CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIFTY TWO
Twenty minutes and a shower later, Viktor Nikiforov scanned the quiet room. The awkwardly empty space where the bed had originally been, before being shoved base-board first against the window, the big chair that had been moved out of the way, the desk that had been pressed against the wall with nowhere for the office chairs to go...in fact, the way almost everything had been moved to the other end of the room. It was just him, standing in a hotel-room-shaped void.
This is really weird.
Water dripped from the tips of his silver-grey hair, even with the towel over his head. A pale grey bathrobe clung precariously to his form, barely tied together in the front. He'd managed to lose a slipper somewhere between where he'd been standing and the bathroom door where he'd put it on.
It's so quiet.
He shuffled across the room to sit on the edge of the bed, looking out through the parted curtains to the city far below. Even the muted sounds of Shanghai seemed too silent for the Russian's taste. He ruffled the towel on his head again before letting it fall around his shoulders, and then reached for where his phone was charging on the nightstand.
He clicked through a dozen or more messages that he'd missed since the start of the Short Program, most of them from Chris, Yakov, and a few from Mila, and then moved into Instagram. He twisted where he sat until he was laying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows with his phone close to his face, ankles crossed where he had his knees folded up behind himself. The other slipper fell off by then, too.
As always, his inbox was awash with unread comments, new follower notifications, and +likes, and as always, so he ignored the inbox outright. There was never much point in trying to clear it when it'd be full again by the end of the weekend, or even the end of the day during a competition. Instead, he twiddled his way through his feed, checking for the inevitable drama that would surround his husband's appalling failure earlier in the evening.
'YURI NIKIFOROV goes from Gold at Skate Canada to Last Place at Cup of China with an unprecedented, All-Time new Low Score. Is this SOCHI all over again?'
'What Happened? 10 Things Yuri Nikiforov Doesn't Want You to Know.'
'Is This the End of the Road for Viktor Nikiforov's Coaching Career? How Yuri Went from First to Last in less than 3 minutes.'
It was depressing to see the feed so full of unofficial, bogus 'news' articles, but so long as he was being tagged into them, he couldn't help but see them. Half of him desperately wanted to comment, to dispel the flagrant gossip with the cold-hard facts, but the other half knew he'd already done what he could in the post-skate interview, so nothing more truly needed to be said.
I just hope Yuri doesn't see all this. He's done fairly well to avoid this sort of thing in the middle of competition, but if things with Otabek and Yurio get awkward, he might check into things just out of boredom... Maybe I should warn him not to look? Viktor thought to himself, but then shook his head, Nah, if I warn him, he'll just get curious and look for sure. Best trust him to let it be until we're done here.
It occurred to him then that he still hadn't called his Uncle like he said he would, and checking the time, it was only about 2pm in Moscow. Shrugging, he pulled up the man's contact information and sent a FaceTime request. It rang a few times, and eventually, the other end of the line was answered.
A disheveled-looking Mikhail was staring back at his phone, "Privet, Viktor."
"Kak dela?"
"Neploho." The older figure tried to push his hair back out of his face a little, [What the Hell happened to Yuri? You look too upbeat for what I saw out there earlier.]
Viktor's expression changed, [Well, I was going to ask how you are first, but I guess if you want to go into that already...]
[Er...] Mikhail stammered, [Oh. Sorry.]
The younger silver shrugged, [Minako-sensei said you fell off a roof. Whose was it?]
[Your father's. It's an old past-time of mine...being on the roof, I mean, not falling off of it.] The older man laughed nervously, [The auroras are particularly nice to look at that far north, so I did like I used to, back when I was young and could take a punch without dying from it. Unfortunately, I slipped and fell right off the damn thing. Your father didn't even try to catch me! It was unbelievable! He was standing right there.] He had his hands up, expressive as ever, the phone sitting on his coffee-table so he didn't have to hold onto it, [All that cuz Yura wanted to beg for a ticket to Shanghai.]
Viktor cocked an eyebrow, [Forgive me for saying so, but Konstantin doesn't exactly come across like the kind of guy who would help like that.]
Mikhail glowered, but realized his nephew had a point, [Okay...well...think about how different it would be if there was no skating and no Yuri for him to get angry about.]
[That would make mine a completely joyless and meaningless existence.] The younger figure huffed, [Was that a serious question?]
