i was yours before i knew (and you have always been mine too)
By: TG
Summary: Katsuki Yuuri, former skating prodigy of Japan, has come back home after a couple failed seasons to work at his childhood friends flower shop. Viktor Nikiforov, five time figure skating world champion and Russia's living legend, ends up in a small town in southern Japan on his journey for inspiration and motivation. They cross paths for the first time on a cold day in mid-January, and nothing is the same again.
Warnings: this chapter contains depictions of an anxiety attack
Author's notes: a long-awaited update! i decided for my 20 year fic-iversary (july 14, 2022) that i wanted to attempt completing all of my posted wips, starting with this one. after 5 years of waiting, the end has finally come! thanks for all your patients and kind comments!
iv. autumn
love is the kiss in the quiet nest while the leaves are trembling, mirrored in the water. - frederico garcia lorca
Yuuri is elbow deep in a bucket of flowers when his phone rings. It's his personal phone, not the shop phone, so he hurriedly scrapes the sticky wet leaves off of his arms, wipes his hands vigorously on his already dirty apron front, and hurries to catch it.
If someone calls his smartphone, it's usually either his family, Phichit, or Viktor. This time it's Phichit's name that scrolls across the top. He grins big — it's been a while since he's talked to his best friend, who's been busy preparing for Skate America, just a month away. It takes a few tries for the phone to react to his damp fingertips but he finally manages to accept the video call.
"Phi! How —"
"When were you planning on telling me you kissed Viktor Nikiforov?! And why did I have to find out through Christophe, of all people? Hm?"
Oh. Oops. Yuuri winces.
"Listen, I'm sor—"
"Also! You went on a date? And you gave him a ring? I thought we were best friends!" Phichit steamrolls right over him, but Yuuri can tell by the tone of his voice that he's not mad, per se. Phichit doesn't often get truly angry at other people or situations, he's too infectiously buoyant for that kind of negativity. But Yuuri is flooded with guilt anyway, and the immediate need to make it right.
"You're right and I should be ashamed," he says solemnly. "Can I make it up to you by embarrassing myself?"
Phichit's entire voice lights up. "Oooh, maybe! What do you have? What have you done? Gimme."
Yuuri laughs. "Well, the first time we skated together I fell on my ass."
"Oh god, and in front of your idol! That is pretty embarrassing," Phichit teases. "It must feel amazing to skate with him though, right? I know you've been secretly pining for it."
"It does," Yuuri says, his voice hushed and embarrassingly reverent. It does feel amazing, though. It's like a dream.
"Is he returning to skating then? Chris thought maybe, but he says he can't get a straight answer out of Viktor. Which, come to think of it, is pretty on-brand."
"Yeah, Viktor likes to be dramatic," Yuuri says flatly, making Phichit snort. "I won't confirm or deny, but I will say that I think I've got a lot to consider when it comes to the future."
"Oooohhhhh? Finally going to chase your dreams, are you?"
Phichit, bless him, always knew how to read between Yuuri's lines.
"Maybe. Anyway. Sorry it's been so long since I called. How have you been lately?"
"Oh no, nuh uh. I need details about you falling on your ass in front of your uber-attractive childhood idol."
Yuuri sighs through his nose and puts the phone on speaker so he can embarrass himself and work at the same time.
—
"Yuuri!"
The bell above the door to the flower shop jingles and Yuuri looks up to Viktor's sweet smile and sweating face. Viktor sees him looking and waves enthusiastically. Yuuri knows this is his signal, so he sets down his shears and tells Yuuko he's leaving for the evening.
It's September and Viktor has started training again in earnest, spending parts of every day holed up in the ice rink. He's been allowed to borrow the keys provided he doesn't lose them on pain of death (Takeshi) and gruesome dismemberment (Yuuko). Sometimes Yuuri goes with him and watches him create beautiful grooves in the ice; sometimes, like today, Yuuri only sees the aftermath in Viktor's glowing skin and wobbling legs.
