CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED NINE
Phichit sat anxiously in the kiss and cry, feet tapping on the ground in quick succession. His hands were balled into fists under his chin, and he could feel them shaking through where he'd pulled his jacket's sleeves over them, biting at the fabric. Celestino had his head held high, waiting just as nervously, but not letting it show.
"The score for Phichit Chulanont..."
Even the audience went silent as the announcer's voice echoed overhead.
Yuri was standing on the ledge, breath caught in his throat.
"...201.76. His total score is 294.30. He is currently in first place."
The crowd went wild with excitement...but Phichit was paralyzed.
"This is a new personal best score by the Thai skater! Both his Free Skate and final total are season highs for him!" Newscaster Morooka spoke to the television audience, "But it seems like Skater Phichit isn't that impressed!"
Newscaster Oda leaned closer to the microphone at their desk by rinkside, watching the kiss and cry with a finger over his thin lip, "This late in the Grand Prix Series, most skaters know what their standing is in the lists. If Skater Phichit takes Gold here at NHK, he guarantees himself a spot at the Final, but if he takes Silver, he will be losing it to Swiss skater Christophe Giacometti by a narrow margin."
"That's right." Morooka agreed, "Those in our home-viewing audience who are unfamiliar or new to figure skating...the Grand Prix Final is the penultimate competition for the figure skating season, second only to the World Championships in early Spring. Each discipline going to the Final has only 6 participants, and getting into that Final Six comes after each skater performs at two different unique international competitions leading up to it. Skater Phichit took Bronze at Skate America a few weeks ago, giving him 11 points on the Grand Prix scoreboard. Gold medalists get 15 points, and Silver medalists get 13, but in the event that two skaters going into the Final have the same GP Points, a tie-breaker is initiated."
"Yes. Sometimes the decision is easy, such as when one skater gets Silver at both events, but their competition gets Bronze and Gold, giving both of them 26 points. The Gold medalist will be awarded the win by default. If it's the same medals though, a choice is made by looking at the total of the athletes' combined performance scores at each of their events."
"Skater Christophe took Silver at Skate America and Bronze at Trophée de France, so he has a total of 24 GP points. If Skater Phichit wins Gold today, with his Bronze medal from before, he'll have a total of 26 points, but if he gets Silver, he'll be tied at 24 for the 6th slot."
"Exactly. So, looking at their performances, Skater Chris has a combined total of 581.82, and Skater Phichit now has a total of 580.83, just narrowly missing the mark to beat the tie-breaker. He'll need to take home Gold today to get into the Final, and there's still a lot of stiff competition out there, including five-time consecutive World Champion Viktor Nikiforov, who is skating in Group 2."
"Let's take a look at who's on the ice next, then. Looks like Julian Madrano from Spain. He scored 82.32 at yesterday's Short Program..."
Phichit couldn't lift his eyes from the ground as he stepped out of the kiss and cry to go back into the prep area. The pit in his stomach felt like it was going right through him. All he could think about was the fall on his last jump.
That was an automatic 1.0 point deduction...and that's all I missed the mark by... A single point...
When they got back to the benches with their gear, the skater slumped heavily into his chair and pulled out his phone.
"I have the strangest sense of déjà vu right now..." Celestino noted, looking down on his nervous athlete, "Yuri looked just like this after his Free Skate in Sochi. You're not going to wander off and ignore everything I say now, are you?"
Phichit glanced up, "...No..." He turned back towards his phone and closed it down again with a heavy sigh, "...Maybe I should've tried for a quad Flip. Even with a fall, the base value after the deduction would still have gotten me over the edge..."
"And if you fell on a quad Flip, you'd feel like your guts were in your throat, and you might've been too winded to finish the program, in which case you'd have lost by even more points." The coach pointed out, "Take everything in stride. Nothing's set in stone yet. You reset two of your personal best scores today. You should be proud."
"...It's going to be hard going back to Detroit if I'm not part of the line-up."
"Oh, you're going anyway?" The older man quirked a brow, "When did that happen?"
"It was Yuri's idea after Trophée de France. He thought we should both go, no matter what. Him and Viktor said they'd pay my way so we could go together after going back to Hasetsu for the week." Phichit leaned back in the chair, slouching as he slid down the hard plastic, "Chris takes his shows so much more seriously when he's competing directly against Viktor...his SP score in Bordeaux..."