[Hmmmh...I'm on pain meds. I think I'm stupid right now.] The elder rubbed his face with one hand, [Sorry. Where is Yuri anyway? You guys are usually tied at the hip.]
[Yurio invited him out to go hang with Otabek. He'll be gone for a few hours.]
Mikhail immediately had his phone in-hand again, [And you let it happen!?]
[Y-Yeah.] Viktor was taken aback a little, pulling his face away from his own phone like he thought his Uncle might suddenly jump through it, [I'm trying to be good. That, and Yurio specifically didn't invite me to come, too, so I didn't make a fuss.]
[I'm proud of you.]
The younger man gave a look, slightly embarrassed, [You make it sound like this was such a sacrifice.]
[Well, after the fuss you put up about it in France...]
[That was dif-]
[I know, I know, you were worried, I get it. Point is, it's good to see that you can let him go, especially with Yuratchka.] He paused a moment, but then got a little serious again, [So, tell me what happened. I tuned in just as Yuri was about to start, and all I saw was him looking like a nervous wreck already while you were hiding behind the rink-wall.]
Viktor sighed and buried his face in the blankets for a few seconds, then came up, but spoke the words against the sheets, keeping his eyes low, [He was doing great right up until the moment he put blades to ice. I mean, he'd been nervous about Cup of China the whole week going into it, but it wasn't serious. We still got to be all touristy and he seemed to have fun. But then he got out there and...] The younger Russian raised his head, [...It's like he had a complete mental collapse. He started having a panic attack and he just fell apart. I hid behind the wall when it seemed like he'd only just noticed you weren't in the audience. We were trying to avoid telling him until after.]
[Yura was saying he thought it might've been because of the pressure to win Gold, like you.]
[Mh. Yuri had a panic attack at last year's Cup of China, too, since he was worried he wasn't good enough.] Viktor thought back on it, cringing at the memory.
'I don't know what I should do... Should I kiss you or something?
'No! Just have more faith than I do that I'll win! You don't have to say anything, just STAND BY ME!'
[I wasn't really much help back then either.] The Russian admitted sullenly, [He managed to pull through that one almost entirely on his own, but...I guess that's because he had time to get his frustrations out before he actually went out there to skate. He was already skating when it happened this time.]
[How does he feel about tomorrow then?]
[He's worried.] Viktor answered, still keeping his eyes down, staring at the bottom of his phone where it touched the blanket, [I feel bad saying it now, but I told him the other day that since he already won Gold at Skate Canada, he'd have to come practically in last to lose his spot in the Final. I said that to encourage him though...not as a challenge to see if I'm wrong.]
[It's not like he did this on purpose. You're talking like you think you're responsible for what happened.]
[I put the idea in his head, even if he wasn't aspiring to make it happen.] The skater explained, [I wish you were here. You can talk sense in a way I can't.]
[It's not about sense.] Mikhail explained, pulling out his tablet and looking something up with it, [It's impossible to talk someone down from a panic attack. It was just bad timing that there was no chance for him to calm down before skating.] He paused a moment, touching his fingers to the larger screen, [Yeah, here...] He held the tablet up so Viktor could see the screen, though it was too small to see on his own phone, [Yuri's done well on his home turf, and was considered one of Japan's best skaters even back then, but he never really shone in international competition. Not until the year he went to Sochi. After that, he had a total upset when he went back home for Nationals, coming in 11th, which is really bad even for him...then he didn't qualify for Four Continents or Worlds that year.] He set the tablet back down again and slouched against the back of his couch, [So here he is, this guy who'd never qualified for the Final before...goes to his first one and has a complete meltdown, coming in dead last by a big margin. Then you show up saying you're going to make him win the next one, and there's a huge amount of pressure just to make it to the Final again. He finally gets there, effectively redeems himself with Silver, goes on to win Four Continents and Worlds outright...and now everyone thinks he's as good as his coach. Five-time World Champion, blah blah blah...] Mikhail huffed, [You get it. Trying to live up to that standard is probably killing him more than any other expectation anyone's ever had for him. I clearly don't know how you've been handling it so far, but-]
[Badly, apparently.]
[...But you're also his spouse, and that changes things. You're not just his coach, and it skews how he thinks about everything you say.]
Viktor sighed into the blankets.
