CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
-The Unconquered Sun rises again in a brand new Dawn!-
Though it had easily been an hour since the two elder Russians had departed from the rink, Yuri could tell that the encounter continued to unsettle Victor. His skating was haggard, rough, even amateur...but Yuri supposed that might also be because of the eye-patch handicap. He didn't want to add to the problem though, so as long as the Russian skated casually, still holding to his hand, he said and did nothing to upset that.
Their pair-skating had always been rather cerebral anyway, so no matter what Victor did, Yuri inevitably felt like he knew what he should do in return. That continued to be true in the minutes that came, as Victor finally spun around to gain a little speed, and pulled Yuri into a long arc, using him as a balance as he skated into it backwards with one leg held out straight behind him. It felt like ballroom dancing...and it briefly reminded the young skater of how Victor had supported and guided his own skating when they were milling-about at the Incheon Airport rink, and he'd been looking up songs on his phone instead of watching where his blades were carrying him.
He kept following Victor's lead, acting as a balance in one moment, a rudder in another, or as just a buffer for his blind spot. Victor would occasionally break off to do some step sequence or another, but he'd always come back again when he was done, wobbling slightly for lack of depth perception. Yuri felt uneasy when he could sense Victor tipping off balance; the silver would always come back and cling for a minute, chin on his shoulder, but when Yuri noticed that the man was doing so with his eyes closed, he realized it was probably the easiest way to stop feeling so googly-eyed. But, he continued to say nothing, vowing not to be the one to break the silence between them.
Yuri couldn't help but people-watch around the rink while his skating-chops were repurposed. If Victor didn't need his eyes or balance-support, he looked to the other nearby skaters - with the occasional glance towards the exit, just in case someone decided to return for Round 2. The first skater he watched was Yurio, who at that point had gone back to practicing his Tano jumps.
His form is perfect, but he doesn't have enough stamina to go the distance, Yuri noted. He's barely hit the edge of puberty. He's so worried about his limbs getting all gangly and unmanageable that the benefit of the added strength and endurance seems like a poor trade.
Mila was up next; she was working on jumps as well, but suffered from a similar issue, though for different reasons.
She could do quads, but unlike Yurio, whose journey into adulthood will be a boon...hers has become a handicap, Yuri thought. Her center of balance has become all skewed, and she doesn't have enough upper-body strength carry through the fourth spin before she lands. I can feel her frustration from here...
Then, there was Georgi, who was at rink-side with Yakov. Yuri grimaced slightly.
I dunno what to think of that guy. He's not particularly talkative or social, but he thinks really highly of himself anyway? He observed. I've been here a few weeks now, and I don't think Georgi's said a word to me. He's always gawking though. I wonder if he's looking at me or Victor?
Then, finally, he couldn't spare his fiancé a few observational blips. Victor had been against his back for a few minutes by then, and seemed to be satisfied with coasting; he'd lowered his brow to Yuri's shoulder, careful to perch on the right side, avoiding the mushy, peach-bruise-like tenderness of his left side.
I believe him when he says he doesn't hold it against me that he got hurt... He considered warily, and turned in place to put them facing one another, and returned to the warmth of their hug as he coasted them along the ice. But I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for it anyway. He would never have considered going if not for me. I'm going to have nightmares about it for weeks...
"Have they come back?" Victor finally asked, arms over those narrow shoulders, brow buried against his beloved's neck.
Yuri shook his head, "Konstantin left pretty soon after we got up from the table. Mikhail went about a minute after. I haven't seen either since. Lilia came through though; I can only wonder what she thought of your father when they passed."
"Probably the same as the rest of us," Victor huffed, "But I'm glad they're gone. I hope they never come back."
"Yeah..." Yuri agreed tepidly, Victor's uncle seemed alright...I guess...? But Victor definitely didn't want anything to do with him by the end.
"Anyway though... I didn't come all the way here to be a useless lump." Victor heaved a sigh of relief, and pulled gently out of the hug to head towards the rink's edge on his own. There was a weird moment where Yuri felt like something had happened, but he wasn't sure what it was, so he just kept his eyes open. The air had changed again...though maybe it was just the last vestiges of the tension from earlier finally dissipating.
KLOK...KLOK...KLOK...
