CHAPTER THREE HUNDRED FIFTY SEVEN
The prospect of any sort of fun after the Russian's Short Program had effectively been squelched. With ought else to do before the post-skate technical panel, watching the rest of the Men's event became their only option.
"Do you want to change before we go find seats?" Viktor wondered, pulling his clingy husband back to where they'd left their gear bags.
Yuri's eyes roamed all over, but only once he was satisfied with what he saw did he let his partner go, slinking down to one of the seats and leaning down to start untying his skate laces, "...No...I'll just pull my tracksuit pants on. This is fine."
Viktor gazed on curiously, seeing the nervous look on the younger man's face. He could see a certain paleness that stuck out even under the halogen lights above them, and a stressed darkness under those brown eyes. The silver Russian's brow furrowed, but he just sat down in the seat next to Yuri, and started working on the laces of his own skates, "...Do you want a coffee or anything? Hot cocoa maybe?"
Yuri paused for a moment, loosened laces hanging from his fingers, "...Yeah...that sounds fine." He said quietly, though his tone resembled that of a pre-recorded response that he just voiced without thinking.
The Russian blinked, Something's not right with him. Why is he-
A hand came across and grabbed Viktor's wrist lightly, pulling it over and setting it against Yuri's leg. That same hand pressed it flat against the fabric, "...I know...this sounds weird, but...please don't let me go. Until we get back to the hotel at least, don't take your hands off me. Not even for a second."
"You're taking this thing with the RSF really hard." He commented, giving that leg a gentle squeeze before starting the slow, soothing stroke of his thumb there, and turned his eyes down to his skates again to try and untie them single-handed, "I'll speak with the ISU and ask if they can help out...maybe just set ourselves up to never get sent to Russia. We can't ask them not to schedule events there, but...I'm sure they can keep it in mind given the circumstances."
Yuri waited a moment, but then nodded, and then asked the most hypocritical question, "...What about visiting your father? Do you still want to go?"
"Are you sure you want to talk about that right now? ...I mean, you're getting all anxious about just the idea of being in Russia, even for skating...but to visit my papa?" Viktor was really thrown off.
"Your father lives in the middle of nowhere." Yuri commented, "It's practically the safest place out there."
"…I guess so."
They finished getting their blades off in silence after that, and Viktor abided by the strange request, keeping one hand on Yuri, somewhere, no matter what. Even as Yuri was pulling the pants of his tracksuit over his costume leggings, Viktor's hand was on his shoulder. Once Yuri was done, and was pulling the edges of his jacket straight, Viktor pulled out in front of him casually, settling both hands on the man's hips. He felt his partner's hands and forearms settling over his own lightly, but the way Yuri avoided looking at him was rather odd, "...Hey."
Yuri glanced up a little bit, but then quickly looked down again, bringing both hands up to cup them over the Russian's mouth and chin to keep him back. That only earned him a look of stunned horror and confusion, but Yuri could do little more than lean his face down and shake his head, "...I'm sorry...please...don't ask me to do this for now… I'm feeling really sick to my stomach. I can taste bile at the back of my throat."
Viktor frowned, pulling his face back to get away from those hands, "...Do you want to see the medic?"
"I just want to sit down and stay put for a while."
"...Okay..."
.
They found seats in a small section of the arena close to rink-side, far enough away from the public to be able to ignore them. They were quick to push up the arm-rest between the seats, and Yuri sat sideways in his, resting his legs over his husband's and clinging to one arm.
The Russian's hand settled gently against the closest thigh, fingers curling around the curve of that leg, wedging slightly between where the two limbs were pinched together over his lap. Just as Yuri used his shoulder as a pillow, he set his cheek to the top of Yuri's head, keeping silent vigil over his nauseated spouse while they both half-watched the remainder of the Men's Short Program. Every once in a while, Viktor would notice his partner bringing a hand up to rub his mouth on the back of a wrist.
After a while of deliberation, Viktor moved to pull his right arm free of his partner's grasp, lifting it over the man's shoulder to curl it around his back. Yuri seemed to take the hint and wiggled in even closer.
This is the first time I've seen him sick...I wonder if he's always this way under these circumstances?
He pulled his left arm up and pressed the front of his wrist against his spouse's forehead, but what he felt was fairly normal. He sighed quietly and replaced where his hand had been perched on his partner's shin earlier.
