CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTY SEVEN

Sara Crispino was the next skater to go out after the Altin-Plisetsky performance, sliding across the ice in a dark navy sheer tunic, pinned across her left shoulder, and cinched about her waist with a silver cord. The EX Gala was one of the few places where lady skaters could wear their hair down, and she took full advantage, having it done in a small, loose bun behind her head while the rest of it tumbled down her back and shoulders. She waved to the audience as she made her way around in a wide circle, eventually taking her place in center, bowing her head and holding her hands loosely at her sides.

['Clair de Lune' - Claude Debussy]

"She's cute." Mikhail said casually, glancing sideways at his nephew, who was looking far too focused for no particular reason. The older Russian raised a brow, then raised his right hand, carefully balancing the mug of mulled wine on his stomach, as he reached out to poke at the side of the younger man's head where it was still covered over by the big blanket. He nudged against the fluff, and pushed Viktor over a few inches, only then getting the skater's attention.

"Huh?"

"I said, sh-"

"Yeah." Viktor answered, pausing briefly, then cocking his head aside, "She's a twin. Her brother's in love with her."

If the older man had a ghost to give up, it would've flown screaming from the flat in a flurry of mad agony at the statement. Instead, Mikhail just coughed uncomfortably, "You're making that up."

"Nyet."

The older Russian gave him a look, but then held a hand up in questioning, "Anyway. Why'd you get all serious all of a sudden?" He asked, turning where he held his chin in the palm of his left hand, "You were all impressed by Yura and his friend, and then you got really quiet."

Slate blue eyes narrowed a bit, "...I can't remember if I talk to Yuri before I passed out."

"You did. I told you that already. He told you to get some sleep. He meant for you to rest though, not just be unconscious for a while."

"Oh good...for a minute there, I was thinking I made the memory up entirely."

"You realize that you're making absolutely no sense right now, right?"

"Where'd my phone go?" Viktor wondered aloud, setting the mostly-empty mug on the glass-top table in front of him and rolling to the side to find the device, "Where's my jacket?"

"Hall closet." Mikhail pointed, keeping his eyes fixed on the television as he dropped his hand again.

The skater and the massive feather-down blanket rolled into a heap on the floor, right off the edge of the couch...paused...and then rose up to trot off towards the aforementioned location. He slid the door open and rummaged around in the coat, trying to remember which pocket he'd put it in. When he finally found it, he slowly wandered back into the living-room, unlocking the device and then almost too-casually sitting down, thumbs clicking or sliding on the slick surface.

"You look like you're after something, Vivi." Mikhail wondered, watching as the younger figure was glued to the phone.

"Yuri said he was going to do the shortest Exhibition, right? I'm not making that up in my head."

"That's what he said. Why?"

"...I have this weird feeling...he's going to do..." Viktor scrolled through his music library, pulling up the playlist he'd created just for their Exhibition music choices.

Ameno_Solo - 3:55
You Only Live Once_RUS_Solo - 4:02
Firebird_Solo - 3:49
The Ghost_Pairs - 3:24
Song of Demeter_Solo - 2:01

"...Hm." He had a finger on his lip as his eyes spotted the time-counter, "That has to be the one."

"What's wrong with the song he picked? I thought it was really nice." The elder went on, "He did the best he could given his injury."

"It's not that I'm disappointed." The younger Russian clarified, "He worked really hard all off-season to have a variety of Exhibitions." He slouched back against the couch, "I gave him grief at Nationals last year because his last coach only let him do one, only for him to tell me there was no point because he thought it would be a waste to have more." He lifted his eyes over his phone to see Sara finishing her own program, taking her bow and moving off to rink-side for the next skater to take her place, "He picked this one because it was the shortest. I just...think it's kind of ironic, given what it is."

"What do you mean?"

"'Song of Demeter'...is about loss, hard choices, and doing what you have to despite how much it will hurt you and those you care about." Viktor said, watching as his husband finally came out onto the ice, and rising back up to sit properly for the occasion, "Yuri..." His words drifted, slate-blue eyes carefully following the Asian skater on the television, seeing clearly how he slid along the frosty stage on his left skate, keeping the right slightly up unless he needed it.

