CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED FIVE
It was quite the trick for a bartender to breathe fire, but he did, and the entire serving-side of the counter was engulfed in yellow-orange light, completely drowning out the blue glow that had been there a moment before. 'Flair Bar es' was an exciting place to be.
A huge television screen a few feet away was set to the local sports network, which was showing extensive coverage of the NHK Trophy given how the city was hosting the event...but also for lack of a number of other popular sports taking place in the dead-middle of winter. It was focusing primarily on Women's Singles, displaying excerpts from each of the performances, and the post-skate interviews that went with them that couldn't normally be shown while the event was playing live.
"Hey, it's your turn."
"Huh?" Mikhail turned his head back around from where he'd been grabbed by the flames before, looking to see an SNES controller being handed to him by Minako.
There was a small 15" box television sitting against the window with an SNES station in front of it, two controllers plugged in, one leading off to another couple sitting on a brown leather couch on the other side of the wooden table between them. The television was calling for P1 to hit Start for the next round of retro TETRIS.
Long-coat, tie, and blazer had long been abandoned, cast over the back of the couch to counter the warmth of the room. It was probably the most casual Mikhail had ever looked in public, the top two buttons on his dress-shirt undone, giving him a much more youthful and modern appearance than normal.
The Russian blinked to regain his bearings, but took the controller and sat side-ways on the couch to better see the itty-bitty screen. One hand went up to run his fingers through his hair and part his bangs aside his eyes, "Alright...get ready for this. I'm about to make you all look like amateurs."
[What'd he say?] The man from the other couple asked, laughing at the silver figure's sudden focus and determination.
Minako grinned and pat her teammate's head just as the round was starting, [He's an engineer. He thinks that makes him a TETRIS god.]
The game began, and blocks started to drop, which the Russian put into place along the bottom of the screen with expertise. Grey-green eyes were sharply focused, already looking at the preview-box for the next block even as the one he was already working on was still descending the walls of the playing field.
[Where did you even find this guy? He's obviously not local.] The man wondered, keenly looking at Mikhail's hair.
[He's Russian.] Minako answered simply, [We met at a skating competition last year.]
As it happened, the big-screen televisions behind the bar were starting to show footage from the Men's Singles event, and had just finished their segment on Phichit, moving on to the current 2nd-place competitor. Segments of Viktor's angry, quad-less performance were flashing across the screen.
[That guy's Russian too, isn't he?] The man wondered, pointing at the screen, and Viktor's less-than-stellar show, [They look kind of similar.]
Minako turned to glance over her shoulder, seeing the screen behind her. Newscasters Morooka and Oda were on a half-second later, commenting on how shocking the man's low score was, and discussing Viktor's 'coach's' response to it after the fact, with a small insert of the interview playing in the lower corner. She grimaced at the memory of it all and turned back, [Yeah, that's his nephew, and Viktor's coach this season is a former ballet student of mine, so we were all at last year's World Championships together.]
"Waaahh! Sugoi!" The other woman clapped, "Bikutoru Nikiforofu no oji-san da yo!"
"Thought we might make it a little while longer before Viktor's name would come up. What happened?" Mikhail asked, unblinking from his round of the game.
"We're at a bar that has sports on television all the time. Viktor's SP is on right now, and the guy over there recognized how you looked the same. His date seems to know who Viktor is, too. You'd have to dye your hair to avoid people noticing the resemblance."
"Mmhh..." The Russian grumbled, "You're not telling them how it's my fault he bombed earlier, are you?"
"It hasn't come up."
[What's he saying now?] The other couple asked again.
Minako smiled sweetly, [This is Mikhail's first Grand Prix Series. He's still surprised how popular his nephew has gotten. He had no idea before.]
[What was he doing before...? How could he have missed it?] The woman wondered skeptically, [He'd have to have been living under a rock.]
[A rock the size and shape of Canada.] The ballerina answered with a laugh, [He had no inclination towards figure skating before so he had no exposure. Now though...he's neck deep in it and can't escape!]
"You're still talking about me."
"Yes indeed."
"Kind of wish I spoke Japanese now so I could understand it." He grumbled, "This must've been how Yuri felt back in St. Petersburg."
"Or anytime you and Viktor and Kon go at it." She shrugged, "I think it's a bigger shame that more Japanese people don't speak English. It's a required language in school, and most people can read it well enough, but conversation is another challenge entirely. Hokkaido is particularly bad for some reason."
"This round is never going to end, you know." The Russian huffed, trying to get off topic, "We'll be here all night if I keep playing."
"Give it here then." Minako turned where she sat, reaching for her fancy drink on the table to take one more sip before turning to face the television, "I'll destroy your good score with my non-engineer-ness."