Yuri just stared blankly ahead, only barely noticing the other programs or the music that accompanied them. His mind tortuously replayed the 'encounter' over and over, and every time it got to the end, Yuri could feel those cold phantom lips pressing against him, making him feel sick again. His mouth watered, reminding him of the way he'd seen animals froth and foam when they ate poison.
I feel so disgusting now… He thought, Like a corruption is spreading through me and there's nothing I can do… All I want is for Viktor to make it go away, but if he kisses me then this taint will just spread to him, too…
.
"WHOEVER KISSED MY HUSBAND WILL RUE THIS DAY."
"I WON'T STAND FOR THIS!"
"YURI IS MINE, YOU HEAR ME!? HE GAVE THIS RING TO ME! I'M THE ONLY ONE THAT GETS TO KISS HIM! IF I EVER FIND OUT WHO PUT THAT MINTY TASTY ON HIS LIPS, I'LL-"
"NoonekissesYuriEXCEPTME. NOONEBUTME."
.
He brought his arm back up again and rubbed the sleeve of his jacket against his mouth, looking to see if anything came off, as though the very presence of foreign saliva would show up in some sickly green color...but it was just the usual damp spot from his own.
That stupid idiot...how could he do this to me!? I could've gone my whole life and never been kissed by anyone but Viktor, and he took that away! I want to hate him for this…!
.
[YOU DON'T HAVE A CLUE WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LOSE SOMEONE YOU LOVE. TO WATCH THEM DYING IN YOUR ARMS, NOT EVEN KNOWING WHERE THEY'RE HURT...TO WATCH THE LIGHT IN THEIR EYES DISAPPEAR WHILE YOU BEG THEM NOT TO GO. YOU DON'T HAVE A DAMN CLUE HOW IT FEELS TO LOSE SOMEONE SO IMPORTANT AND NOT EVEN BE ABLE TO GRIEVE BECAUSE NO ONE KNEW...!]
[...I came here to start over...to get a fresh start... I never imagined I'd leave this place realizing exactly how much I've lost instead...]
[Goodbye, Yuri.]
.
...I should've seen it coming… No, I did see it coming, and I didn't do anything to stop it… I'm so stupid and naïve...I trusted him not to take advantage… I trusted him...
Yuri could feel his chest tightening, and he pulled his free hand back to press against it. Settling his palm there, he slid it a bit higher to feel at the base of his neck, able to feel his heart racing there against his fingers. The chill followed, and Yuri's confidence sank again. He couldn't stop the quick, shallow breaths that came after…and that's when Viktor noticed.
"Yuri, you're pale."
His voice was distant though, and Yuri clenched up, "...Viktor...I need to go...I'm… I'm having a panic attack..." He said, though he wasn't sure if his words were spoken or just thought, "...I have...to...to go..." He felt like he was burning up in spite of his cold skin, and his hands started to tingle. Nothing about the world was right; it moved too quickly and it made his head spin.
It started closing in...and abruptly cut to black.
.
.
.
Light started shining in again, and everything was cold and hot at the same time. His skin prickled and felt tight.
"Yuri?"
"Uhhnnnn..."
"Don't try to get up yet." Viktor advised, leaning in from somewhere outside Yuri's peripheries, like a shape that came out of shadows, "You passed out. You're at the medic's station right now." He reached forward and pushed a few strands of hair from his husband's eyes, "Yuri?"
Those eyes just stared into space before closing.
"Yuri...take a deep breath. Count to five as you inhale and hold it in for two."
...Ichi...ni...san...yon...go…
...Ichi...ni…
"Now let it out slowly."
Something warm was pulled off his forehead, then replaced with something cold. He couldn't feel hands on him anywhere, so he raised what felt like his own and groped around until someone took it.
"We don't have to stay for the technical panel." Viktor's voice was saying, the sound of it coming closer and more clear than before, "What else did Yurio tell you…? You seem really stressed out."
"...Yurio…?" He echoed in confusion, "What did Yurio say…?"
Viktor gave a worried look, patting his partner's hand where he held it, "I guess I could just ask him myself."
"...No...it's nothing..." Yuri said suddenly, trying to swallow, "...My throat is dry..."
A small cup of painfully cold water was handed to him, but he sipped at it anyway.
