CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIFTY
"The score for Seung-gil Lee...90.15."
The crowd was already cheering for the Korean when the trio came back into the stands, rounding the few corners before arriving at the seating box where cued-up athletes, and those who'd already finished (if they were so inclined,) were waiting. With the Men's Singles having such a small playing field at Cup of China, there were a lot of seats available; front and center, directly behind the stand where the cameras and judges were set up.
Viktor held to his partner's hand as they went through, though paused as he found Yuri wasn't following. The young skater's eyes were turned up at the four-sided projector high above the rink, showing Seung-gil and his coach just-then leaving the kiss and cry. The score was all Yuri was looking at though.
"Yuri...?"
Brown eyes turned around, taking a step forward to continue walking like he'd paused for nothing. When they finally managed to get to the seats they wanted, Viktor was already suspect of what his partner was thinking, and waited for him to sit before following suit.
"How bad was it...?" Yuri finally asked, rubbing his thigh where he'd previously hit the rink-wall with it.
The Russian was hesitant, stalling for time by bringing up the hand he'd been holding and kissing the fingers, then keeping it there for a moment.
The younger skater just eyeballed him, "Viktor, how bad was it?"
"Are you sure you want to talk about that right now? Yuri..."
"I'd rather find out from you than anyone else." He answered, a worried look on his face, "I know it was bad...I messed up every jump but the Axel, and I completely missed the flying entry on one of my spins... Did I score less than 75?"
The Russian's eyes went down, and it told Yuri almost everything he needed to know.
"Next to take the ice is Kazakhstan's Otabek Altin...!"
"OTABEEEEK! DAVAAAAAAI!" Yurio cried out, all but crawling over the top of the railing as he waved to get a sign that he'd been heard.
The skater nodded and stuck his thumb up.
The pair behind Yurio clapped dutifully, and even though their eyes followed the older teen out onto the ice from where he'd entered from rink-side, they were looking through him all the same. Their minds were entirely elsewhere. Yuri stopped clapping early, reaching for his phone and holding it between his hands quietly, tempted to go looking up what his numbers ended up actually totaling, but scared to find out, too. He looked aside when he saw Viktor's hand come down over his own.
"Please don't make me take this from you." The Russian asked, "I'll tell you what you scored when we're back in the hotel room. Try not to stew over it for now. The number isn't so catastrophic that you can't still recover with a good Free Program."
"...Viktor..."
"Trust me." The man went on, giving his husband's hands a light squeeze, "Trust me and give it a little time."
Yuri finally looked back down at where he could see the bottom of his phone past Viktor's grasp, but then sighed and nodded, voluntarily giving the device over by letting it go.
The Russian blinked at him, but saw that Yuri was at least doing his best to not give in to temptation. He quietly took the phone and slipped it back into the inside-coat-pocket he'd kept it in previously, "Domo."
"You think I can still recover from this...so..." Yuri started, leaning in closer to wedge his left arm under the back of his husband's, reaching forward to take his hand while clinging to that same arm with his other hand as well. He set his cheek against Viktor's shoulder and huffed a sigh to himself, "...I'll put my faith in you like always, and trust to hope that I won't mess up tomorrow, too."
Otabek was making the rounds around the rink while he gained his senses on the ice, feeling the energy of the room, and the eyes of the judges on him.
Unlike the previous year, none of his garb was light in color. In contrast, it was almost entirely black, with embroidery in silver and dark blue, shimmering in segments with the glimmer of onyx. The outfit looked like something out of 18th century aristocracy, with a fitted long-coat, figure-hugging waist-coat underneath of it, fitted breeches, dark grey spats over his black skates, and light grey suede gloves.
He found his way to center and scratched to a stop.
Sorry, Yuri...I'll have to capitalize on your collapse and take Gold from you.
['Requiem - Dies Irae' specifically on YouTube channel 'fanworldmusic']
An orchestra rose up into the rafters, powerful and heavy. A choir of Latin singers accompanied it. Otabek slowly rose from a half-bowed position, making wide, slow, sweeping motions as he slid backwards along the ice. His body moved like the conductor of that self-same orchestra, gesturing at the audience with the power of a man who could bend them to his will.
And then the music paused... So did he. Both arms were up, ready for the next chapter.
Dies irae, Dies illa
He twisted around, drawing the audience into a serpentine step sequence right off the bat. The energy was intense, almost every emphatic syllable of the choir earning a thrust of an arm or a kick, and a spin or twist.