"The day isn't over yet, Phichit. Keep your head up."
.
.
.
The zamboni was trailing towards the rink exit as the skaters from Group 2 were starting to gather. Leo was first up, followed by Viktor, then the lone Japanese skater, Yoshio Yamanaka, followed by the remaining 4 members of the 7-man second skate-group. Only 6 members of the group were at the rink-side curtain though, stretching their arms and chatting with each other and their coaches as they waited for the announcement to start their last practice.
The rink-wall clicked closed, and one of the event staffers waved to a box on the uppermost level of the arena.
"Skaters from Group 2 may now enter the rink for a 6-minute warm-up."
Yuri had his eyes on that curtain like a hawk waiting for a prairie-dog to stick its head up, but was apprehensive to find that his husband wasn't one of the skaters to come out, "Where is he...?"
Yurio looked up from where he was thumbing on his phone, "Yakov says they ran into Konstantin on the way back inside. They'll be out in a second."
"What!?" The older skater was almost jumping off the ledge to get out of his seat, but like once before, the blonde simply reached across with one arm and defiantly refused to let the man stand, "Yuri, I have t-"
"Stay where you are. You'll just mess Viktor up if you go down there and try to save him from nothing. Yakov says they'll be out in a minute...that means Viktor is fine." The Russian Tiger instructed flatly, turning his elbow to press it against the older figure's gut and force him down again, "You said you didn't want to be the one to get him all riled up in the first place...do you want to be the one to break his focus instead?"
"No..."
"Then sit down and stay down."
It was no use resisting. Mikhail was walking past them anyway, phone against his ear as he headed for the exit stairs.
The arena, with its circular design, inevitably lead back to the main entrance if the path was walked long enough. As such, when the silver Russian skater had finished getting changed and fluffed for the competition, that's where he found himself.
Yakov stood nearby, quietly looking between where Viktor was standing, and over to where the loose collection of spectators were returning to their seats. A few had stopped when they saw Viktor watching them, and waved excitedly from their side of the barrier, shouting their well wishes and adulation, but slowly paused and quietly slinked away when they saw that angry expression on his face. Within the group that was coming back in from outside though, a huge dark shape was easy to single out, and Viktor had his eyes set on it, unblinking, not even having noticed the fans from moments before.
The same slate-blue eyes that looked on were staring right back, and Konstantin stood perfectly still when he realized he'd been spotted. He only moved again when he felt the phone vibrating in his pocket, and withdrew it to see it was Mikhail calling.
From the 50 odd feet away that the silver skater was standing down the hall, he couldn't even hope to know what was being said on that call, but it was easy to figure out after a few more moments when Mikhail showed up. After that, those cold, icy Russian eyes were fixed on the both of them.
"Vitya, you'll completely miss the warm-up if we don't go." Yakov said simply, trying to get the athlete's attention.
"There they are." Viktor answered quietly, his tone dark and distrusting, "...The two men who ruined my childhood, and who destroyed my faith in the idea of family."
Yakov knew better than to try and contest the description in that moment, Normally I'd remind him that family is what you make, not what you're born into...but he needs to keep this energy up if he plans to go through with this skate. Vitya...
The pair of dark-clad Russians looked on quietly at their descendent, but no one tried to say anything. Instead, Mikhail shook his head and said something inaudible to his much larger counterpart, turning to go back into the arena with the bear following slowly behind. Viktor only let himself move again when the two were out of his sight, and he turned grimly on his blade-guards to head through the back entrance to the prep area, flame-themed coat-tails fluttering and rustling behind his legs as he went.
Skaters were already on the ice when Viktor finally came through the heavy blue curtain, but they paid no attention, going around the ice for those few allotted minutes. The coaches and event staff, however, who stood between the curtain and the rink entrance...they made a hasty retreat to create a path for the dark-eyed Russian.
Whispers and quiet utterances rose all around him as he stepped through, but Viktor kept his face tilted down, looking like a predator on the hunt, left eye completely hidden under his silver-grey bangs.
