Chapter 4: Torn

Victor ignored the cameras, lights and extra commotion as he swept across the ice, his mind deeply focused, not on the competition that everyone was so up in arms about, but the two opposing themes that did battle for dominance in his mind.

Eros…sexual love…pleasure, layered upon pleasure, until you are drowning in it…

Agape…unconditional love…like God's love or a parent's…

Each one has its appeal, but which one should I use for my short program? I would say whichever one would surprise the audience more, but for some reason, it seems like no matter what I do, it doesn't surprise anyone anymore. Time after time, program after program, year after year, I've been able to start over and give the audience something fresh and exciting. I'm known for doing that. Yakov has scolded me for it, although he couldn't argue with my success over the years. It seemed like I had an endless bounty of surprises to offer.

But…this time is different.

"Hey," Yuri Plisetsky called out, "what exactly are you doing?"

Victor slowed and stopped to rest alongside his more youthful companion.

"What do you mean?" he asked, frowning.

"You look like you don't know what the hell you want to do today. You'd better get your head together or those reporters are going to think something's wrong."

"They can think what they want to," Victor sighed, "Many of them have already decided I'm retiring after this season."

"Huh, maybe you should," Yuri huffed, "After this season, you're not going to be the top skater anyway. You should quit while you're ahead."

"Hmm, maybe," Victor teased, smirking, "but you know I'm not the kind of person to do what anyone is expecting. It would have to be a surprise."

He skated away before Yuri could answer.

Really though? My programs this season are very strong. My scores are as high as ever, and I've added a new dimension to my performance in the free skate. If this keeps up, it will quell the rumors of me wanting to quit, that's for sure. It could set up a scenario in which I could retire and it would shock people.

But…I don't want to quit.

I am a figure skater. I love what I do. I want to be a figure skater for as long as I can. I don't want to quit yet. But…if I want to keep on skating, I have to find my motivation. I just wonder where I will find it. Can I even find it here in Saint Petersburg? Do I need to go somewhere else? What is holding me back this time? Is it that I need new surroundings? New people around me? What? What is it that I need to keep going?

The question continued to nag at him as he finished his practice and listened absently to Yakov's nagging before heading home to pack for the trip to Sochi.

"Come, Maccachin," he called to his old poodle, "you're going to stay with Lilia while I'm away."

He tried not to hear the sad little whine that his words brought on.

I feel like a shit. I never get to let down. I don't get to spend enough time with him. Between skating practice, weight training, dance classes, interviews and getting drunk to fight the stress, I don't have much time left. Neither one of us is getting any younger.

When I get back, I will take a little time to just play with him.

We both need the break.

But who am I kidding? After the Grand Prix Final, there are nationals, the European championships and worlds. It just never seems to let up. That didn't used to bother me. I suppose it only does right now because I feel frustrated.

What is it?

What do I need?

He was still mulling over the question all of the way to Lilia's, where he hugged Maccachin and said goodbye, and he still had no answers as he reached the airport and boarded the plane. Talking to other skaters on the team gave him no peace, so he finally retreated to his seat and indulged in several glasses of champagne to stop his brooding. The alcohol made him sleepy, which he was grateful for, since the flight was a long one. But eventually, the plane landed in Sochi and he had to disembark.

His mind still muddied from the champagne, he completely failed to see the young, brown-eyed foreigner who spotted him and sucked in a surprised breath, freezing and staring as Victor passed by him, close enough for the young man to reach out and touch him.

"Yuuri!" an older man's voice called, "Come, I've got your bag."

A tiny yelp escaped the Japanese skater as Victor's head turned and his face broke into a friendly smile.

"Hello, Celestino," he called out cheerfully.

"Hello, Victor," Celestino called back as Victor nodded, then continued on his way, not seeming to notice the young man next to the coach, who continued to gape at him breathlessly.

"Yuuri," Celestino said, shaking his head.

Yuuri's open mouth closed and his eyes blinked as he came back to awareness. Celestino followed the path of his skater's gaze and chuckled.

"Why didn't you say hello?" Celestino said, shaking his head, "He's a person, like you and me. Victor is kind to his fans."

"Uh…s-sorry," Yuuri managed breathlessly, "I was just surprised by him. I wasn't expecting we'd meet just yet. I didn't know what to say."

"Heh, heh, you just say hello," Celestino said, patting him on the back, "I am sure he doesn't bite."

"Yeah," Yuuri laughed anxiously, "probably not."

"Come on. I'm sure you'll get your chance to talk to Victor and be more polite to him later."

"R-right," Yuuri said, falling in at Celestino's side.