[It's not as easy to get into someone's head as it is to get into their heart. All you can do is keep trying. As long as he knows you're still there for him when he's done, even if he does badly, he won't give up.] The elder went on, [I'll bet, tomorrow, he'll go out there like someone lit a fire under his ass and really kill it. If he somehow wins Gold despite his SP upset...it'll really help rebuild his ego. He needs to find some way of having faith in himself again.] Mikhail said simply, looking to his phone for some reply. All he saw was his nephew's silvery hair covering half his face while he still stared downward, [Stay the course, Vivi.]
Viktor looked up at that, the comment ringing a faint bell of familiarity somewhere at the back of his mind.
[Yuri may be an anxious little dog for as long as he lives, but you're his giant, shockingly good-looking Russian wolf-bear-dog. No matter what happens, always be there for him, and he'll always bounce back.] Mikhail said, finding it slightly amusing that his nephew was wracking his brain over the nickname, [Anyway...Minako's bored out of her skull right now. If you have nothing more pressing to do, maybe you could go bother her for a while.]
.
.
.
"Why am I wearing this?" Yuri asked dubiously, a paper band around his head with 'NERVOUS' written on it.
Yurio pointed his fork at him, "Because you are."
The trio were in the interior section of the river boat, the two Yuris on one side of a table and Otabek on the other.
Yuri had barely touched his fare...though that was partly because of the 'crown' Yurio had fashioned for him from one of the disposable menus, "That's...not really what I asked..."
Otabek sipped at the small tea-cup in his hand, "You're nervous. So we're telling the whole world about it. When you stop being nervous, you can take it off."
"Sheesh, you guys are really ganging up on me..." Yuri sighed, trying to look small, "Is this because of my Short Program...? Is this some horrible punishment for messing up?"
"We're trying to prove a point." The blonde answered, poking at the rice on his plate, chewing on a piece of chicken at the same time, "You said earlier that you got all worked up about everyone expecting you to win Gold. They don't know how you'd react to that kind of pressure though. Unlike me or Otabek or Viktor, or even your Thai friend Pitch-it-"
"Phichit." Yuri deadpanned him.
Yurio ignored the correction, "...You have absolutely zero moxy."
"What does that even mean?"
"Most athletes rise to the challenge when competition is involved." Otabek pointed out, leaning an elbow back onto the top of his bench-seat, holding the little tea-cup up a little bit in a gesture at the older skater, "But you? I'm not even sure why you're in this thing, if you collapse so hard when people expect you to succeed after you've had a little taste of it. You have no moxy."
Yuri poked at the baby-corn in front of him, practically analyzing the color and texture as he thought about the words being said to him. He huffed a sigh to himself and pulled the paper band off his head, looking at the letters where he held it on the table top.
"Why are you in skating?" Otabek asked stiffly.
Hazel eyes rose to see him, "...A friend of mine from home introduced me to skating through Viktor, and ever since, I've just...wanted to be like him. For a long time, I was just excited about the prospect of being able to skate the same ice as him, but then when he came to be my coach, everything got all crazy." Yuri admitted, "Viktor helped give me the confidence that I was lacking before, and now...everything's moving too fast for me to keep up."
"Maybe you shouldn't have let him turn the rings into more than what they were." Yurio suggested, almost under his breath, "The way you protested about it last year, it's obvious that getting engaged isn't what you meant by them."
"...Mhhh..." The older skater thumbed his ring under the table, "That was last year though."
"Maybe the thing that moved too fast wasn't peoples' expectations about your skating. Maybe it was how fast you let Viktor get into your pants."
Yuri's face was bright red, "Y-Yuri! You shouldn't say stuff like that!"
Otabek just glanced between them, moving his eyes from one to the other as they spoke and retorted back and forth. Sip.
"All the times that people have been super annoying reminding methat you two idiots are married, maybe it never occurred to you that you are." The fork was pointing again, and a grain of rice fell to the older figure's lap.
"I'm not sure how you can sit there and suggest I don't realize that I'm married." Yuri raised an eyebrow, pushing the fork away with a finger on the end of it, "It's almost been a year already. I got over my disbelief over the whole thing a long time ago."
"But you still hold Viktor in such high regard, like he's on some pedestal." The teen said, stabbing a piece of beef with the fork instead, "But really, he's just some forgetful jackass who moved into your family's house and told you to start buying him groceries. Now, he's a forgetful jackass who lives in your house, asks for groceries, and sometimes puts his dick in your butt."