Viktor has looked happy in a way he hasn't since Yuuri has known him here. His eyes are passionate and calculating, like he's always thinking about how he can do better next time or whether a toe loop might be better than a flip at the point where the music in his program swells. He says the goal for now is to get back into shape and remind himself how to create the type of choreography that moves people, but Yuuri suspects Viktor's true goal is to return to the spotlight in time to qualify for next year's Grand Prix events. Viktor always liked to make a splash, after all. Returning after almost two years off the ice at the ripe old age of twenty-eight? That's more than a splash — that's a tidal wave.
Yuuri wholeheartedly approves. He's always appreciated Viktor's dramatic flair, so long as it's not aimed at him.
And it means he's got a little more time to prepare himself for what he needs to do, too.
Viktor flounces over to him, his smile stretching to fill up his whole face with light. "Are you ready, my love?"
Yuuri's cheeks fill with blood at the pet name Viktor picked up. He started calling Yuuri 'my love' after the summer festival and refused to give any explanation except a soft smile when Yuuri asked why. He won't stop, either, no matter how many times Yuuri swats at him or whines for him to stop.
Yuuko gives him a look that spells out exactly what she's going to be talking about with Nishigori later on, and Yuuri officially gives up on life. "Yep, ready."
The weather in Saga in September is still hot, still humid. But the nights are starting to become pleasant again, and it's not a hardship anymore to tuck his hand into Viktor's elbow as they make the trek back to Yutopia.
"It's about time you invited me to try your mother's katsudon," Viktor teases. "I've been waiting forever."
"Maybe I wanted to make sure you were someone I wanted to bring home to my mama," Yuuri fires back, leaning into Viktor's warm side. "And it hasn't been forever, it's only been like six months."
"Hmm… It feels like forever though," Viktor says softly. Yuuri doesn't say anything, just holds on a little bit tighter for the rest of the journey back.
Hiroko welcomes them with open arms and broken English, which Viktor returns with broken Japanese. He's been learning, in between spending all this time with Yuuri and the ice. Yuuri feels a well of pride at all of the effort Viktor has put into himself. He's allowed to be proud of something like that, right?
Mari gives him a look when he introduces Viktor — like she hadn't quite believed that Yuuri had been telling the truth this whole time and has to reevaluate everything now that she's seen Viktor in the flesh. Yuuri can relate, honestly.
Dinner with his family goes off without a hitch. Hiroko drags Viktor into the kitchen to show him how to make katsudon just right, and Mari drags Viktor deep into their scrapbooks, happily showing off baby Yuuri's chubby cheeks and legs. Viktor takes it all in stride, unbothered by the language barrier or even the fact that this is a meet-the-parents type of situation. Viktor fits seamlessly into his family dynamic, and that's a revelation that's both bitter and sweet, because soon he's going to leave all of this behind.
Viktor insists on helping with the washing up, because of course he does. He's such a generous soul, sometimes Yuuri feels like a man in the company of a god for all that his desires seem so selfish. This has always been Yuuri's job growing up, so they stand elbow to elbow in the deep sink, Yuuri scrubbing and Viktor drying, setting the dishes aside to be put away later. It's quiet in the kitchen, and it still smells strongly of dashi and mirin and fried food. It's nice that the silence between them doesn't always need to be filled.
Yuuri passes a bowl and pauses when Viktor's fingers clasp over his. He glances up to find Viktor looking at him with warm, blue eyes.
"Thank you," he says. "For bringing me here."
"You're very important to me," Yuuri replies quietly, turning his gaze back to the suds in the sink.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Viktor still looking at him, biting his lip like there's something else he wants to say. But nothing else comes out, and Yuuri falls back into thoughts, quiet.
—
"Are you alright, my love?" Viktor asks as his long fingers sweep away the hair falling into Yuuri's eyes. He gives Viktor the best smile he knows how to give and says he is, but he can tell by Viktor's expression that it's not convincing.
Yuuri suppresses a wince and falls silent, not really knowing what to say or how to reassure Viktor. It's so hard, sometimes, when his head is just a jumbled mess of television static, and it's all he can do to try and function like a normal person in the world.
