CHAPTER THREE HUNDRED THIRTY TWO
St. Petersburg, Russia
December 24
4:15PM
It wasn't entirely unexpected for there to be fanfare upon the return of the Russian Tiger to his homeland.
What was unexpected...was the sizable crowd of protesters who had shown up as well, shaming the RSF officials who were there to congratulate their Bronze medalist, with signs admonishing them for their decision to sanction their true Champion. Of course, it wasn't lost on anyone the irony of said Champion's family being the ones to accompany his Russian heir.
Yurio pulled his hood up and wedged his thumbs under the studded straps of his backpack, sunglasses and designer black surgical mask on his face, as though he somehow thought he could still sneak by unnoticed. His silver-haired entourage was enough to give him away even if his own odd sense of style didn't. As the group filtered out of the connecting hall into the arrivals terminal, they slowed down, and Mikhail set a hand on the blonde's shoulder to get his attention. Yurio glanced back, turning on a heel, and pulled his sunglasses down just enough to glance over them, "What?"
"I know you have a thing about avoiding your fans in public places, but please don't try to sneak off like you do when Yakov is around." The elder asked, "The faster we all get through the throng, the faster we can leave."
Nikki and Viktoria looked around the terminal with new eyes, gaping at every inch of it. The younger of the two hooked a finger to her father's right coat pocket, "This isn't as bad as you made it sound, papa."
"Don't let the new paint fool you," He explained, "The same people work here as did in the old terminal. They'll still rip you off if you aren't careful. That's why I keep money here in Russia and rent a car instead of exchanging or taking a taxi."
"Let's just get this over with." Yurio said grudgingly, "Staying away for an extra week didn't help anyone, especially after the RSF announced their sanctions on Viktor. I know what's waiting out there. The best I can hope for is that the protesters leave me out of it."
"They're not here to protest you, Yuri." Mikhail pointed out, "Don't let them get you down."
"I just want to get to my place and see Potya. This drama that the RSF stirred up has nothing to do with me, but I'm still going to get booed for whatever interactions I have with them."
"Damned if you do, damned if you don't." Viktoria chimed in, "Let's just go. No sense delaying the inevitable. Gotta just get through it, like ripping off a band-aid."
Yurio pushed his sunglasses back up his nose and let his hair fall in front of them, lowered his head, and started marching off towards the baggage claim area. When all of their things were gathered and settled onto the luggage trolley, they made their way to the 'choke point.'
The volume of the fan gathering had slowly increased as they got closer, like the growing hum of a beehive. When Yurio finally stuck his head through the last doorway separating him from the crowd, he braced, feeling the sudden roar like a wave hitting him. He raised his hand politely to acknowledge them but pressed on without lingering, spotting the handful of RSF officials that were waiting for him just a bit further down the corridor. Beyond them, though, standing on the outdoor portion of the big glass windows, he could see the protesters. There were police and airport security keeping them there, and a rope barricade to keep them all contained, but it still made the teen nervous.
"Papa, do we have to go out that way...?" Nikki asked anxiously, "They're all so mad about what happened to Cousin Viktor..."
"No, sweetie, we're going a different way." Mikhail explained quietly, "Once Yuri's done getting his prizes from these skating suits, we'll be going to the parking garage. They can't follow us there."
Stepping up to those officials was slightly nerve-wracking for the Rozovskys though. Yurio went ahead of them, looking back briefly before pulling his sunglasses, mask, and hood off, but then went forward on his own. There was an obvious air of tension that everyone could feel; the officials being unsure how Viktor Nikiforov's own uncle and cousins would react, if at all, and Yurio's as well, given his storied history of defending his older counterpart.
Don't start yelling at them, Yuri, Mikhail thought to himself, watching the young skater getting his handshake and greeting, as though everyone was pretending the Russian Legend didn't exist at all. Don't invite trouble by making Viktor's problem yours, too. I know it can be tempting to want to say your piece like you did last year, but this isn't the time or place.
Dozens of photos were taken by official media and fans alike, with Yuri's Angels front and center to get the best shots. To Mikhail's surprise, and relief, the Russian Punk made it through the entire encounter without saying much more than Spasibo, and accepted the various gifts that were awarded to him for his placement at the Final.
I wouldn't have gotten on the podium at all if it hadn't been for what Viktor did, Yurio thought bitterly, These people want to congratulate me for winning Bronze, but they want to pretend Viktor had no hand in it. They can't have it both ways. ...I really hate this. It feels like a pity party.