The silver figure hit Pause on the controller and offered it up, only to find Minako turning to lean against him to get a better view of the screen. Initially a bit surprised, he mentally shrugged and turned a bit more, leaning back against the arm-rest and flicking his shoe off to bring that leg up more comfortably. Before long, he had one knee between the woman's side and the back of the couch, and Minako was leaning against his whole front, the back of her head hovering just over his chest to see the game, controller in hand and both of her own shoe-less feet up on the arm-rest at the opposite end of the seat.
For a moment, it felt incredibly awkward, but the elder Russian settled into it, heart still beating slightly faster than before. The night wore on though, and two neon-colored drinks helped him loosen up and relax. He still held the controller above Minako's head for the first and second rounds that it came back to him, but by the third, he simply sat slightly more upright and held the controller in front of her stomach, arms around her sides, chin just over her shoulder.
Maybe Minako had a plan for him to finally see GAME OVER on his own turn, or maybe it just turned out that way, but his focus started to crash dramatically when she turned onto her side against his chest and started nosing at his neck. His face went red and his eyes were everywhere except on the screen.
Of course, when he did finally lose the round, the ballerina just laughed, "You nervous about something?"
"Only about the ways and means of how you're sabotaging my high score." He answered anxiously, setting the controller down on himself as the other couple started their own turn at the game. The Russian drew in a breath and fell back against the arm-rest again, lowering the woman's leverage on him a little, and briefly escaping the heart-pounding teases.
"I didn't think the slightest show of affection would be enough for you to lose your entire train of thought." Minako went on though, moving to wedge her arm between his side and the couch, his shoulder now too high and far away since he'd leaned back. She set her ear against his chest after that, and just heard it jackhammering away, harder than she thought it would be, "...It's kind of sad how you keep inching forward on all this, only take ten jumps back as soon as you get here. I remember that you said you'd been burned before, but you've been acting like you think I'll stab you in the back the second you let your guard down. I don't know how much longer I can empathize before I start to get offended, especially since you half-seriously asked me to marry you the other night."
The words cut deeper than most knives could, but the Russian had no easy come-back. He just reached up with his left hand and gently set it against the back of the ballerina's up-turned shoulder, "Before I hurt my back, I thought...I was finally at a point where I wouldn't have to think that way anymore." He said quietly, barely audible over the bar's music, "That Cup of China would finally be the moment where I could stop worrying, because Viktor started calling me Uncle Mimi again, and I'd finally been accepted into the group unconditionally. But then I fell off that damn roof, and Vivi came back to Russia to get me...only for me to drag Kon along with us. It's like going fishing..." He said nervously, "Vivi's sitting in that boat with his line, and he feels a catch...starts pulling me up to the water's surface, but I decide to try and get away. In the end, not only did Viktor pull me up, but a huge log, too...except that log is one that's been sitting unnoticed under the surface for 25 years and it happens to be one that nearly killed him as a kid."
"That's the...craziest, roundabout analogy I think you've ever made." Minako said, not sure how to take it, "Can't you just be glad that Viktor went fishing for you at all? Logs get thrown back, and this one is no exception."
"Maybe..." Mikhail slouched a little, moving the ballerina a half-inch higher up on his frame, close enough that he could smell her hair. He breathed it in a moment, but then turned his head away from it again, "I can't help but worry that I'm not a big enough fish to make it worthwhile to untangle me though. Maybe he'll just throw me back with the Kon-log."
"He won't. He still calls you Uncle Mimi when you're not around." She explained, avoiding the mention of how Viktor had demoted him from 'Mimi' to 'Mikhail' at the end, "Let's just do like we planned for tomorrow and see how it goes after that...one day at a time. Tonight has nothing to do with either of them anyway." She tilted her head up and reached her free hand to his silver bangs, combing her fingers through it and teasingly flipping it over by parting it over his right eye, dropping the rest over his left, "You're not Viktor, remember? You went pretty far out of your way to make yourself believe that I understood that. Just let him do his last Rage Skate and get it all out. He wants things to go back to normal after that, and normal now includes you."
"...His last Rage Skate?"
"Mh." She nodded, booping his nose as she brought her hand back down to rest on his chest, "When we were walking back around the arena to meet you, he and Yuri explained that tomorrow would be the last time he does that Free Skate. Viktor's going to show all his cards during that program, and cash out for good and all."
"...What about the Final? It's next weekend...he doesn't have anything in the wings..."
Minako just smiled, "There's still a lot about Viktor that you don't know. Don't worry, young grasshopper, you'll learn. He isn't popular just because he's a gold medalist or good looking."
.