The anxiety started from the night he'd brought Viktor home and realized that they don't have much time left. Or, maybe even before that. It had started as a small, niggling thought, one that Yuuri had been happy to put away and pretend like it didn't exist. He'd been all too eager to fill his brain with distractions, but the niggling thought had grown into a constant presence, too large to contain and too heavy to forget.
Viktor is going to leave soon — he has to, if he's going to try and unretire himself by next skating season. Maybe he won't leave Japan, but there's no skating coach in Kyushu who is up to the task of training an Olympian at the elite level — Yuuri would know.
And Viktor has to leave. He has to. Yuuri will not be the thing responsible for holding him back from the world that deserves him. He's sure Viktor won't leave him, but where does that leave them? He doesn't have any answers.
Anxiety is an insidious thing that comes quietly in the night, sinking its claws in deep and holding its victims hostage in a world of uncertainty and fear. It locks you in like an animal in a cage, impossible to escape. It wraps its filthy, blackened hands around your throat and chokes you, it bubbles up your stomach acid until it makes you sick. It squeezes at your heart, traps your mind — and the worst thing is, Yuuri knows it. He knows it's there, knows better than this, but it's impossible to put any of it into words — he just doesn't know how, doesn't contain the vocabulary. So he suffers in warring silence, and Viktor's concerned blue eyes watch him as he withers.
—
Shattering, loud in his ears.
Yuuri gasps and looks down at the remains of the vase Viktor had made for him all those months ago. It had been so beautiful, and now it's like a broken skeleton, its insides shining bone-white against the dark wood flooring of the flower shop.
Oh god, he'd dropped it.
He was just trying to dust off the shelves. He'd been moving vases back and forth between the shelving unit and the counter all day, and this is the one he'd dropped? This one? He'd just wanted to clean, to get his mind off of the inky black thoughts swirling around in his brain, but this —
This is a sick joke. Or fate. One of the two, or maybe both. Maybe they're one and the same, indecipherable.
Oh god. The broken vase could hurt someone. It needs to be cleaned up.
Yuuri drops to his hands and knees like a puppet with his strings cut, hands scrabbling to pick up the shards. He doesn't mind his bare fingers, doesn't even feel the sharp sting of ceramic breaking skin, dripping bright red blood all over. Viktor's vase, the thing Viktor made with his own two hands and gifted to Yuuri with such a bright, sweet smile. He dropped it.
He can feel his chest tighten.
It'll never be the same.
(He never deserved it in the first place.)
(Stop.)
This is how Yuuko finds him — hunched over a pile of broken pottery clutching his bloody fingers and struggling to remember how to breathe. She crouches down in front of him, makes him name some things he can see, touch. His breathing evens out eventually, but the hollow feeling remains as he watches her sweep up Viktor's vase. She carries the dustpan away, presumably to throw it out, and he stares at the dusty spot on the ground in front of his knees.
This is how it all comes to a head.
—
He avoids talking to Viktor about it for as long as he can, but somehow Viktor finds out about the vase.
Viktor comes that day, knocking on the window of the locked shop and shouting for Yuuri. He comes the next day, and the day after that. Sometimes he sits behind the workspace while Yuuri stuffs flowers into plastic wrap. Sometimes he even helps, sweeping up the graveyard of stems and leaves and sheared-off thorns at Yuuri's feet. He always looks like he wants to talk, but never seems to be able to get the words out. Maybe he doesn't know the words.
The small part of Yuuri's mind that's left unconsumed by anxiety can relate.
Viktor, the absolute my love, spends all day with Yuuri if he can, only going to the Ice Castle once Yuuri closes up shop for the evening. It's clear he has no idea what he's doing, and it breaks his heart. Yuuri loves him all the more for it.
On the fifth day, Yuuri is working the shop alone after Yuuko had to step out to take care of her three gremlins, and Viktor had yet to show up, which is odd. Yuuri waits for him all day, and the strangeness alone is enough to lift some of the haze of anxiety from his mind. Yuuri busies himself with processing boxes of fresh flowers and, when he finishes that task, he busies himself with making beautiful bouquets out of them.
By the time he's done with that, the sky outside has gone dark. He looks at his watch and realizes it's past closing time. Still no Viktor.