The one thing that seemed to perk his spirits though was a certificate that was given to him by the senior ranking official; a ratification that one of Putin's rehabilitated Amur Tigers was being named Potya after Yurio's own cat. The teen was stunned, but kept looking through the papers, seeing numerous photos of the infant feline, and an invitation to attend the creature's release into the wilds of Siberia once it was time. Though it would easily be two years before that would happen, it was the one thing that Yurio had been given that he smiled about, and he did his last photo op with one of the tiger's rehabilitators before finally being released from his obligations.
Mikhail and the girls quickly caught up with the teen as he started stepping away, and within a few more minutes, seemed mostly free from the fanfare. They each breathed a sigh of relief to be away. It was even better when they finally got to their rental and were driving away from the airport entirely, leaving the stress of the protest behind.
Yurio watched the city come into view quietly, occasionally looking down to his lap where he kept the folder of Potya Tiger's photos. His silence, however, was becoming something of an oddity.
"You okay, Yuri?" Mikhail wondered, glancing back at the blonde in the rearview mirror, "I thought you'd be bouncing off the walls over that last gift."
The two girls looked back at Yurio to await his answer, but he just kept his eyes down for a few moments.
"Yuri?" Nikki asked, setting her hands down on the empty middle back seat, and leaned down to try and catch a glance of the Russian's gaze.
"Sorry." Was all he managed to say.
"About what?"
"Putting all of you through that. Maybe it would've been better if it was just me, and I met you guys again after, but dragging you through the middle of it felt like I'd brought Viktor back with me." Yurio explained, "It was completely different from how I'd been met before by the RSF. It felt forced."
"Well," Mikhail hummed, "The excitement of the Final died down a few days after the end of the event. It might've been a little forced because it was a really late party. The protesters outside didn't help...even though a bunch of them had signs saying they were happy for your achievement, even if they weren't there specifically for you."
"That didn't make me feel better at all." The Tiger sighed, leaning his head back against the window, "Nationals is going to be so tense now. Between the protests, and the boycott...it'll be a wonder if anyone in the audience is actually going to be there to support those of us who are competing."
"The RSF really underestimated Viktor's fans' loyalty. An insult against him is like an insult against them all." The elder agreed, "The fact that they worded the sanction the way they did, and their expectation for Viktor to retire after this season anyway...only for him to troll them by joining the JSF instead... I mean, those jackets that him and Yuri were wearing were the Japanese Olympic Team jackets, not just JSF gear. Wearing it means they're both going to represent Japan in PyeongChang. If Viktor medals, even if he doesn't say or do anything specifically against the RSF, it'll still be like he's rubbing their noses in it."
"I wonder what would happen if Viktor or Katsudon had to compete in Russia after all this." Yurio questioned, "Like Rostelecom, or if some even next year gets scheduled in Russia."
"With any luck, by the time that happens, all this will have died down." Mikhail hoped.
"When are you and Viktor going to start talking to each other again anyway?"
The elder shrugged immediately, "No clue. I had hoped that we could sort things out when he came to Moscow, but that's obviously not going to happen now. Maybe after the move to Hasetsu."
"No one but Yakov knows about that," Yurio sighed, "I can't remember if he told Lilia. I don't think he has...so I'll have to tell her when we all get to Moscow. She was already kind of annoyed with the idea of me hanging out with a former ballerina as it was."
"It's not like Minako has taught you anything at this point." Mikhail shrugged again, "And Lilia was your choreographer before, but now Viktor is. Minako's basically just there to make sure you do the work."
"Taking dance and ballet lessons is still part of training. It's not like we practice on the ice all the time. There's stuff we do in a dance hall."
"I know." The elder glanced up at the mirror, "It just sounds like you're really worried about what she might think when she finds out."
"...I am, kind of. Yakov called her in just for me, and I lived with her for almost as long as Viktor was in Hasetsu before last year's Final." Yurio turned his gaze out the window, "Maybe I just haven't shown her my appreciation enough. I don't want her to think I'm switching up trainers because her and Yakov weren't good enough. Yakov understands...but Lilia doesn't know my history. She only knows what she saw with her own eyes."
"So we'll do something special for her in Moscow."
"Is Okukawa coming to Moscow now, too?" The teen wondered, leaning forward to stick his head between the two front seats, "Since Kastudon won't be alone in Osaka anymore, Okukawa won't have to feel bad leaving."
"I haven't asked her." Mikhail explained, his tone a little dour compared to the moment before, "She talks about it like nothing has changed though, so I'm guessing it hasn't."
"She wouldn't just straight-up ask you to buy her a ticket to Moscow, pipaw." Viktoria pointed out, "She doesn't come across as someone who feels that entitled, but she isn't that rich either. She wouldn't be able to afford a last-second ticket like you frequently do. The ring you got her is probably worth more than everything she owns combined."