People in the audience weren't even sure if they should applaud or cheer for him once those gold blades took to the ice, seeing how tightly-wound he was just by how he moved. The complete lack of greeting to them was odd enough in itself for the normally-excitable skater, but the Russian wouldn't deviate. His mind was set, and the only time he looked up was in a meager effort to find out where his uncle and father were.
Yuri watched quietly, still feeling where Yurio's elbow was just an inch away from his side where they sat together. He lifted his hands to his face and pulled down slightly as the uneasy feeling grew in him like lava bubbling at the top of a volcano.
"Simmer down." The teen grumbled, nudging him with that elbow slightly, "He isn't even doing anything y-"
A wave of ice blasted away from the Russian's skates as he stopped hard on the sides of his blades, pushing off and flying forward with all his strength only to do it again a short distance away. Other skaters were pausing to gawk at him, wondering if Viktor had confused NHK Trophy for NHL playoff championships, especially since he hadn't practiced any of his jumps to that point.
"Are you gunning for the Gold medal or the Stanley Cup, Viktor!?" One of them asked, trying to tease, but only getting a cold shoulder in response. The skater simply puffed his chest out and went on about his practice like the Russian hadn't blown him off entirely.
Yuri just sunk in his chair like a melting ice sculpture, whining pitifully, "He's even more wound-up than at Trophée de France... I feel weird saying I wish we could switch Konstantin for Sophia..."
"That concludes the warm-up period. All skaters, except the first participant, please make your way off the ice."
"Here we go..." Minako said, watching with similarly nervous eyes as the 'Living Avatar of Indignation' made his way to the exit.
Leo had slipped over to rink-side where his coach was waiting, getting his pep-talk as the last remaining skaters cleared the area. A few sweepers in light-blue skating dresses moved quickly across the ice to find and collect any last gifts that might've been thrown out there by fans, then left the rink as well.
"The first participant of the Men's Singles Free Skate, Group 2, representing the United States...Leo de la Iglasia."
Cheering followed, and the Hispanic skater pushed excitedly off the wall. His outfit looked a lot like a symphony conductor's, with a wide red sash-style belt, and knee-length coat-tails hanging off the back. When he took his stance in the center of the rink, he held his feet close together and his hands up, as though getting ready to lead a concert.
['Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 18' - Sergei Rachmaninoff - the one on YouTube with the photo of a greyscale daisy on a black background.]
The music was too calm. When Viktor heard it, he grit his teeth and went rummaging for his phone, putting in his ear-buds before he could even get the device on long enough to load his playlists. Yakov kept a close eye between the skater and those who were curiously watching him, wondering amongst themselves why he looked so peeved. When the silver Russian finally had his Rage Skate theme playing though, it seemed to take the edge off his brief tranquility, and he stood quietly in abject fury for the peace others enjoyed in those moments.
Phichit was off to the side with his coach still, skates still on in likelihood of his needing to glide out to the podium later, but keeping his distance. Instead, he just quietly pulled his phone out and sent a message to Yuri, [Viktor looks like he's two misplaced words away from putting his fist through someone's face.]
The older skater felt the buzz in his pocket, and when he saw the text, his brow wrinkled into a worried look, but thumbed his reply, [Yeah... That's why I'm not on coach duty right now. I can't stand to see him so upset, but this is the frame of mind he needs to be in to do his FS.]
[This can't be healthy. I know you said that his program was supposed to be a way for him to release all the pent up negative energy in his system, but the way he's going about it, it's like he's feeding it into himself on purpose. Why is he doing this to himself?]
[It's his 'Rage Skate.' He wants to be furious when he does it. I told him that I couldn't stand to help him be that way anymore, so he cut me loose.]
[Wow...] Phichit was surprised at the words, [That's not a problem between you guys, is it?]
[No..] Yuri answered, half an eye on Leo's performance far below, [He did it to spare me. Yakov is helping him this time...I'm supposed to swoop in at the end and save Viktor from himself, I guess. Bring him back to the surface after he's spent over an hour trying to drown himself.]
[...And this is supposed to be a good thing, right?]
[Like you said yesterday...it's probably cathartic for him. ...I HOPE it is, anyway...]
[I said that without knowing he was going to do this much hurt to himself first though. I can only wonder how much he's been through to make him this mad. He always seemed like such a happy guy before.]