Maybe, the inky blackness whispers, Viktor has finally seen what a mess Yuuri is and moved on. Probably for the better, since he's going to be leaving soon anyway.
Yuuri tells that part of his brain to please shut up.
He's about to step outside, put the key in the lock, and call it a night when he sees a dark figure approaching the shop. He's memorized Viktor's shape by now, so he presses his palm to the doorknob and lets him into the darkened shop.
"Yuuri," Viktor says, and he sounds so relieved that he made it on time that Yuuri can't help but smile at him. "I have a gift for you."
Yuuri blinks. That's not what he expected. "You have a gift?"
"Yes, sorry it's taken so long. I meant to be here earlier, but this worked out even better."
Before Yuuri can ask what the hell is going on, Viktor is thrusting a paper bag at him. The branding belongs to one of the local kilns in town, and Yuuri's heart sinks just a bit.
"Viktor, I don't want a replacement —" he starts, but Viktor shakes his head and bobs the gift in his hands, insistent. "Okay, fine."
Yuuri takes the bag and gives Viktor one more look. When he peaks inside he nearly loses his breath. It's Viktor's vase, repaired with brilliant gold joinery. He takes it out of the bag with shaking hands, watches it glint in the dim light that filters in through the shop windows.
From what he knows about the process of kintsugi, it takes four or five days to complete a repair. Yuuko must not have thrown it away as he assumed. Instead, she must've saved it, and Viktor must have taken it directly to the kiln the same day.
It's beautiful.
"Viktor —"
"I didn't know what to do," Viktor says, his voice quiet. "I wondered, should I just leave? Am I making you like this? Should I just kiss you?"
"I don't want you to kiss me," Yuuri says, a little offended. "I just want you to support me."
"I didn't know what to do," Viktor repeats, looking lost. These last few weeks must have really shaken him. Yuuri sighs and sets the newly-repaired vase on the counter.
"I've been scared about you leaving eventually," he confesses. It feels like his mouth has finally been unglued, Viktor's vulnerability making him, in turn, feel finally able to be vulnerable too. "You're going to be heading back to Russia soon to pursue restarting your career."
"Yes, that's true. That doesn't mean I'm going to leave you," Viktor cuts in. He sounds shocked, like he's surprised that Yuuri could even consider that a potential obstacle. Yuuri rolls his eyes, ignoring that this is the first time Viktor has actually confirmed what Yuuri has been so anxious about in the first place.
"I know that. But I've been scared about it anyway. I have anxiety. It's part of me, inside me. I can't help it. I just need you to support me despite it."
Viktor stares at him for a moment, his eyes bright in the darkness of the shop. Yuuri can practically see his mind working to process the situation and rewire, and he has to tamp down on a smile, feeling suddenly so much lighter.
Viktor is great at a lot of things, but he hasn't quite managed to figure Yuuri out yet, it seems like.
"Support? I can do that. You know I've got you, Yurochka. Whatever happens, we'll figure it out together."
There's such conviction in his voice that Yuuri feels almost compelled to believe him. Viktor reaches his hand out and Yuuri meets him halfway, sliding his fingers between Viktor's and squeezing. For the first time in the last few weeks Yuuri feels like he's standing on even ground again.
Viktor squeezes his hand back.
Maybe it really is that simple. Maybe it's not. They'll find out together, and that's enough.
Yuuri breaks away for a moment to put the newly-repaired vase in a safe spot on one of the shelves, and then he's back, smiling when Viktor practically plasters himself to his side. It feels like the last few weeks have been wiped away, and he's so grateful to Viktor for starting the conversation that he hadn't been able to.
"Do you feel up to going on a walk, my love?" Viktor asks, tucking Yuuri's hand up in his elbow and pressing his palm over it, his voice warm and his eyes sparkling.
Yuuri takes a moment to take stock. He's exhausted, drained mentally and physically. It's been a rough few weeks of descending to rock bottom, but his need to spend time with Viktor unencumbered by his own anxiety outweighs all the rest.
"I'm all yours," he replies, and means it.
