It was snowing heavily in Moscow, coating everything and anything in a white blanket. It almost looked like the Earth itself was falling asleep under the lull of the crescent moon that was sparkling with a sneaky glint. It was 4 in the morning and the streets were as quiet as a mother who put her baby to sleep after hours of lulling...
Not even a single murmur could be heard.
"NOOuuuuuuuuu!"
Well, except for that unholy hoarse scream that could have woken up the whole neighborhood, that is, if they weren't walking by the secluded highway that looked like the main setting for a horror movie scene with all the snow around.
What would have looked like an angry grandfather dragging his drunken grandson home for punishment for fooling around with young maidens, was actually a figure skating coach/trainee pair that had gotten a bit lost (not without the immense help from said trainee ) after the party they had disappeared from hours ago.
"I don't waaaaant t'do another interview", slurred the younger one, trying to get away from his mentor as fiercely as a drunken kitten, or a piggy, some might say.
Now this boy – well, MAN, was Katsuki Yuuri, Japan's top figure skater, who always qualified for the finals of every championship there was and always lost spectacularly to everyone. Getting the last place was like his special karma or something. As if he was cursed to always qualify and fail for the whole world to see and laugh.
Nerves, they sure can get to you…scary! Get a grip, Katsuki-san!
Currently, he was cold, wet (partly, his feet were soaked through due to lousy old boots that needed to be changed ASAP!), hungry, and still quite drunk.
"Like hell you don't!" growled the older man, tightening his vice grip on the boy and dramatically dragging him along the vast nothingness that was Russian Snowfall in the dead of night, or morning.
Whatever.
Now this charming eyebrow (yes he has extremely weird eyebrows that actually grow like that! Talk about hawk eyes…maybe all Italians have unique facial features?) man, was muttering profanities under his breath in a mix of broken English, flawless sexy Italian and extremely weird Japanese ( as if he learned it from watching anime ... who the hell talks like that?)
"Not after what you pulled off today at the party! You were supposed to be serious and calm and collected, someone who can deal with anything!" he ranted, pace intensifying along with the force of his grip. Yuuri whimpered. And to think it was him who convinced the heartbroken skater to come to that party…
This man, well, in Yuuri's eyes a demon currently, was his coach de la italiano, Celestino Cialdini, or "Ciaociao" for short and fluffy. Mind you, the nickname absolutely did NOT come from Phichit's family dog, King, who coincidentally happened to be a chowchow. Not at all. He was strict, always to the point and very hard to deal with at times. Also his eyebrows were distracting. And his eyes. The whole image always screamed 'Lock-on, I am a predator, I'll eat you alive'. Well, unless you fed him spaghetti or something.
"-..ked, well nearly naked! What was going through that idiot brain of yours at that time? Eh? Eeeeh? Not to mention the pole dancing! Why was there a pole anyways? Who brings a pole to a formal afterparty!"
Ah, it seems we got sidetracked a little, let's get back to our merry duo now, shall we?
"What was that?!" roared the man, ponytail swishing back and forth with the speed they were gaining. It seemed that Yuuri had mumbled a small reply to that rhetorical question, trying to keep his balance and free himself at the same time while stumbling around in knee deep snow. Luck was on their side or they both would have faceplanted long ago had it been deadly ice.
They would have made charming snow angels! Or devils…
"I said, t'was Chris…"
"Ah, yes", a snort. "The sparkly eyelashes from Switzerland. Are they all like that? Their men are more feminine than their women!"
Yuuri's eyes unfocused, remembering a certain Russian skater and their dance. He opened his mouth to say something, probably resembling an "Oh, Victor~" but was cut off with a harsh tug to the middle of the street.
"And you are still not getting off the interview! Come on we need to get a ride! WE are going back to the hotel, YOU are getting some sleep and in the morning YOU and your FABULOUS FLAMENCO self will be giving an interview. And don't you DARE dodge questions!"
Yuuri gave his best (he practiced on his own sister!) puppy eyes. But of course his coach was immune.
Italians, I say…
Ciaociao narrowed his eagle eyes and grunted, "And no, I will NOT be answering anything in your stead."