Yuri twitched in surprise. So did the others, hearing a sound that they hadn't heard in almost a year. It came from Victor's spot on the wall. He'd kicked the barrier with his boot-blade as he tossed his track-suit coat towards one of the nearby benches...and then his eye-patch. The toe-tap seemed to be something of a universal signal, and pretty much everyone cleared the ice at that point. Even Yakov looked up.
Yuri was the only one who hadn't gotten to the edge of the rink though, and Yurio barked at him, "Move off, Katsudon!"
"What's going on?"
"Victor's about to put on a show. That's what he knocked on the wall for. Duh."
Beneath that discarded track coat was a form-fitting plum-purple shirt, matched well with black pants, and the gold gleam on his custom blades. Victor stretched his arms one more time before he cricked his neck and ruffed his hair, hoping it didn't look too silly after the strap of the patch was removed from around his head. With grace and expertise, Victor pushed off and flew across the ice like the legend his rink-mates knew him to be.
Yuri made it to the rink's edge near the Russian Tiger, having finally taken the hint, and watched in silent awe.
Victor seemed to dawdle a little, getting his bearings now that he had both eyes again. His bangs whipped around, stinging his face, but he didn't care anymore. He needed to skate. He needed to do it right. When he finally took his mark in the middle of the rink, he could feel the eyes of everyone in the arena were on him.
Can I even do this right now? My left eye is still shot... I think I can see enough of the ice to know where it is though. Ugh, this is miserable... It's like having glasses on but one lens is missing.
The Russian drew a quick, sharp breath, and went down on one knee, both hands held together on the knee that was still propped up. He closed his eyes and bowed his head; the song started to play in his head...but then he heard it from outside, too, and he glanced up in surprise. Yuri just smiled and waved nervously, phone connected to the rink-top boom-box. Victor huffed a laugh, "Start it over, start it over." He said, and waved him off to reset, "I'm ready this time."
Yuri slid his finger across his screen to push the timer back to 0:00, and hovered over the Play button, "Here it comes."
['Sol Invictus' - Audiomachine]
Immediately intense, the opening strings could've made someone's heart beat faster just from hearing them, and every second more of it that passed added to precious tension.
Victor elegantly rose up to both feet, dragging a toe-pick around himself as he went, and pushed off to skate backwards in a half-figure-8.
Boom-boom-BOOM
The drum-beats made him hop to face forward; the scratch of his blades on the ice was like the melody itself come to life. The intensity of the music rose like rolling thunder in the rink-hall, and Victor hopped through the next set of drum-beats, each time getting higher, using the first two strikes as a wide-up to vault on the third, and coasted the landing in the proceeding calm. When the piano came into the orchestra, Victor's pace picked up again, and he leapt into his first jump-combination; the quad Salchow, triple Toe-loop. He moved like fog over the frozen ground, twisting and turning until he could hear the thunderous addition of richly-deep bass horns.
The music's power grew, and the Russian's grew with it; he moved faster, waved his arms in a stronger sweep, kicked higher and turned more tightly than before. The drums pounded even heavier then, and Victor moved to line himself up with the long center of the rink. Pushing forward - the thunderous orchestra raging around him - he waited for the moment the music entirely faded out. On the last boom before the silence, he threw his arms straight out to the side, and glided backwards, head bowed down. The pause was formidable, and Victor suddenly twisted up onto himself...
BOOM!
A toe-pick crashed down into the ice, bursting it into fine white mist, and Victor faulted into the air.
.
By the time the hour came when they were supposed to leave, they had all almost entirely forgotten about the earlier events. Victor had reluctantly put the eye-patch back into place after finding that it was starting to throb from over-use, and went back into coach-mode for lack of being able to practice himself. It wasn't long before he'd whipped Yuri's Tano jumps back into shape. Satisfied, they made their way outside into the dark of the St. Petersburg night, greeted by a storm of falling snow.
"There, see? You did it again." Yuri puffed, eyes up at the frosty whirl. He hoisted his bag up a bit higher on one shoulder with his free thumb, and followed his partner and the others through the last doors.
The icy white fluff fell in chunks, glowing in the light of tall lamps in the parking lot and along the streets. They made it a few paces through the freshly fallen dust before Yakov's keys jingled, and he called his oldest student's name. The pair paused and looked back, and the elder coach approached.
"U menja estʹ koe-čto dlja tebja." Yakov said simply; Yuri watched in confusion.
I know it's Russia, but everyone here speaks English, He thought to himself grimly, and sported a nervous smile. But it does sometimes feel like they speak in Russian just to avoid my understanding.