They meander down the street and across the bridge at a slow, steady pace, and Viktor fills up the silence with meaningless babble so Yuuri's brain can just relax to the soothing sound of Viktor's Russian-accented English. It's dark, but the moon is bright in the sea's reflection, and there's a hint of salt and bonfire smoke on the breeze from the beach. It's nice — it's more than nice.
Yuuri imagines doing this with Viktor in other places — Barcelona, St Petersburg, New York — and feels his heart settle a little more back into place.
They end up at Ice Castle, which both surprises Yuuri and doesn't. Viktor slips them inside with the key he'd borrowed, and Yuuri is surprised to see that the lights are already on and the ice has been newly cleaned. He glances over to Viktor accusingly, and Viktor gives him the biggest grin.
"Part two of your surprise! Yuuko said you love surprises."
Yuuri will kill Yuuko. His condolences to Takeshi and the girls.
"I've been working on my free program for a while. I wanted to surprise you with it. You see, it's for me, but it's about you."
Yuuri flushes all the way down his neck at the implication.
Maybe Yuuri will kill Yuuko a little less.
"May I show you?"
Yuuri nods, feeling overwhelmed for the second time tonight. Viktor's palm slips past his as he goes to put his skates on, and leaves Yuuri feeling bereft of its warmth. The rink is cold without him, even through his layers.
Viktor takes to the ice like a fish to water, his blades cutting smoothly through the fresh, unmarred surface. He does a couple of laps around to warm himself up, and then he nods to someone off in the shadows — Yuuko must be here somewhere, Yuuri decides; he might still kill her after all — and then the most beautiful piano music fills the air as Viktor starts moving, his limbs pure grace all the way to the fingertips.
He watches Viktor skate and realizes that this is a very public declaration of his feelings. Everyone is going to see this routine and realize that Viktor is in love. They won't know with who — not unless Yuuri is okay with it — but they'll all know that Viktor has been stolen from the world even while he's making his return back into it.
Viktor's routine is not finished — it's rough around the edges, and there are places where he's clearly marking his elements. If what he says is true, he's only been working on the choreography for a few weeks. None of that even really matters — the feeling of the routine is there, written on Viktor's face and in the long lines of his body as he sweeps across the ice on gilded blades.
It's beautiful, Yuuri thinks, riveted to the sight of Viktor spelling out his devotion in its most raw form.
Viktor loves him.
Viktor, who performs dizzying displays of step sequences and showy jump combinations just because he can — that Viktor has abandoned all pretense, baring himself in quiet passion in a routine far more simple than he normally would perform, beautiful in its gentleness.
Because his love for Yuuri is not ostentatious or performative. It's real, with jagged edges and soft middles, full of passion and quietude and mistakes and forgiveness.
Viktor's ending pose is a soft ballet-fingered hand pointing right at Yuuri, and Yuuri feels all of the breath whoosh out of him in a long, drawn out gust.
"That was beautiful," Yuuri says weakly as Viktor skates up to him, separated only by the wall of the rink. Viktor's hand comes up and slides along his jaw, bringing them forehead to forehead. "Might as well have been a confession."
"Might've been," Viktor agrees, and kisses him.
—
The evening of November second brings an air of excitement to the city as the entire city shows up for the biggest festival of the year — the three day long Hasetsu Kunchi. The streets are full of people, and the sounds of celebration blanket the entire area from Hasetsu Shrine to Nishinohama Beach and all of the little side streets and alleyways in between. It's the liveliest the city's been in ages, and the energy is infectious.
Yuuri manages to drag Viktor out on the second day, enticing him to leave Ice Castle with the promise of matsuri food and his own big brown doe eyes. Viktor's eyes light up like Christmas the moment they reach the center of historic Hasetsu and the hikiyama floats come into view. All around them are men dressed in various colors representing their neighborhoods and the sound of taiko drums and flutes playing the traditional music of the festival. Alcohol is free-flowing and people are joyous.
"Wow!" he says, his whole heart in his mouth. Yuuri squeezes his hand, happy that Viktor is able to appreciate an event that Yuuri grew up with and loves.