Solvet saeclum in favilla
Teste David cum Sibylla
The older teen pushed towards the short end of the rink, pulling out of the step-sequence with a long outside spread-Eagle into a triple Axel. The audience roared its approval, waving their teal and gold flags excitedly. The Hero of Kazakhstan was about to steal the night, if not with his performance, then by his choice of music alone.
He thrust himself into his first spin, going low with one skate out, barely scratching the surface of the ice as he reached up with one hand to counter-balance.
Quantus tremor est futurus
He crouched from the right skate to the left and continued the spin, thrusting his right arm out behind himself as far as it could while the left held to the boot of his skate.
Quando judex est venturus
Rising up again and pushing out of the spin, he waved his arms forward, one at a time, in grand upward gestures, scratching each skate in succession of steps to the thrum of the music.
Cuncta stricte discussurus
Otabek moved back towards center, twizzling and twisting, arms up and about with dramatic flair. His footwork was impeccable, kicking up a storm of ice as he carved his way down the rink.
Dies irae, Dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla
He vaulted into a Quad Salchow, triple Toe-loop combination jump, landing easily and skating off backwards.
Teste David cum Sybilla
The Kazakhstani made his way down the length of the rink, turning with speed as he rounded the short end of the ice in a Cantilever, leaning as far back as he could to drag his fingertips across the ice.
Quantus tremor est futurus
He started moving backwards again, watching the wall for the right moment... He pushed through a Walley jump, and then kicked off into his final major jump...a Quad Lutz. His form going in was good, but his skate twisted as he landed, forcing him to over-rotate and drop one hand to the ice before moving backwards again to finish it out.
Yurio was on the edge of his seat, "Damn! So close!"
Viktor sat between them, and all Yuri could do from his side was rub his hip where his own quad Lutz had left him with a bruised leg and a shattered ego.
Quando judex est venturus
Cuncta stricte discus surus
Regaining his focus, Otabek launched into a Death Drop camel-spin, one arm ahead as the other was wrapped around his torso. He dipped a little to pick up speed, morphing the standard spin into a catch-foot camel spin, reaching back to grab his knee and foot with both hands.
Quantus tre-e-mo-or e-est fu-you-turus
Dies irae, Dies illa
He let go of his leg and threw himself to land on it, continuing the spin with his arms out to the side. As the revolutions continued, he slowly twisted his core to face the rafters, one arm up and the other down, a finger just above the ice in a layback spin.
Quantus tre-e-mo-or e-est fu-you-turus
Dies irae, Dies illa
Yuri watched the performance with a slightly dead look in his eyes, not sure anymore that this particular show was the best sort to 'inspire' him to do better. The music and the power of the younger skater just left him feeling small and fiercely intimidated.
Even over-rotating the Lutz... The young skater thought pensively, ...at least he landed it without crashing into anything.
Quantus tre-e-mo-or e-est fu-you-turus
Quando judex est venturus
The final move the Short Program; an intense combination spin. Otabek started with a sweeping descent into a sit-spin with a twist variation, left arm straight up above him.
Cuncta stricte discus surus
He brought his arm down and stuck his free leg out, reaching for his skate with both hands, tucking in his chin and keeping his head low.
Cuncta stricte, Stricte discus surus
He rose up from the sit-spin and grabbed his blade, pulling it behind himself, and then pulling the leg even higher into a Y-spin. When he let the boot go, he kicked that leg far to the side to build momentum again, twisting into a corkscrew spin.
Cuncta stricte, Stricte discus surus
With the last violin-string of the music, Otabek stabbed the ice with his toe-pick and came to an abrupt stop, panting heavily as he looked down and to the side, the opposite arm out behind him.
The stadium filled with the chant of an excited crowd, screaming their approval and adulation, throwing teddy bears and flowers to the ice in appreciation. Otabek rose back to standing normally, holding his fist out to the crowd and then bowing his head in gratitude.
Yurio was clapping proudly, "He's going to be tough to beat now."
Yuri just sank further into his seat.
Moving over to the kiss and cry, the Kazakh sat and waited with his coach. He brooded over his flubbed Lutz, looking at the floor in front of him silently with his arms crossed.
"The score for Otabek Altin...108.67!"
"He can get over 110 if he fixes the Lutz." Yurio went on, "I'll bet he can nail it by the Final."
Viktor leaned to his right, nosing the top of his partner's head where he'd sunk so low that he was leaning against the side of his arm rather than the edge of his shoulder, "Get out of your head, Yuri."
"...I can't help it..." He whined, "How am I going to close a 30 point gap!?"