They left the terminal and headed out to where a taxi waited. The driver loaded their bags in the trunk of the car and Yuuri climbed into the back seat, next his coach.

"The hotel is a really nice one," Celestino said conversationally, "There's an inside swimming pool and there are shops and restaurants that you can go to without going outside in the cold."

"Oh, that's good," Yuuri said, looking absently out the window.

It's hard to believe I'm really here. I worked hard to qualify. I was surprised that I actually did. It hardly feels real.

And when I saw Victor up close like that…

I smelled his scent. It was a sort of sweet scent, but not flowery, and I smelled champagne, so he must have been drinking on the flight. They serve champagne in first class, where he would have been. He was smiling, but…it looked a little like his eyes were tired. Probably from the long flight.

I feel stupid for not even saying something to him. He probably thinks I'm rude…that is, if he noticed me at all.

He only half paid attention to Celestino's continued praise of the location and everything around it. It was a relief to Yuuri when they reached the hotel and left the car to go up to their rooms. Celestino left him at the door to his room and Yuuri walked inside and turned on the light, sighing softly in relief at finally being alone. He heard female voices speaking in Russian in the hallway, then he heard a male voice that he knew he would recognize anywhere.

It's him.

He's speaking in Russian, so I don't know what he's saying, but I love the way his voice sounds…so smooth and happy and friendly. I wish I could open the door and…and what? I suppose I could act like I'm going out somewhere. I am kind of hungry, but…I don't know.

I should open the door.

Yeah, I should go out and get something to eat. Maybe if I do, then he will say something. Because I know if he looks at me like before, I won't be able to say anything. That's the way I am around him. I feel so stupid!

He took a step towards the door, then froze, his heart pounding like a drum. He put his ear to the door, listening to Victor's laughter and happy chatter, pretending that Victor was smiling at him, talking to him…kissing him.

Yuuri blinked in surprise and gave a fearful little yelp.

Why did I think that?

Yuuri gritted his teeth, frowning in determination.

I'm going to do it. I'm going to go out there, and if he looks at me, I'm going to give him a greeting in Russian. I've practiced it a million times. I know how.

I can do this.

He put his hand on the doorknob…and his cell phone chose that exact moment to ring. He looked down at the number, then touched a button to answer.

"Hello? Mom?" he mused, "Yeah, I just got here."

He paused, his frown deepening at the sadness he heard beneath his mother's trying to be cheerful voice.

"I'm afraid there's some bad news, Yuuri," Hiroko said.

Yuuri felt his insides freeze.

"What is it, Mom?" he asked.

"It's Vic-chan," his mother explained, "We don't know what happened. He got very sick. We were going to tell you, but we were trying to wait until we knew what was making him sick. We took him to the vet, but he passed away this morning. I'm…so sorry, Yuuri."

Yuuri's throat tightened and he couldn't say anything for a moment.

"Yuuri?"

"S-sorry, Mom," he apologized.

"I know you must be really upset. I wish I could be there."

"It's okay," he said softly, "I'll be okay, really Mom. I am sad, but…I'm sure that you did all you could."

"We did. We'll make sure that he gets a loving goodbye. We'll tell him goodbye for you. I promise."

"Thanks, Mom," Yuuri whispered, "I uh…have to go. Coach is here."

He touched the button to end the call, then walked over to the bed and sat down.

"Vic-chan," he whispered, putting his face in his hands, "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

He remained on the bed, silently crying, even ignoring when Coach Celestino knocked on the door, calling to him to go out to dinner. Loathe to go outside his room, he ordered a huge meal from room service, then sat by the window, looking out at the rain until a knock came on the door. Thinking it was his food, he got up and went to answer it. Rubbing his eyes and sniffing, he opened the door, then he froze, staring as he found himself face to face with none other than Victor Nikiforov. The Russian skater started to say something in Russian, then he paused, realizing he had made some sort of mistake, and he quickly apologized.

"Oh, sorry, I thought this was someone else's room," he said in English, "Sorry to bother you."

He continued down the hallway, leaving Yuuri unmoving and staring at the place he had been.

Oh my god, that was pathetic! Yuuri scolded himself, I should have said something! Anything! Again, I could have talked to him, but I couldn't say a word. He must think I'm an idiot!

I am an idiot.

He started to turn back inside, but spotted his food order being wheeled down the hallway. He sighed wearily and opened the door, stepping out of the way so the deliveryman could push the cart inside. He looked around, as though expecting more people to be there, then he looked at Yuuri for a moment.

"Oh, sorry," Yuuri apologized, taking a bit of money out of his bag.