"Mmmhhh, you're right..." He nodded, slouching a little in his seat, "But I feel bad putting her on the spot. If she's happy going to Japanese Nationals with Yuri and Viktor, then I don't want to make her feel like she has to turn me down."
"Or that she accepts, which would mean she'd be reneging on her long-standing original plans." Yurio added, sitting back in his seat again like normal, "I guess it doesn't matter. I was just wondering."
.
Hasetsu, Saga, Japan
December 25
12:51PM
"TANJOUBI OMEDETTOU!"
Streamers flew and party crackers popped, sending bits of colored paper all over the room.
Viktor put on an awkward but brave face, though it was just a mask to hide his distaste for the occasion.
I turn 29 today. One more year until I'm 30 and my life is over as I know it.
He clapped his hands stiffly where he'd been put at the edge of his own kitchen table, with all manner of family and friends from around the city standing all around him. Yuri stood just behind him, hands on his shoulders once he'd finished clapping as well, and they each looked aside as Hiroko came back from the kitchen with a big cake, sparklers fizzing fire over a pair of difficult-to-see wax numbers sitting in the middle.
When the cake was set down, and the sparklers ran their course, Viktor spotted the two numbers set into the cake icing.
18
"...I...what? Eighteen?" He quirked a brow, "You guys are a couple years off, like you grabbed the numbers in the tray before the ones you should actually have here."
"Just go with it." Yuri whispered.
The Russian wasn't sure what to do, so he just continued to stare ahead awkwardly.
"This is your spirit age, right?" Hiroko mused, "You turn 18 every year. Old enough to do the things you want, but too young to be responsible for it."
"...Oh!" The Russian clapped excitedly over that, tilting his head up against his husband's chest where the man still stood behind him, "That's because you're the responsible one."
The crowd laughed, and Yuri blushed, "I guess so..."
"It's probably safer that way." Minako mused, "I'll bet he filled out most of your paperwork from the JSF, right?"
Viktor smiled, "He knows more about me than I do, sometimes."
"Who better to fill out all that stuff than Viktor's biggest fanboy?" Yuko added, leaning slightly towards the ballerina.
"So you're really ready to just toss your Russian citizenship out the window?" Takeshi wondered, watching as Yuri's mom started taking the burnt-out candles from the cake so she could start cutting slices from it, "Japan won't let you keep it for long. They don't accept dual-citizenships."
"Russia will always be where I came from." Viktor explained, watching the blunt knife go into the cake and out again, making triangular wedges through the circular shape, "But beggars can't be choosers, either. My citizenship never really meant all that much to me anyway though."
"You did call us citizens of the world when we went to Barcelona last year," Yuri added, idly rubbing his fingers against his partner's shoulders where he still had his hands on them, "It's just paperwork to you, isn't it?"
"It's something other people care about." He agreed.
"And it's not like you can't go back to Russia." The younger man went on, "It just...might be awkward if and when you do."
Cake wedges were being pulled from the main body and set onto paper plates, then passed around the gathered. Given the small size of the kitchen table, most people chose to stand. The slow-cooker was at full capacity on the other side of the room, with a brew of red-purple mulled wine within it; enough for everyone to get a taste of the Russian's handiwork. Hiroko went to ladle out a few mugs, setting them on the counter for those old enough to imbibe to collect.
"Maybe just for a little while." Viktor eventually agreed, a mug of mulled wine being handed to him. He held it with one finger hooked into the looped handle, setting it on the table before reaching his other hand up to get his husband's attention. Yuri leaned down to hear the whisper, "Since things with papa are so much better, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to go visit him once in a while. He's willing to put up with some of our antics, but we can be merciful on him and keep the peace by not drowning him in our PDA. Right?"
Yuri gave a nervous smile, "I think it's something we should talk about later."
Viktor blinked at him, a bit surprised, but then nodded, "...Okay."
"To Viktor!" Toshiya held his cup up, Hiroko doing the same next to him, as well as Mari and the rest.
"Kanpai!"
.
"Thanks everyone for coming." Yuri said, waving at the group from the front door as they started heading home. With the house finally empty again, Yuri closed the door and went inside, finding his partner still lording over his loot pile like the Russian Dragon he'd once been called.
"Maybe I should've let everyone celebrate last year," Viktor hummed, "It feels totally different here than back in Russia."
"How so?" Yuri wondered, finding his way to his spot on the couch.
"Remember in Bacelona when you asked what I wanted for a gift, and I told you that we don't really celebrate before the day?"