"Putting it like that, why would Yuri choose to do an Exhibition to such a somber melody?" Mikhail wondered, finishing the last of the wine in his cup, then leaning down to set it on the table, "Making it into the Gala should be a happy occasion."

"He wanted to have a variety." Viktor said, "Even after he explained the theme to me, I never really understood what he was aiming for when he picked it. Sure, it fit into the gradient of emotional range... But, like you just asked...why such a somber melody? His leg is sore but it's not killing him, at least not unless some idiot with grabby-hands comes along to remind him it's there."

The older Russian smirked at that, but said nothing to interrupt.

"He picked this one with purpose."

"Here he comes, the Cup of China Men's Singles Gold Medalist...Yuri Nikiforov." Morooka announced anxiously, "He almost missed the podium entirely this weekend, but here he is at the top of his game, shocking everyone with his astonishing last-minute come-back. He fought hard for Gold, and showed us all why he's the current Men's Free Skate world record holder."

The young skater went around the rink, waving appropriately before focusing on himself to get his head in the game, setting the mood for himself before finding his spot.

Viktor watched carefully, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees in thought, fingers clenching tightly to the blanket where he'd pinched it just under his chin.

The skater's outfit was quite a bit more theatrical than his competition-wear was, with a heavy, mid-length cloak that wrapped all around him. The neck and edges were hemmed with black feathers, rising up under his jaw like a frill. The cloak itself was streaked in different shades of grey and black, with occasional dark blue splashed throughout. It was tied in front with black cords, with feathers of black and dark green lying flat against it from shoulder to mid-chest, all angled down with their tips. Beneath the cloak, a black, double-breasted vest, dark-blue dress-shirt, dark grey pants, and skate-covers that rose up to the knee, looking like leather boots, several buckles and straps going across them at various levels.

Yuri went around in long, idle circles, holding both hands up near his chin, his ring touching his lips the whole time. From a camera-angle so far away, it was difficult to see exactly what was going on, but Viktor could swear it looked like his husband was saying something, even if only to himself.

"He looks like some kind of Steampunk Druid." Mikhail laughed, leaning a bit heavier on his arm, "I entirely don't get it."

"Sometimes the outfit comes before the music." Viktor explained, "Yuri saw the cloak online once and said he had to have it. Then he got to thinking, black feathers are like those of crows and ravens, birds often associated with melancholy and death. So he built his program around them."

"You let him build an Exhibition around melancholy and death?" The older man asked, huffing a nervous, uncertain laugh, "You're an enabler."

The silver skater just turned and smiled past the edge of the blanket, "I love him and I want him to be happy." He turned back to the television, seeing that his husband was finally starting to drift closer to the middle of the rink, "Besides, I liked the song. It was like the polar opposite of Agape in tone and theme."

The skater on the television finally swung his arms out, bowed his head, and went to center. Spotlights converged on his position, lighting him up in the dark.

Viktor crept even closer to the edge of the couch, pulling the blanket a little tighter under his chin.

The music began; a choir of voices rising up like they were pouring out of the ice itself.

Amor floris
(Love of flowers)

Yuri raised his right arm through the part in the front of the cloak to guide the song, then closed his hand, and his eyes, and slowly turned in a wide backwards spiral, bringing his hand down in front of himself as he went.

Vicinum rumor.
(The sound in the air.)

Both hands flowing out behind him, the skater changed directions on the ice, gold blades scratching through the 3-turn before pushing into a camel-spin. He held his hands behind his back, slowly turning until he descended into a twisted sit-spin, getting lower to the ice with the lowering tone of the choir, and raising an arm above himself as he went. The cloak flowed around him gracefully, feathers delicately brushing against the ice.

Boris ventus, nobis sonus oblibio.
(To the voice of the wind, we are oblivious.)

With the voices fading out, and the wind instruments fading in, Yuri lowered his arm, both hands on his knee as he kept spinning. He slowly rose back up to standing, letting his free leg come up and around to rotate him into reverse. He pushed forward on his toe pick, both hands going up ahead of himself before he went down on one knee, hands clenching into fists in front of where he bowed his head.

Immemoratus Dominus,
(Unforgettable Lord,)

He brought his hands in close to his chest, his whole body practically vanishing under the cloak.