God, I don't even know how much is right, he mused, looking down at the bills and coins in his hands.

The deliveryman smiled kindly and touched one of the bills. Yuuri managed a little smile and handed it to him, then he started to close the door behind him. But again, he heard Victor's smooth, happy sounding voice, and he saw his idol walking down the hallway towards him.

"Mmmm," Victor sighed, smelling the air, "someone better be inviting me to dinner because that smells so good!"

Yuuri panicked and closed the door quickly, cringing at the loud noise it made.

Why don't I just slam the door in his face? I should have been polite! I should have…

Oh man…I wish I could just disappear.

I want to be invisible.

XXXXXXXXXX

Victor looked around the hallway, frowning.

So, it wasn't 2342 or 2432. Was is 2324? 2423? Which room was Chris's?

He breathed a sigh of relief as one of the doors near him opened and Christophe Giacometti poked his head out into the hallway.

"Hi there, Victor," he snickered, "Did you get lost?"

"I got the numbers all mixed up," Victor giggled, "I must have had too much champagne on the airplane."

"Oh, I don't think there's any such thing," Chris said flippantly, "So, what trouble do you want to get into? Shall we have dinner? Go to a dance club?"

"We should do both and afterward…"

The two exchanged amused glances.

"Skinny dipping!" they said together.

They continued walking to the elevators and took one down to the shops and restaurants.

"Let's go shopping, Chris," Victor suggested.

"Oh, but I'm hungry and thirsty too," Chris complained.

"But if we eat now, we'll get wasted and we won't want to shop," Victor reminded him.

"That's probably true," Chris agreed, looking around at the shops, "Ugh, but I don't feel like shopping. How about we go shopping tomorrow instead?"

"Didn't we do this before?" Victor asked, smirking, "At the last Grand Prix Final, every day, you said we'd go shopping, but we kept going out to eat and got drunk and forgot."

"Well," Chris said, pulling out his phone and typing a message, "here, I just messaged you to remind you we'll go shopping tomorrow."

"Good idea," Victor said approvingly.

"Oh shit, I think I texted to the wrong number," Chris laughed.

"Yeah, it's not showing up on my phone."

Chris shook his head and let out a huff of breath.

"See, it's just not meant to be. Let's go have some food and get wasted and dance," he suggested.

"All right, but I do want to go shopping tomorrow. I haven't been shopping in ages!"

"Fine. Come on," Chris said, taking Victor's arm and pulling him along.

"All right, I'm coming," Victor laughed.

They moved from restaurant to restaurant on the hotel's mezzanine, considering until they found one that served food and had a full bar menu.

"And look, there's even dancing too!" Victor said happily, "This looks great. Let's go in here."

In moments, the two young men were seated in a booth and looking over menus.

"Maybe I just want to get started dancing," Chris said, looking around, "Hey, there's my date. Hey, Masumi! Over here. Come on, let's dance!"

Victor chuckled, watching as the two made their way to the busy dance floor. Victor perused the menu, looking over the many options, but feeling slightly distracted.

Maybe I should start dancing too, he thought, looking over at his two dancing friends, If I sit here alone, I'm going to start thinking about those programs again.

His eyes narrowed as they moved from sexy, Eros-like Chris to the more innocent looking Masumi.

Eros? Or Agape?

Sexual love or unconditional love?

He frowned and blinked as a sudden image flickered in the back of his mind…a memory of someone who he wasn't sure whether or not he had really seen. He caught a brief mental image of slightly messy hair and large brown eyes, but found he couldn't place them.

What is wrong with my head today? he wondered.

Finally, he ordered a drink, then abandoned the table, moving out to the dance floor, where it was easy to find someone who wanted to dance. He switched partners often, enjoying the chance to meet and talk to a lot of different people. If nothing else, it took his mind off of the struggle to define his next program.

The dancing and drinking continued until late in the night, when Chris, Masumi and Victor staggered out of the club and headed back up to their rooms. Victor stumbled down the hallway to his room and fell onto the bed, already mostly asleep.

I wish Maccachin was here. I always hug him and it helps me to sleep.

He did manage to convince his poor, drunk and exhausted body to drop off, but even so, he was harassed as he slept with two images that crashed around in his head…one a sweet looking brown-eyed boy who looked like someone he thought he might have seen before, and the other, also with brown eyes, but narrowed and with sexy, smirking lips and a seductive posture.

God, can you just leave me alone so I can sleep?

But his body couldn't help but react to the two colliding images. They spun and warped and combined until he thought they might be the same person.

Eros.

Agape.

What can I do?

This is killing me.