"These are hikiyama. There's fourteen of them, for each of the original fourteen neighborhoods. Men from the neighborhood get to carry the floats through the city to the beach," Yuuri explains. Viktor has to lean in closer to hear him over the taiko and flute music. His body is warm and solid, and Yuuri feels the heat rise up in his cheeks in response.
"Did you ever carry a float?"
"Ah, no. The onsen isn't in one of the original neighborhoods. But I've watched it every year. It's part of my heritage."
They eventually make their way to the beach where the hikiyama parade is set to end with the hikiyama being set down in the sand. The following day there will be a race to see which hikiyama can escape the sand first, but today's events are the true highlight. There are so many people that Viktor ends up pressed solidly against him from hip to shoulder, his chest broad against Yuuri's back. The whole area is wall-to-wall people, so there's no escaping Viktor's touch — not that he's in a hurry to do so. Not when Viktor plants a hand on his hip to steady himself as the crowd surges forward at the first sign of the approaching hikiyama, and certainly not when Viktor drops his chin onto his shoulder so he can see better through the gaps.
He presses a hand over Viktor's on his hip, and smiles when Viktor presses their cheeks together in response.
They spend the afternoon like that, sandwiched together in the autumn sunshine, and then they spend their evening meandering through the matsuri food stalls, as promised. Viktor picks up a stick of salted yakitori and alternates between pulling pieces off with his mouth and offering the stick to Yuuri. He watches Yuuri slide the pieces of chicken off the stick with his teeth with a little too much interest, much to Yuuri's amusement. They share a lemon sour, too, and it goes down smooth so they share another.
It's so much fun, is the thing. It's so incredibly fun to see things he's grown up with his whole life through Viktor's eyes as he discovers it all for the first time. His eyes light up with joy with each new food he tries, absorbing the street party atmosphere and all the new experiences like a new sponge. It makes Yuuri feel a sense of pride that he is from here, that he can show these things to Viktor, and that he gets to share in Viktor's addictive happiness.
Suddenly Yuuri wants nothing more than to be alone with him.
"I've got a surprise for you," he says as twilight falls over the festivities. "Back at the flower shop."
They stumble their way through the crowd back to Yuuri's shop, full of good food and a little alcohol. The shop is dark when they reach it, and Yuuri doesn't bother turning on the lights. He doesn't want this private moment to be witnessed by anyone but Viktor, anyway. He pulls Viktor by the hand around behind the counter, presses him up against it by his hips, and kisses him warmly. Viktor makes a bitten-off noise in the back of his throat and responds in kind, fingers tugging on the hem of Yuuri's t-shirt to get him even closer.
He pulls away, and he and Viktor pants damp air against each other's mouths.
"Wow. I like this surprise," Viktor says, leaning back down for another kiss.
Yuuri laughs and gives it to him, keeping it short and sweet despite Viktor's best attempts to weaken his knees.
"That wasn't the surprise, but I appreciate the sentiment."
Viktor blinks after him as he moves away to go and grab the real surprise. He can feel his eyes on his back all the way to the shelving unit that holds the vases. He reaches in toward the back of it and brings out Viktor's vase in careful hands, the gold webbing shining brightly. In the vase is water and a gathered bunch of stephanotis flowers, tied together with a pale blue ribbon. He sets the vase down on the cutting table to check the blooms over. It's not quite cool enough in the shop yet to leave flowers out of their walk-in coolers, so Yuuri had been thinking about this bunch all day, hoping it survived the warmth. He thumbs gently at the white petals and smiles. They had.
He turns back to Viktor to find him still staring, his eyes wide and delighted at his gift. Yuuri plucks the stephanotis bunch out of the vase and walks back over.
God he's nervous. It feels like a precipice, on the edge of a moment that might change the course he'd always assumed his life would travel in after quitting skating. He's nervous, but foremost in all the layers of his complicated emotions is love. He can feel it shining through his skin like golden sunlight, wonders if Viktor can feel it too.
He walks right up to Viktor, allowing himself the pleasure of getting in his space and seeing the way his eyes widen and darken in response. He takes Viktor's hand gently in his, thumb rubbing over the wind chapped knuckles. The moment stretches long between them.