[He wants to be like that again. The last year has been pretty exhausting. Every time we found a moment of normalcy, something would come up that threw it all in the air again. He's washing his hands of it all once the Free Skate's done. I'm not sure what that really means to him, but I'm hopeful he's going to cut himself off from the things that did this to him. I don't want to watch him suffer anymore.]
[Srsly.]
The music for Leo's program came to a quiet close, and the skater moved over to the kiss and cry after taking his bows. That signaled the Russian's approach towards the rink-side entrance. It seemed like the entire prep area went quiet, such that everyone nearby could hear nothing but the sound of footsteps on rubber blade-guards thunking across the polished concrete floor, followed by the wispy shifting of the curtain as Yakov pulled it back. Everyone watched with nervous, quiet eyes as the skater stepped through and vanished to rink-side, then let out those held-in breaths once he was finally out of sight. The atmosphere of the prep area changed completely once the Russian was gone from it, and they all went quickly to the televisions to watch the show.
"The score for Leo de la Iglesia...172.43. He is currently in second place."
Though knowing it wasn't enough to get him into the Final Six, the skater still seemed impressed with the possibility that he could still get on the podium. At least...until he had to pass Viktor to get back to the prep area and out of the way. The energy around the Russian skater was like that of a wraith; a circle extending about 2ft all around him was like an aura where all happiness died.
Yuri could see how Leo and his coach dodged the man like a pair of starlings avoiding the sudden lunge of an eagle. It was fitting, in that case, given that the Russian coat-of-arms embroidered into the back of Viktor's team jacket was a two-headed eagle. No one but Yakov seemed to dare to get anywhere near the maligned athlete, everyone else giving him a wide berth anywhere he went. Blade-guards and that jacket came off quickly though, and the silver legend stepped out onto the ice.
"Hopefully these idiots will fill in the gouges he's going to leave behind this time." Yurio commented snidely, "If they don't, everyone who skates after him will be tripping over the cracks."
"Worried about the performances of the competition suddenly?" Minako mused, looking over Yuri's mop of spiky black hair to glance at the teen.
Yurio just guffawed, "There won't be any competition if it's just a bunch of amateurs falling on their asses cuz their blades got caught and they tripped."
"...I guess that's why you came and filled the cracks that one time in St. Petersburg?" Yuri wondered, looking aside as well, remembering that day when he and Viktor had been practicing Duetto like it was yesterday, and he himself had 'fallen on his ass cuz his blade got caught and he tripped.'
"You had decided not to retire after all, so when my original plan of making you feel like shit about it fell through, I realized I couldn't just let you get yourself disqualified over an injury instead." The blonde shrugged, "Also I wanted to make you two idiots feel like idiots for skating on pock-marked ice. How could you not have noticed?"
"...I was still a bit salty about the RSF conference." The older skater admitted, watching his husband ignore the crowd as he skated a few circles around the rink, pulling his gloves on as he went, "Plus, I hadn't been in St. Petersburg that long yet, so I was still looking at it like it was some grand, perfect Wonderland. I hadn't noticed the imperfections in the ice yet...or the city."
"So then what is it now?" Yurio cocked a brow and turned to face the man better.
"An old place with a lot of old problems...some newer than others..." Yuri answered, an edge to his nervous voice, "Most that can't be fixed with shaved ice, a hockey puck, and a spray-bottle of water."
The Russian skater hadn't bothered getting a last word from Yakov before finding his place over the NHK logo. The last thing he did before signaling his readiness to start was look around the audience one last time for the dark blotches he was going to perform for. It took a moment, but Viktor finally settled that one slate-blue eye on the black-clad bear standing near one of the exit tunnels, the smaller one standing nearby. That one eye narrowed, the other hidden entirely behind his bangs, and he sneered quietly to himself at the both of them.
Mikhail winced to see it, and he lowered his head away to avoid the steely-eyed glare.
Konstantin had gotten used to his son's indignation though, so the death-stare didn't bother him.
Viktor finally turned away from them though and returned his focus to the ice, drawing in a deep breath. Arms came up to shoulder-level, palms down, and then converged in front of him as they went down again, thumbs nearly touching where they stopped. Eyes closed, the breath slowly exhaled again...and the music began.