"OHMYGOD." Yuri would've crawled under the table if he could have. He could feel the refuge of a comatose-sleep tempting him behind his eyes, but he resisted it at all cost, "Icantevenbelieveyoujustsaidthat."
Otabek was trying not to smirk, desperately holding onto his image despite himself.
"My point is...Viktor's got moxy. He knows what he wants and he's determined to get it. He wanted Gold, so he won it. He wanted your ass, so he flew to Japan to get it. What do you want?"
Yuri was still too busy being humiliated by the commentary to know how to answer, but it seemed like the teen had done so for him.
"Is it still the whole 'eating katsudon' thing?"
"Ah..." The older skater stammered, trying to compose himself, "I...guess so... I want to keep winning gold, too, but... I'm not Viktor. People can't just expect me to win all the time because I did well recently. I'm not so good at all this that I can pick my score like he can."
"...Pick his score? What's that supposed to mean?" Yurio grumbled.
The Kazakh peeked from behind the tea-cup, setting it down gently and listening curiously.
"Viktor asked what he should get for his Short Program score back in France. I told him 119."
"Y-You TOLD HIM to score 119!? How is- WHY!?" The blonde barked, "That's just over my best SP score!"
Yuri just smiled nervously, "...That's part of why I picked it." He got a little coy, turning back to look at his plate, "He asked how much I wanted him to outscore you by, and all I could think of was the score you got at last year's GPFinal that won you Gold, when I wanted it so badly for myself." He shook his head though, "But that's just the thing...Viktor's a true genius. I can tell him a number and he can skate a program to get that score. His old world records were done with choreography that didn't even include some of the more difficult elements...like the tano jumps that you started doing to up the ante." His eyes turned back to the teen next to him, "I'm not a genius. I can't compare to him...I never will. I can take his last name, and call him my coach and my husband, and maybe win a few Gold medals of my own along the way, but in the end, he's still the legend, and I'm just..."
"...The guy that went from last place at Sochi to second place at Barcelona." Yurio finished, "By a hair's width. If you hadn't flubbed the jump during your Short Program back then, you'd be the one who got Gold instead of me, in spite of the tano jumps I started doing." He thumbed over at Otabek suddenly, "And also, he should've won bronze. JJ should never have gotten on the podium at all after he fucked up so bad."
"Cheers." Otabek raised his cup again.
"Language." Yuri chided.
"So...what then?" Yurio went back to the original question, "You want to keep eating katsudon with Viktor, and you only get it if you win Gold, right?"
"R-Right..."
"So go back to that."
"Eh?"
"Ah...I remember all that." The older teen finally chimed in, "How the commentators would say you thought about your favorite food when you skated Eros. Why did you stop? It seemed to work for you."
Yuri balked, "Er...well... Viktor told me to..."
Both pairs of eyes blinked at him.
"It was a stupid idea to think of it anyway!" Yuri laughed nervously, waving his hands around, "I had no Eros of my own to pull from so I thought about food as a substitute! It was super immature!"
The Kazakhstani reached for the porcelain teapot next to his empty plate and poured another cup of the oolong it was steeping, "Try it again tomorrow."
"...Hah?"
"Forget what other people are saying, about how you should win Gold so you and Viktor square off for the Final evenly. The Final isn't just about you or him anyway. There's four other skaters who all want Gold, too." Otabek explained, holding the small cup close to his face, blowing on the hot liquid to cool it off enough not to burn himself when he drank it, "Think only about what you want...and what you want is katsudon. There's only one way to get it...so go out there tomorrow and skate your 'Ode to Pork Cutlets.' The Gold medal is just currency for you...and if you don't win it, it's not the end of the world."
"...O-Otabek..." Yuri was surprised by the teen.
"I can only think of one thing that, if I were you, would ever motivate me to fight harder than ever to win." He went on, "And that's the unbearable thought that someone else might win it instead of me. That I'd be staring up at the podium and watching someone else eating my katsudon." Dark brown eyes stared straight ahead, and the tea-cup was set down quietly, "No one gets my katsudon and lives." That hand came up again, and pointed at the Japanese skater with one finger out, the other three curled in, and the thumb up, looking like a gun.
BANG.
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Privet = Hi
Kak dela? = How are you?
Neploho = Not so bad