Viktor had pulled one hand out from under the blanket by then, cupping it over his chin and mouth, eyes wide open. He rose, almost unconsciously, from where he'd been sitting on the edge of the couch and shambled over to the space between the table and the entertainment stand under where the television was mounted to the wall behind it.

Dona gradus renutio.
(Give us the grace to renounce.)

The Russian was back on the floor, sitting on his knees, watching the performance with unblinking eyes, "He's doing it again..."

"Doing what?" Mikhail wondered, daring to wonder if his nephew had lost his mind from lack of sleep.

"Calling to me."

The skater landed a quad Salchow, changing from reverse to forward again and picking up speed as he traveled along the long end of the rink.

Amor floris, vicinum rumor.
(Love of flowers, the sound in the air.)

"Look at him." Viktor tried to explain, "How he moves his body...hands, legs, core...all of it...it's like he's creating the music rather than skating to it. I can feel it." He raised his hand up to touch it to the bottom of the enormous flat-panel, rising up onto his knees under the blanket and watching.

Yuri moved around the rink in a serpentine formation, his lithe form flowing to the tone of the choir like water over smooth rocks in a gentle river. He gestured and turned, twizzled and arced around as he came to the shorter end of the rink.

Boris ventus, nobis sonus oblibio.
(To the voice of the wind, we are oblivious.)

"It's just like when he did 'Aria' before..." The Russian went on, entirely entranced by the performance, "I felt it, like hands came out of my screen, grabbed my heart and wouldn't let go."

The young skater landed a quad Lutz, slid through the landing, and twisted back around to face forward with a toe-pick half-jump.

Boris ventus, nobis sonus creditum.
 (To the voice of the wind, we believe the sound.)

As the final line of the choir echoed through the stadium, Yuri went down on both knees to slide to a stop, head bowed low, and arms spread out to the side, palms up.

"Yuurriiiii..." Viktor whined, slumping back to sitting and immediately pulling up his phone again, texting furiously.

[I just saw your EX! You're making me cry!]

There was a brief pause before the three jumping dots came up on the left-hand side of the window. Mikhail rose from the couch to see what was going on, even as Viktor lifted his head to watch the last few seconds of his partner leaving the ice, the audience still cheering for him.

[Did you get any sleep?]

Viktor's eyes went wide, "That's not...what?" He hunched over and tapped away with his thumbs, [Sort of. But your Gala performance! It was really moving! Were you trying to tell me something?]

Yuri gawked at his screen where he and Yurio were waiting for the plane to arrive, not sure what to make of the messages he was getting. He thought for a moment, his hesitation catching the blonde's attention.

"What's wrong?"

"Viktor's awake. He just finished watching my Exhibition." He explained.

"Okay?"

"Mhh..."

[It was so different from practice!] Another text message read, followed by more jumping dots on Yuri's screen, [It had so much more impact than before!]

[I'm glad you liked it.] The skater finally answered, a bit dubiously, [...I wasn't trying to do anything different though.]

[So you...weren't...trying to tell me anything?]

Yuri could practically see the sad, disappointed look on his husband's face already, and he grimaced anxiously as he replied, [...No, I really just picked it because it was the shortest Exhibition in my list. What did you think I was trying to say? Are you sure you slept?]

Mikhail practically snorted with laughter when he saw the text over Viktor's shoulder, and rose up to walk away before his nephew could try to throw something at him. When he got safely around the corner into the kitchen though, he called back mockingly, "You're over-tired and you're reading too much into things. You should really go to bed and get some actual sleep. I have some allergy tabs that'll make you drowsy, if you want."

Viktor was just pouting at his screen, hidden under the big blanket, "...I was so convinced there was more to it than this." He sighed loudly and dramatically.

Yurio gawked at the face-plate of the phone, and how his former rink-mate still hadn't answered. Huffing a laugh, he went to sit normally again, lifting his right leg to set the ankle across his other knee, "I think you broke his tired little heart."

"...I didn't want to lie to him." Yuri sighed, "There really wasn't anything more to it. Now I feel bad." He clicked out of the text window and tapped the button for FaceTime instead, hoping the man on the other end wasn't too embarrassed to answer. Thankfully, his tired visage finally appeared on the screen, and Yuri drew in a quick breath of relief, "Hey." He said, trying to smile despite the previous messages.