"Sure."
"In Russia, there's a superstition that if you celebrate a birthday early, you won't live to see the actual day." Viktor explained, "Then there's all the pageantry with pulling ears up to the number of years you've been around, which can get painful if people pull too hard... And the second birthday if you survive a life-threatening event, so you celebrate not dying." He went on, sipping the last of his mulled wine, then sitting back in his own corner of the couch, "Yakov used to toy with me about my dreams on the eve of my birthday because it was the same eve as Christmas, since legend says those dreams can be prophetic. Christmas, birthdays, Epiphany, even New Year..."
"Did he know you have a habit of predicting the future even outside of dreams?" Yuri teased, reaching for the box that contained a pair of beer steins from Minako, and looked at the photos of them emblazoned on the outside.
"Sure. That's why he was glad my birthday and Christmas were at the same time, so if there was any kind of bad dream to be had, I had fewer opportunities for them to come true."
"Were they always ominous or something?"
"Usually." Viktor mused, shrugging at the idea of it, "Can't help what I dream about. Would be nice if I could."
"Did you dream anything especially strange last night...?"
The silver legend set his empty cup down on the coffee table and pulled back, setting a finger on his lip as he tilted his head in recollection, "...I can't actually remember!"
"Maybe that's a good thing." Yuri shrugged, setting the stein box down before he rose to stand again, "Wait here a minute. There's one more present for you."
"Oh?" Viktor's interest was piqued immediately, and a devious look crossed his face, "Something you couldn't show me when everyone was here?"
The younger man just made a face and squeezed by, "Maybe. Or I forgot about it until now. Or it was something special that I only want you to see. Who knows?"
"You don't forget things so easily, my love."
"Just wait here."
Blue eyes watched carefully as Yuri made his way towards the stairs. Makkachin followed him up, but Jiro just flopped on the hardwood floor in front of the first one. Viktor lowered his arm over the edge of the arm-rest, rubbing his fingers together to get the pup's attention, "Jiro, come-"
Fuzzy triangular ears perked up, and the puppy turned his head. With nothing else to do, he trotted over to the Russian, getting a head rub before finding that hand sneaking under his belly to lift him up. He found himself in the man's lap, and looked up with those dark, almost-black eyes.
"Don't worry. One day you'll be able to go up those stairs even faster than Makkachin." Viktor assured, "That day will come faster than should be legally allowed. You don't want to be an old people too soon, right?"
Jiro tilted his head.
"...Or an old dog maybe? Nah, you'll always be a puppy at heart. Even when you've got grey on your snout and you move slower than you used to. Always believe yourself to be young and you'll never feel down."
Stubby puppy legs perched onto the Russian's chest as Jiro stood up, snuffling curiously at the man's face.
"Oh no. You can probably smell the wine on me still. You're a bit too young for that though."
The pup turned his head suddenly, hearing the sound of feet coming down the stairs again. Viktor looked over as well, and the two pairs of eyes watched carefully as Yuri came back with Makkachin, carrying a blender-sized box in his hands. Of course, as the man retook his place on the couch, crossing his legs under himself, his face was already an endearing shade of pink.
"My my, this must be interesting if you're already flushed before I even know what it is." Viktor teased, turning to cross his legs and face the younger figure, "Let's see it." He held his hands out. Jiro turned in his lap to watch.
Yuri kept the box to himself for the moment though, eyes wandering to look at everything in the room except his spouse, "...Ah...well, uhm..." He stammered, fingers curling around the paper-wrapped edges of the box, "It...it took me a long time to find this." He went on, slightly more sure of himself but not entirely, "I could hardly believe how many different kinds there were. I didn't even know where to start, or what version you might like better." His arms went up to express his incredulousness, "Some designs were absolutely horrifying!"
Viktor swiped the box while Yuri had his hands up, which only made Yuri's face get redder. The Russian gave an inquisitive look, and held the box up to his ear, shaking it to hear if anything inside would make a sound. Nothing did, however. He grinned and set the box in front of his crossed ankles, in the small space of about two feet between himself and Yuri's legs, "You were saying?"
Yuri leaned back to slouch against the arm-rest behind him, "...Uh...well... Y-Yeah..." He eyeballed the Russian's fingers as Viktor toyed at the corners of the box.
"Nervous?"
He just slapped his hands against his face to hide himself, "Just open it. I can hardly stand it."
"Hmmm... Yuri, what did you get for me...?" Viktor wondered in half a sing-song voice. The first tear of wrapping paper resonated around the room, and those slate eyes got a first tease of what might be hidden underneath.