"...What time is it?"
"About 9:30" The Russian answered, "The Men's event is almost over."
"There's no point leaving then..."
"Are you sure?" Viktor asked, nudging the cup forward again, "I'm sure they'd understand if we ducked out early."
"...I can't...let him win..."
"...Who's him?"
Yuri felt a twinge of worry, but shook his head and tried to sit up, holding the water cup on his own then and sipping from it quietly. The cool, damp cloth that had been pressed to his forehead slipped away and flopped down to his lap. Looking at it for a moment, and being strangely cognizant of how slowly he was thinking and reacting, he reached to set the small cup down on a nearby mayo stand, then grabbed the cloth to set it aside as well, "...No one." He finally answered.
Viktor gave a skeptical look, but just added that gesture to the list of 'Odd Things Hubby Is Doing Or Saying That Make No Sense.' He rose up to stand from the seat next to the reclining chair Yuri was trying to get out of, and offered his hands for stability. The younger man took them in earnest, and pulled on them for leverage, rising up slowly before tipping forward against Viktor's chest, then slowly getting his bearings again. While Yuri was there though, Viktor whispered into his ear, "If there's something else going on, you'd tell me, right?"
"Yes." Yuri answered succinctly, "...But not right now."
Viktor stayed quiet for a moment with that answer, but hugged his spouse a little tighter, "...If I called Yurio and asked when you guys ended your call, how many minutes would there be between that time and when we ran into each other again?"
"...I have no clue, honestly." Yuri explained, his eyes half-closing as the high of his panic started fading to a heavy sinking feeling, "...Probably a while."
"Was it really the call that caused you to be so upset?"
"...I barely remember what Yurio even said now."
"You told me he had news on why the RSF really cut me loose. You said the RSF blames you; that they sanctioned me because they think you ruined me."
"...Oh...right."
"I'm really worried about you, Yuri."
He just stayed still where he was, clinging to the Russian's frame for dear life.
"If you can't or won't tell me what happened, then at least...tell me you weren't hurt."
"...I...don't know how to answer that right now..."
"Yuri."
"Please don't ask me to answer that." He cringed, "You know I'll tell you...just, please let me wait until we get back… I don't even know what to say or how to say it right now..."
"Am I going to be mad about this?"
"...The odds aren't good that you won't be."
Viktor grumbled quietly, feeling a confusing mixture of anger, apprehension, and dubious worry.
.
A crowd had gathered outside the room for the post-skate technical panel. It wasn't much of a stretch to know who had made it to the top 24 and were advancing to the Free Skate, but those new skaters who weren't sure if they'd just made it were hovering, scanning the lines of kanji for their names.
1, ニキフォロフ・ヴィクトル - 115.75 (Nikiforov Viktor)
2, 斉藤 朝日 - 112.14 (Saito Asahi)
3, ニキフォロフ 勇利 - 101.26 (Nikiforov Yuri)
4, 南 健次郎 - 82.12 (Kenjirou Minami)
5, 北 介渡 - 81.15 (Kita Kaito)
6, 山内 一希 - 75.91 (Yamaguchi Itsuki)
"The gap is huge between us three and the next few people..." Yuri said to himself, looking at the top few names. Seeing his partner's score though made him wish he'd requested a number much higher than he had. He shrugged though and stepped out of the group, following the arm that still held to him at the limits of its range, like a rope that tied glacier climbers together. When he found his husband again, the Russian was glancing around in a way Yuri hadn't seen since one of their last days in St. Petersburg; cocking his head like a meerkat, looking for trouble wherever it might be found. Seeing nothing unusual though, Viktor settled to looking at him again.
"All is as expected?"
"Mh."
They both stepped into the room itself then, and looked up to the table at the front, raised on a small platform, each seat labeled according to their rank from left to right, last to first. Even Viktor could tell that some...adjustments...would need to be made.
Without a second thought, the Russian stepped up behind the table, dragging Yuri behind him the whole way, grabbed the first-place name card and replaced it with the third, then took the second and marched it all the way down to the other end of the table, swapping that out with the sixth name, and came back to where he started to set his own name in the second spot, and the previous sixth-place card in third.
Yuri was impressed, in any case, "You're getting better at reading Japanese?"