"Ne upusti takuju vozmožnostʹ." Yakov added, and slipped something into his student's front outside pocket. Since Victor understood what was said, he nodded carefully. The elder coach then turned to the youngest of their small trio, "Katsuki." He said gruffly, forcing Yuri to jump unexpectedly. Yakov simply held his hand out, and Yuri awkwardly accepted the gesture, "Thank you for looking after Victor. He's an idiot."
Victor blanched, "Wow thanks. Let's go, Yuri-" He attempted, and turned to try and walk away, but his fiancé stood firmly in place.
"But, since he's your idiot now, he's also your responsibility."
"...I...I think I understand." Yuri answered nervously; something crunchy was pressed to his hand, but their eyes were locked, and Yakov wouldn't let go until he felt those gloveless fingers cup to clasp. Once the elder was satisfied, he withdrew from the handshake and stepped by them with a wave.
"Ice and Advil, Victor. See you later."
The silver grumbled under his breath. He'd turned his attention to the old, beat up, turquoise car that had come to collect the Tiger. Yurio seemed much happier as he got into that decades-old murder-box on wheels than he'd been the whole night on the ice, but Victor supposed there had to be at least one thing in the world that didn't make the Kitten mad, and his grandpa seemed to be it. Victor mentally shrugged and looked away as he felt Yuri release the tension of their odd grip, returning their posture to normal. Yakov stepped off the curb and headed for his Mercedes, and Yuri made for their own little red Audi parked a bit further away.
Once they were in, and most of the way back home, Yuri couldn't help but ask, "So what was all that stuff Yakov said?"
"Huh?" The silver quipped, "Oh, the Russian stuff?"
"Yeah. It's always weird when you guys do that around me."
"Sorry," Victor mused, and offered a smile, "I think he's having trouble adjusting to the fact that you're my constant companion. Speaking Russian when he knows you don't is the closest he can get to telling me something privately without asking you to step away."
"He knows he can still do that, right?"
"Sure, but I wouldn't want him to."
"So what'd he give you?"
Victor peeled his free hand from his partner's thigh and reached to the pocket, "Not sure, actually. He was being kind of ominous." He started, and fingered-around until he could pull out the small object. Looped onto a single metal ring was a bulky brass key, "...Oh. No wonder."
"A key?"
Victor beamed, "It's the key to the rink." He explained, but then his happy face changed to dramatic offense, "I guess this his way of politely telling me I'm not doing enough to get ready for Worlds."
Yuri quirked a brow, "He expects you to practice at 2am?"
"I can be ridiculous that way on occasion," He answered, but returned the key to his pocket and his hand to its perch on his partner's leg, "You'd know what that's like. Ne? Yuri~"
"Ah, sou da yo." (That's true.) Yuri nodded, and set his own hand down on the one on his lap, "Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do."
"Truth." Victor agreed easily, "I'm not expecting you to come with me though, if you're worried about it."
"Would you mind if I did anyway though?"
"Of course not. I just want to be sure that you know you can stay home if you're tired." The Russian explained, but then huffed a quiet laugh, "I suppose you could say that I really should've listened to you, and practiced more before Four Continents."
Yuri just raised his hands up defensively and gave a nervous smile, "You're the skating genius, Victor. Whatever you've been doing for the last fifteen years has clearly worked for you. If you say you don't need that much practice, it's really none of my business to say otherw-"
"Yuri, remember what I said about neglecting my L-words?"
"...Yessss...?"
"I'm not doing that anymore. I've haven't spent this much time off the ice since going pro." He pointed out, and gave that leg a soft squeeze, "This is my first attempt at work-life time-management."
Yuri just leveled him a dry look, "You haven't been single the entire time. What'd you do before?"
"Are you sure you want to hear about my past lovers?"
Eyes narrowed slightly, and Yuri sighed and shook his head.
"That's what I thought." Victor mused, "Suffice it to say, I didn't do much. Work always came first. But I have so much more to live for now, so I'll have to learn a new skill. Please be patient with me, okay?"
Yuri looked over with flushed cheeks, and nodded. He raised the hand perched on his leg and gently kissed those scraped knuckles, "I'm learning, too. So...I think I'll manage. I know how you feel."
.
U menja estʹ koe-čto dlja tebja. = I have something for you.
Ne upusti takuju vozmožnostʹ. = Don't waste this opportunity.