"I'm all deflated now." Viktor answered, still pouting a little under the blanket.

"Aww don't feel that way. It's hard enough that you left under the circumstances that you did..." The younger skater pleaded quietly, "I miss you. Was your flight okay? You look exhausted."

The Russian dropped onto his side and held the phone loosely with one hand, the top corner of it lying against the floor, "The flight was okay. I couldn't sleep. I passed out a couple times but then I'd wake up feeling like it was just for an instant. Then earlier I..." His words trailed, and he realized he was wandering into territory he wasn't ready to go into, and paused, looking away from the screen, "I was out for around 6 hours but I woke up feeling like it hadn't happened at all, just like before."

"Only a few more days." Yuri said, looking a bit despondent at the sight of his partner's condition, "By the time you get to Japan, you're going to be jet-lagged a hundred times worse than I ever was. How come you're having such a hard time sleeping? Normally you're out like a light, even if you're not tired getting into bed. This is weird for you. It's not just cuz we're apart, is it?"

Mikhail listened quietly from the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the white-wall frame by the closet, arms crossed over his chest. He badly wanted to say something, but knew it wasn't his place, so he kept silent.

Thankfully, or rather, mercifully, it was the Russian Punk who interrupted and broke up the awkward silence that followed the question, "Did you get to see Otabek's Exhibition? It was before Katsudon's." His face was barely on-screen, coming in from the side where he'd pushed the side of his head against Yuri's, almost trying to overtake him in the picture.

"Da."

"And?"

"It was interesting." Viktor said simply, then realizing it was his lifeline to avoid the previous topic, "I guess that was why you wanted to go to China so badly? How long had you been planning that show?"

"We only figured out the details after I got here." Yurio explained, "It was just like last year's Final, where I choreographed my show the night before. Otabek jumped in at the very last second, getting the idea to have a bit role when he was at rink-side watching other skaters. We did what we could with the time that we had, so that's why he didn't actually skate back then, even if he was on the ice with me."

"So you're saying you planned all this at Cup of China?" Yuri asked, trying to get control of the conversation again and shoving the teen out of the way a little, only to find them both mashing their cheeks together trying to be the most relevant on camera, "Where did you even find time? I had no idea, and I was with you guys for a bunch of it."

"A bunch of it, but not all of it." Yurio pointed out, "Otabek's been practicing this show since summer. When you guys issued that challenge to me while we were all in France, though...he said he'd be interested in issuing a counter-challenge, but that it'd be hard since we had no events together so we could meet up and figure it out. That's why I wanted to come here, so we could work on it. It was easier to modify a program he already knew than to come up with one from scratch."

"...What about that crazy elaborate costume you had?" Viktor wondered.

"Okukawa went with me to get it the morning after your colossal melt-down." The teen pointed at the screen, "After the Free Skate official practice that you two dumbasses slept through. Otabek came with us."

"Oh." They both echoed.

Mikhail rolled his eyes a little and sighed.

"Anyway though." Yuri said, shoving the teen off to be alone on camera again, "Viktor... Try not to let yourself get too worn down. I'd hate for you to get sick before your skate. Take a hot shower, drink some warm milk, and go to bed. I'll call you when we get to the hotel, okay?"

The silver Russian nodded, but then looked aside, then back at the camera again. For lack of knowing what else to say, he brought the phone close and kissed the screen, holding for a second before pulling it back again to find that Yuri had done the same thing in return. He smiled despite his exhaustion, and nodded, "I might not have a signal by then, but leave a message anyway. I'll be glad to hear your voice."

"...You won't have a signal? What do you mean?" The younger figure wondered, utterly confused.

"Tomorrow...I'm going to go do something that I should've done a long time ago. I might not be in range of a cell tower until right before Uncle Mimi and I go to the airport. But I'll call you as soon as I'm able, okay?"

"...What are you planning, Viktor?" Yuri asked skeptically, "There's only one place that I know of in Russia where you won't have cell service."

The silver Russian smiled sadly, "Da. Only one."