Konstantin glowered at the bathroom door. Yurio had been in there for over an hour, doing god-only-knows-what. The shower had been off for 30 minutes.
[What are you even doing in there?]
Water moved around, and two feet thumped on the bathmat. The door-handle jiggled from the inside, and soon, the door itself opened. A damp blonde glared out from the steam still built up within, not even bothering with a towel...just staring. The bear seemed to block the entire view out of the little room, but those green eyes were undaunted.
[It's a bathroom. That's a bath.] The teen gestured at the tub full of water and suds, [What do you think I'm doing in here?]
The bear just stared back, unimpressed by the skater's obstinacy, [Forcing me to stay awake.] He pointed towards the main part of the room, [Out.]
Yurio just cocked a brow, [You didn't say please.]
[Out.]
[No.]
The door closed again, and the sound of feet entering water echoed soon after. The bear just stood there, dumbstruck. When the shock of being denied finally settled down, Konstantin glared at the white panel in front of him again, [Is everyone in your generation this stubborn and disobedient!?]
[Only to rude people! Say please next time!]
[You're a child. I shouldn't have to ask your permission for anything.]
[AND YOU'RE NOT MY DAD. I DON'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU.]
[VIKTOR DOESN'T LISTEN EITHER.]
[MAYBE YOU SHOULD TRY BEING POLITE.]
More grumbling...but then feet shuffled along the floor until Yurio was left in peace in the bathtub. He slouched into the water until it was just under his eyes, but then pushed up again and reached for where his phone was on a small stool next to the tub.
Jeeze, it's like he thinks the world is supposed to be in his service or something. Where does he get off thinking he can just order people around? He's just like Yako-
The teen's eyes went wide for a moment, then narrowed, and he set the phone back down again, sinking himself back into the steamy water.
I wonder if everyone in his generation thinks like he does. Even old man Mikhail is like that sometimes. Fuck's sake...
He blew a few bubbles in frustration.
.
It was nearly 3am when the buzzed duo came back from the Flair Bar. Mikhail had barely managed to get his long-coat back on straight for the cold walk back to the Leopalace Hotel, not having bothered with the blazer he normally wore under it, or the tie. He just carried them over one forearm.
It was surreal to see that Yurio wasn't in the room, as they'd been expecting him that night, right up until the last second when plans changed.
"Maybe I should go check on them." Mikhail suggested, rubbing his face a little where the alcohol was wearing off, "I haven't heard from either since we left the hotel earlier."
"Neither have I." Minako mused, twirling a little like the excitable ballerina she was, tossing her coat away as she moved. She kicked a leg out in a pose similar to a camel spin, but held still and looked at skinny figure before her, "Either that means everything is fine, or one of them is dead. But I think they're fine. Yura spent half the afternoon with Konstantin already. He'd know if he was in trouble." She lowered the out-stretched leg before finishing in ballet's 4th position, one arm up and the other out to the side, feet crossed, "Stop worrying so much. Konstantin's only got it out for his own son, not the SkateSon."
"...Worry too much...worry not enough..." The Russian echoed, reluctantly pulling his black coat off to put it in the hall closet along with his flat-cap. His ruffled tie and blazer went over the back of a nearby chair, and he held his hands on it as the fabric settled, "I wish I knew how much was considered 'worrying just enough.'"
"You worry just enough about too many things." She explained, toeing up close behind the man, setting her hands gently on his shoulders, "For the rest of tonight, I hereby proclaim that you're only allowed to worry about me."
"Hah...?" Mikhail glanced back over his shoulder, but all he saw was the sultry look in the woman's eyes, "Uh oh...I know that look."
She smiled innocently, and leaned a little closer.
"...That's the same look you gave me when we were snowed in at your snack bar." He recalled dubiously, "And I distinctly recall how you used it against me."
"Against you?" She laughed, moving her hands to turn him around to face her, "I distinctly recall that you were all too happy to see it."
"...I was half-drunk at the time. I was happy to see everything." The silver Russian explained.
"I could tell." Minako huffed an amused laugh, hooking a finger around the opening in the dress-shirt, wiggling at it until the button came loose and that finger went down to the next one, "You should be happy to see it again now, right?"
Mikhail gave her a dubious look, but after a few silent moments, sighed, and finally gave up the struggle. Even if it was only for a single night's relief from the war going on in his head, he decided it wasn't worth it to worry anymore when he couldn't do anything about all the chaos anyway, "You're right...I should be..." He let his hands come up from where they'd been little more than dead-weight at his sides, and gently moved to set them around the woman's waist and lower back, feeling her own hands come away from his shirt to settle on his upper arms, "...Maybe I can give myself permission to stop thinking about other people for a little while."
She nodded and smiled back, "Just a little while."