"By scoring really well on your Free Program like you did at Worlds." The Russian retorted, "Most people routinely score in the 180s and 190s in their Free Skate, but you've scored in the 200s several times now. Plus, you aren't sick anymore, so you'll be at your best out there, provided you get out of your own head."
Yurio pushed to standing after that, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets and squeezing past the Nikiforovs' knees to get by. He paused only long enough to wave back at them, "I'm going to go hassle Otabek about taking me someplace fun tonight. You wanna come?" Green eyes were down on hazel.
Yuri just blinked at him, "W-What? Me? Hang out with you and Otabek...?"
"Da."
More blinking. The older skater turned his head to glance at his husband, "...Should I?"
"I believe the operative phrasing was 'do you want to,' not 'should you.'" Viktor retorted.
"Next on the ice, and the last competitor of the Men's Singles Short Program...representing Italy, Michele Crispino!"
"I tried to go with him to a nightclub in Barcelona last year, but he buggered off without me, saying I was too young. I had to sneak out and follow him without him knowing. But he can't ditch both of us." Yurio quipped, "So come be my backup."
"...Oh, I see what's going on here..." Yuri grumbled, a stiff look on his face.
"Tsh... I'm not using you to get into a nightclub. I'm saying you should come so he won't find something else to do. Besides...maybe you need a change of scenery. Not counting competition, when was the last time you were out of earshot of Viktor?"
The Asian skater balked, "...Uh..." He turned and thought hard, but every circumstance that came to mind involved some skating event or another, even as far back as the weekend Viktor had to fly back to Hasetsu for Makkachin's sticky-bun emergency, "...Hm. When I yelled at him and ran off crying before our wedding party?" He said the words dryly, like he wasn't seriously using it as an example.
"See?" The blond pointed out, "Come with us."
Viktor was trying not to say anything, practically biting on his upper lip to prevent his mouth from opening. All he could think of was his conversation with his Uncle the night of the Trophée de France Banquet. The walk in the rain and the discussion about letting Yuri go to do things with other people for a change.
It's not like he hasn't had opportunity to go off on his own. The Russian thought, ...He's just never really done so.
"...It's just...such short notice..." Yuri stammered, trying to make excuses.
"It's not like Otabek's agreed to anything yet." The blonde explained, "If you don't want to come then fine, but at least think about it. Whatever you decide, we'll all be at the hotel anyway, so we'll just meet in the lobby if you choose to come with us." He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and extended it in a low arc, "I'm gonna go now either way."
"Oh, o-okay..." The older figure said stiffly, finally pushing to stand up. He let go of his husband long enough to give the teen his hug and send him on his way, waving weakly as Yurio rounded the corner and went out of sight.
Viktor pushed to stand behind him, stepping forward to slide his arm behind the younger man's back, "Why didn't you say you'd go?"
"Hah?"
"You're acting like no one's ever wanted to hang out with you before. You don't exactly need my permission to go. If you want to go with them, then just say so."
"...That's...that's not it." Yuri said, turning slightly to be more-absorbed into the embrace than he already was, "...I'm just not sure my head's in it right now. All this unresolved stuff from my Short Program...I'd be bad company until I figure it out."
"Let's head back early then." Viktor suggested, "Maybe you'll get what you need before they're even ready to leave."
"...Are you saying I should go?" The younger skater was a bit surprised, "What are you going to do...?"
"Wait for you to come back?" The Russian huffed a laugh, "I don't know. Maybe I'll call my Uncle and see how he's doing. I'm sure he'll want to know how today went, if he wasn't watching it himself anyway." He raised his hands up and rubbed his partner's shoulders a little, pushing him forward at the same time to get him to start walking, "Uncle Mimi told me I should let you go be with other people anyway. Yurio's right at least on that end...maybe you do need a change of scenery for a little while. Something so entirely different from what you've come to expect that it pulls you out of this funk you've fallen into."
"...I'm not in a funk..." Yuri argued pitifully, letting himself be pushed around the corner and back into the hall that lead under the stands.
"Would you rather I say depression?"
"Are you diagnosing me now, Dr. Nikiforov?" Brown eyes turned back to give his partner a look, "I know I'm depressed...but I also scored really badly tonight. If it's less than 75 then it's as low as it was when I was still in Juniors. I think I'm entitled to be a little depressed about it."
"Maybe." Viktor shrugged, moving back around to his husband's side to take his hand normally, "Point is...you need a break. I think this might be good for you. So let's get back to the hotel and sort all this out so you can go have a little fun, okay? It'll be a neat change of pace for you to be the oldest one in the group for once."
Yuri huffed a sigh, but then nodded, "...Okay..."