morozov for his degree, a pretty little thing. Made every moment of his time at the rink a dream." He winks coquettishly, and Yuuri bursts into a storm of giggles.

"You probably traumatised him."

" Or was his gay awakening." He sighs into the hot chocolate, lips licking the sweet, freshly whipped cream. "Anyways, tell me everything! I know when there's tea to be spilled, and you sir, have kept me starving ."

"Okay, okay." Yuuri sips his coffee. "I could've told you over the phone, but this is something I knew you wanted to have over some croissants."

"Damn straight. These are so good."

"The best. Even better since we're strictly not allowed them." The two exchange similar, conspiratory grins.

"Anyway," Yuuri starts. "My old coach dropped me."

"You are joking ."

"Afraid not." Yuuri breaks off a piece of the croissant, throwing it into his mouth with a flippant attitude.

" All the articles said that it was because of creative differences!"

"Yeah, the creative difference being the difference in his salary."

"What a toad. Is there no loyalty anymore?" Christophe gasps dramatically.

"Nope, just up and left. Didn't even tell us a thing - I found out over a phone call after he stopped turning up to our sessions for two weeks. And get this," Yuuri leans forward, eyes sparkling with mean amusement. "I ran into him after Nationals, the one that I won by over forty points by the way, and he couldn't even look me in the face! "

Christophe cackles loudly.

"It gets even better - he wasn't even on the main coaching staff. He was carrying bags ."

"Serves the fucker right." Christophe snickers. "Abandoning our Yuuri, what was he even thinking? Oh." Christophe places his hot chocolate back on the table, jumping forward from where he was leaning back into his seat.

"I completely missed your Nationals-"

"I know, nobody airs Junior Nationals unless you're like Russia-"

"Which means that I had to find out over shittily translated news articles that you've changed your short program. What the fuck Yuuri!"

"Oh, you have to come and watch me! I think you'll love it."

"You damn right I'm going to watch it! What the hell, not telling your best friend that you've changed your program- it's for the best though. Nobu could not choreograph for shit - I'm sorry, but that disco-pop remix he pushed on you? Absolutely tragic . You're all elegant lines and refined step sequences, not, well whatever that was."

"If anyone could've pulled it off, it would've been Viktor. I still can't believe you got to see his Britney Spears medley live at the Shanghai gala performance. I will actually die if he turns up in front of me wearing that plaid skirt."

"Oh trust me darling. In person is a completely different thing." Christophe visibly melts. "Speaking of Viktor…"

"OH RIGHT!" Yuuri slams his hand down, glaring. "I can't believe you distracted me from the most important thing right now."

"You-" He points a finger straight at Christophe's heart, scowling. "Are dead to me."

"Oh, babes, don't be like that." Christope pouts, but Yuuri is too busy seething.

"You have Viktor's number and you didn't even tell me! Shit, is he staying at this hotel? Are you meeting up with him sometime soon?"

"Oh, the emperor doesn't stay here with all the sludge." Christophe sips his hot chocolate with a cheeky grin. "No, there's the Imperial Hotel about four minutes down the road, that's where he and the other big-shot skaters stay, more security for them, ya know? I heard how wild it gets when Viktor's in the hotel, people will scale skyscrapers to get a glimpse at our Ice Prince." He sighs lovingly.

"That sounds… kind of scary."

"Oh, it is, one hundred-percent." They both shiver at the thought.

"Things are… a bit weird." Christophe runs his finger across the rim of his cup. His voice isn't as bubbly as Yuuri is use to, and the conversation starts to simmer down. "Seniors are nothing like Juniors, at all."

Christophe's voice takes a sharp edge, and a chill sets itself inside of Yuuri's bones. "What do you mean?"

"Well, there's a bit of a hierarchy thing. Viktor, the people just below him and then everyone else." Christophe's voice makes it clear where he stands. "I guess, it just gets a little lonely, when everyone already has a place to begin with."

Yuuri has never experienced Christophe being this open, and he feels something uncomfortable settle in the center of his chest. For as long as he's known him, Christophe had always been a shining, bright figure, always ready with a quip to send Yuuri into a flushed embarrassment. He has to do something, something to bring Christophe out of this funk. He speaks without even realising it.

"So, Viktor's Regina George?"

The silence between them is palpable.

And then, Christophe wheezes . It's like something switches between them, and then the two are falling over their seats, dying at the force of their laughter.

"Oh my god. Viktor Nikiforov is so Regina George.

Yuuri's face is straight when he says, "If Viktor punched me in the face, it would be the best day of my life."

"Oh, his hair is definitely insured."

The two can barely contain their cackles, even when people are turning to look at them. "Oh, god, I miss you, Katsuki."

Yuuri smiles. "I'm right here, Chris."

He throws a scrunched up napkin at him, which Yuuri just about dodges. "You know what I mean. Older skaters… Well, they're not very welcoming to newcomers. Not like how Juniors was. Either way-"

Christophe must've realised that the conversation would start to spiral again, and his face becomes filled with genuine emotion. "I am glad you decided to keep continuing to compete, even if your Junior Coach was shitty enough to drop you mid-season. So hurry up, and join me in Seniors!"

"Just one more season." Yuuri sighs heavily. "Then I'll be with the big boys." Christophe mines party shakers, already celebrating.

"Now, tell me about Viktor."

Christophe sighs dramatically. "Well, if you must, I was just as surprised. It was a little before the practice session before the gala, you know how older skaters feel about new blood, they sort of sniff out how you are and stuff. And since I did well enough to get silver, I thought the same thing would happen, that he'd be the same, but - he was actually really nice."

Yuuri soaks in any new information he can get about Viktor, and it must show on his face because Christophe laughs out loud. "Well, as nice as he could be. He was still so fucking intimidating - god, even when he was smiling, I couldn't tell if he was actually being nice, or if he just knew what I wanted him to do, or some weird shit like that."

"Anyway, if he was actually being nice, then I guess not all seniors are like that. We don't really text a lot, but he follows me on instagram, so you know I've made it."

"Yeah," Yuuri says, almost wistfully.

"I could introduce-"

"DON'T YOU DARE!"

"Oh, Yuuri, come on don't be like that! I'm sure he'll be flattered that you named your dog after him."

"He'll think I'm a psychotic crazy person."

"Okay." Christophe admits. "You might be right."

Yuuri sighs, suffering. "I'll just live by watching him from afar. It'll be enough for me."

It would have to. In a few hours, Yuuri would come face to face with the love of his life.

He doesn't know if it's excitement or dread that pools at the bottom of his stomach.