"I can tell which ones are ours, and which one is Saito's...not because I can read them though. For his, I just know he's currently in 2nd place, so now he's 6th, cuz I said so."
A few people in the media who were in the front row were watching, roving their eyes from side to side at the slightly unprecedented change in order...but none were willing to argue it.
Relieved, but trying not to look too obvious about it, Yuri nodded and found his seat in the now-1st place slot. He supposed Viktor would've moved the name cards regardless. He moved the chair over a few feet so it would be directly next to his partner's, and sat down, pushing the name card over a little bit so it would be more in front of himself than it had been. Viktor sat next to him shortly thereafter, watching the door like Lynx, ready to pounce on the first black-and-teal chicken-butt he spotted.
What came through first though was a red-and-yellow chicken-nugget, and he was quick to notice that the name cards were all disorganized. Minami hopped up behind the stage and took his place, but only after grabbing his name card from the 4th place spot and swapped it for 3rd, putting him next to Viktor, and that much closer to his idol, "Yuri-kun...you feeling better now?"
"...I'm fine..." He answered hesitantly, but trying to offer something that resembled a smile.
"I saw on the television that you passed out in the stands..." The petite skater went on, giving Yuri a bit of a start, "Viktor had to carry you out...I was really worried! But no one would let us get near! I'm glad you were able to stay though...I'd go crazy if I had to wait until tomorrow to ask after you..."
Ah jeeze...the whole thing was caught on camera, too? Yuri was feeling his guts growl anxiously, but he put a hand over them to silence their complaining. He looked back down the table, around his partner's shoulder, "Don't you have my cell…?"
Minami's eyes got huge, "Nooooooooooo."
"Oh...well, give your phone here; I'll add myself. Then just text me and I'll add you back."
"OhmygodI'mgettingYuri-kun'sPHONENUMBERAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH." The younger skater screeched, fumbling for his device and unlocking it before passing it to the Russian sitting between them. Viktor handed it in turn to Yuri, and Yuri put himself into the contacts list before passing it back down to its owner. Minami just looked on at the phone like it had suddenly been imbued with arcane power, "I'mneverchangingthisphone."
"Message me."
"AAHHHHHI'mtextingYuri-kuuunnnnn."
A few seconds later, Yuri's phone beeped with the new text.
[༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ]
He huffed a meager laugh and added the new contact, "I thought I gave you my number a long time ago. Guess now is as good a time as any though."
Another skater joined them up at the high table; someone none of them really knew, but then Asahi made his appearance, coming down the center aisle and finding his place on the far end, away from everyone. He didn't look at anyone, and didn't make a sound, though Viktor was staring knives at him anyway.
Yuri just felt sick again and curled over himself, putting his head on the table with a cheek down against it so he'd be looking the opposite direction, keeping his arms crossed in front of his stomach.
Viktor turned his eyes back, the sharp implements in his gaze replaced by worry-tinted affection. He just leaned closer, wrapping one protective arm over his partner's back, rubbing his thumb gently where his hand perched on one shoulder, "You going to make it, my love?"
"...Yeah..."
"This'll be over before you know it, and then we'll leave."
"...Okay..."
.
It still felt like an eternity before it was over, and they were finally walking through the last corridor before getting back to their hotel room. Yuri felt something of an adrenalin rush just as the door opened, and to Viktor's confusion, he went straight into the bathroom, shoved the door closed - and locked it - behind himself, and turned on every faucet he could find; the sink, the shower, and the soaking tub next to it.
Viktor blinked at the door, He really must be sick...he doesn't even want me to hear how bad he feels... I'm not sure if getting him medicine would help. He frowned slightly and moved further into the room, knowing his spouse was safe on his own now and the worst he'd have to deal with were the voices in his own head. Putting their gear up at least, Viktor put his shoes and winter coat away and rolled sideways onto the edge of their wide bed. Phone in-hand, he started doing another search.
[what do I do if I think my partner has been assaulted]
Within the bathroom, steam and fog was making the small room rather muggy. Heavy winter jacket and scarf were discarded on the floor, joined soon by the white Olympic jacket, and the shimmering silver costume jacket with its black cuff-ruffles and tiger-stripe windows cut into the arms. The sleeveless black turtleneck remained though as he started ravenously brushing his teeth...once, twice...three times... Mouth-wash didn't help either. He polished off both of the travel-size bottles that had been provided by the room. His mouth just burned then, but it still felt dirty. He raked a wash-cloth over his face, rubbing his skin raw. Not even a scalding-hot shower did a thing to cleanse the corruption away.