"These flowers are called stephanotis," he says quietly into the silence between them. He gently curls Viktor's fingers around the bunch and lets go. The dim light of the shop reflects off of something hanging off the ribbon — something gold, and round. "Do you know the meaning of stephanotis?"
Viktor gasps. "Rings? Yuuri, rings —"
"The meanings of stephanotis are happiness in marriage, and a desire to travel."
Yuuri's hand slips down to Viktor's wrist, and he pulls on the ends of the ribbon, pulls the rings off and lets them sit cold in his palm, wanting to warm them up before he slides it on Viktor's finger.
"This is practically a proposal," Viktor says. His words mirror the night he showed Yuuri his program. Yuuri glances up from sliding his own ring on to find him wet-eyed and smiling, his eyes focused on the plain gold band around his right ring finger. Yuuri grips Viktor's right hand with his right hand and rubs his thumb over the band, watching them both shine in the moonlight.
"Mmm, it is, isn't it."
— one year later —
Yuuri runs, shrugging on his jacket as he goes. The rink is always cold in the stands, but it's even colder where the ice meets the wall. He's got to find just the right place to stand, too, so that Viktor can see him during his routine. He'd told Yuuri last night that seeing Yuuri there, standing rinkside for him always makes him feel like he's flying across the ice. Yuuri had blushed and flustered and fussed about how silly it is when Viktor knows he's going to be there regardless, but he'd rolled into Viktor's warm side with a smile anyway.
He thinks he would do just about anything for Viktor, if Viktor asked.
(Including uprooting his quiet little life in Hasetsu and moving across the world to St Petersburg.
But Viktor didn't have to ask him to do that.)
He makes it to the boards just as the announcer starts talking about Viktor in French. Viktor's already on the ice, gliding around the arena with long, steady strokes of his blades on the clean ice. Yuuri can barely hear the sounds of his blades over the noise of the crowd, cheering for one of the greatest comebacks in men's singles figure skating history after a year away from the sport.
The announcer repeats Viktor's introduction in English, and then silence falls around the arena as Viktor settles into his opening position at center ice.
Yuuri's heart beats out of his chest. He's seen this routine so many times since Viktor showed it to him that night — his surprise declaration of his deep feelings for Yuuri. It never gets old. It never stops stealing his breath, it never stops making his palms sweaty. It never stops making his chest fill with warmth and light and pure unfettered love.
The first piano chord sounds across the rink, and Viktor, his gaze meeting Yuuri's gaze and reflecting it all back, blooms.
AN: because hasetsu is based on a real town in saga prefecture called karatsu, i decided to use real places and real history in this fic. as such, i have plenty of research notes to mention below.
i also want to quickly mention in my previous chapter i mentioned i'd be applying for the JET program. i got accepted and i ended up living about a two hour train ride away from karatsu! i've been there a few times, so it's just kind of a fun coincidence, since i started writing this fic before all of that. as such, i have some photos on my travel blog if you're interested! you can check them out here!
- karatsu kunchi is a major festival in karatsu that draws about 500,000 visitors each year over the course of the three days it's happening. i was able to go once in 2018 (once was enough, it was so crowded lol). each year a bunch of men are handpicked from karatsu's 14 original neighborhoods to pull the giant 2-5 ton float that represents their neighborhood. they spend the first day pulling the floats through the city and end up at nishinohama beach where they park the float in the sand. the second day they have a race to see who can get out of the sand the quickest. a bunch of people are required to pull these floats, and they also have flute players and taiko drummers who sit/stand on the floats and provide a rhythm for the men to pull. as they pull the men also shout YOI-SA or EN-YA depending on which neighborhood they come from. it's a really fun festival, lots of food and drink and activity going on. would highly recommend checking it out if you ever find yourself, like viktor, in the countryside of saga prefecture!
- there's only one flower mentioned in this chapter, and it's actually my favorite flower period. it's called stephanotis, and it has two meanings in flower language: 1. happiness in marriage and 2. desire to travel. when yuuri gives the flower to viktor, he's both proposing to viktor and saying he'll follow viktor whether he goes back to russia to train with yakov or not.
and that's it! thanks for everything! 3