I can still feel him...taste him... He was cold, it was like being kissed by a corpse... Did I just imagine how awful it was!? Why am I reacting like this...!?
It went on that way for a while, though Yuri didn't keep track of the time. It had been dark already anyway when they got back, so the only thing he could tell about the time when he finally let himself out of the bathroom again, was that it hadn't gone on so long that it was daybreak already. He looked worse coming out than he had going in though, trying to hide himself under a bathrobe and three different towels, and carefully hobbled onto the farthest side of the bed from where he'd seen his husband's shadow.
"...Can we talk about this now?" Viktor asked quietly, watching carefully but unsure how to proceed, given that he basically knew nothing beyond his own speculation, "...Yuri..."
The towel pile had its back to the Russian, practically curling up into a ball there. Spindly, pale arms came out from under the damp fluff and slowly pulled one towel away, revealing at least the top of the younger man's head. Black hair was near as wet as it had been coming right out of the shower, dripping onto the sheets beneath it, "...I feel so disgusting..."
"Did he rape you?"
The question threw Yuri for a look, and his eyes widened, but he reached for one of the towels and wiped his face, "...No."
Viktor felt a pang of relief to hear it, "So then why are you acting like he did? Alarm bells have been blaring in my head since I couldn't get a text answer from you after my interview. I don't want to think my instincts on this are so off..."
Yuri hesitated to answer, the words in his head that he'd practiced for the last several minutes suddenly going silent. He felt a knot growing in his throat as he tried to speak on the fly instead, "...You told me, what...three...four times? Not to talk to him... That I should just let this blow over, and ignore it... I should've listened... Instead...I did the complete opposite... I trapped him in a room and wouldn't let him leave until we'd hashed it out... I thought if I got him to admit the things you were saying about him, that I could make him stop... I thought...if I made him come clean, and then rejected him outright...that he would get over it, like you said he should... I thought he just needed to hear those words from me, and that would end it. I was trying to be brave, like you...but in the end, I just..." Tears were already in his eyes again, burning them like sand and glass, "...I can't...get the taste of him out of my mouth..."
That made Viktor's heart sink, and he lowered his face into his hands.
Yuri cringed, his voice cracking then, "...I feel like I betrayed you... This whole thing is my fault... I trapped him and made him tell me everything, and he told me more than I ever thought there was to tell...and in the end, when I thought I'd gotten through to him, and figured out the answer to this problem... He kissed me, said goodbye, and left..." He sobbed, burying his head under his arms, "...And now I feel like I'll never be clean again, and I don't want to pass it on to you..."
In Viktor's head, he was equal parts enraged and in despair. A thousand grotesque fantasies flashed through his mind's eye of all the horrible things he wanted to do to Asahi that he could never get away with...but in the end, all he saw was his husband at the far end of their way-too-wide bed, crying, trying to be small, and blaming himself. Viktor put away all his violent revenge-fantasies and pushed up to his hands and knees, crawling over to the other side and sitting behind the pile of damp towels that his spouse had buried himself under. Slowly and carefully, he unwound the bundle, dropping the sopping wet cuts of fabric away, until he could more easily make out his partner's shape, and wedged his hands under those thin arms. In one fluid heave, Viktor hefted Yuri up, twisted around, put his back to the head-board, collapsed against the pillows there, and pulled his partner's back against his front. Soggy hair made a big wet spot on the chest of his shirt, but he didn't care. He wrapped himself as well around the younger figure as he could, feeling every tremble and cry as though it came from him instead. Knees came up on either side of the heap as ankles crossed under it, and he wrapped his arms around his husband's shoulders, pulling one hand up to brush it through raven strands, "...It's not your fault."
"...I knew that he would do something... I could hear you telling me at the back of my head, but I just... I trusted that he wouldn't... But he did anyway..." Yuri cried, hiccupping his breaths through each word, "...And now I just feel so disgusting...! Like I'll never be clean again! I just don't know what to do..."
Viktor continued the slow, gentle stroking of his fingers through his partner's hair, and held him close to his chest, "...Tell me everything that happened. I love you, and we're going to get through this, okay?"