"Bu..but it's 4! Like, morning 4! Super late night em..early 4!", the whining intensified. "We're never going t' find a taxi or ANY car anyways! Can we just…um, you know, just a, uh…"
Well, that really was a problem. Quite a big one, it seemed, I mean, even the angry coach went silent and loosened his grip somewhat, eyes downcast, trying to think of a solution. With both their phones long dead (Celestino's really WAS dead, as it took a nice long swim during the party in the resident wine pitcher, screen flickering pathetically a few times before dying in the blood of grapes…Yuuri had gone all "Make us free, na splash, kasametta.." at that time, hands together in a silent prayer to the now dead device) it was pretty much impossible to contact anyone or anything.
Why didn't they keep pagers around anymore?
Yuuri tried to use this momentum to get away. With mysterious ninja-like skills out of nowhere (most probably from all the champagne), he disengaged all his captive limbs and turned to make a beeline to hell knows where, when a beep resonated through the emptiness and an astonishingly white light came right on his frozen face, momentarily blinding him. A screech was heard and a car appeared milliseconds after the light, making an eyebrow raising U-turn and stopping right beside them in a well done drift.
Chris would have approved of it with a low whistle.
The snow whirlwind the driver brought with himself settled down to reveal an old, blue Zaporojets.
A window rolled down with a little screech along with the layer of snow gathered on it and an enormous furry scarf poked itself outside to greet them.
A few silent minutes they were all blinking at each other, during which it became evident that the 'scarf' was actually a human head, wrapped exquisitely in a white, red and blue patterned scarf (patriot much?). A small patch of what looked like straw at first was actually hair, the color a magnificent shade of noodles from Yuuri's beloved katsudon! The only visible part that could be attributed to a human was a sharp, distinctly Russian nose, angry red from the cold and his eyes, a unique blend of grey and green. Those eyes were staring Yuuri down, seizing him.
Yuuri gulped audibly.
Celestino's left eyebrow started lowering.
"If you need a taxi, I can take you wherever you need to go", the unknown 'straw' spoke up, his sharp, rough English cutting the air like a knife.
Yuuri gulped and took a step back, suddenly becoming keenly aware that they were in the middle of nowhere, without their phones, in the dead of night with their passports in their pockets to top it…
And it was snowing almost as much as Phitchit had shed dandruff from his head that one time when he used the wrong shampoo in Detroit!
"We'll take that offer, young man! Take us to Aerostar Hotel!"
The stranger grinned so wide that one could see it even with all the mummy scarf wrapping.
Yuuri whimpered once more, dreading the ride.
And dreadful it was, as Yuuri was chewed out by Celestino again and again. And the fact that their stranger Russian driver was right THERE, listening to it all was the worst.
"No, I will not do the interview! I don't want to talk to the cameras or the people! I don't want to talk to anyone!" huffed the Japanese, slumping in a defeated lump in the backseat, his drunkedness still evident in the slight 'whoosh' his hands were making in the air. "You wanted me to have fun, right? Riiiiight! Well I did, it was my way of loosening up! So WHAT?"
"So what!" the coach took a deep breath. "I'll tell you what! If someone leaks those photos and videos, you are done for! All those years skating and you STILL don't have a sponsor! There were potential candidates there! Yet you went and ruined it all!"
"What photos? Someone was taking photos?"
A barely audible snort escaped the silent driver. The two in the back ignored him completely.
But the boy kept his eyes trained on the mirror, watching and silently making his own bizarre deductions.
He really should be keeping his eyes on the road though, not to mention BOTH hands on the wheel…
"Yuuri.."
"Ciaociao, pleeeease. I'll figure something out about the whole sponsorship thing, just..",he sighed, dejected. "Let me be tomorrow. I really can't take any reporters, especially after Vicchan.."
His voice broke at the end.
"Let's just go to the airport! I'll fly back to Japan, you deal with press!" He sat up with a vigor and gently tapped straw driver's back. "Please take us to Sheremetyevo, please!"
A hand yanked him back rather sharply.
"Don't you dare, young man! Straight to the hotel and that's it!"
"I am NOT doing that interview, Celestino!"
"Oh yes you are! You're not a Japanese maiden in distress, nor am I chivalrous enough to grant your drunken ass any request! It's fina-.." His words formed a surprised 'aaaaaa' as the engine grunted, screeched like a wet cat and finally came to a stop."..ah?"
"Wha…whats going on?" demanded the man. Yuuri was looking back and forth, discreetly smelling the air for any kind of weird pre-explosion smoke or something. The grin on his face was a little unnerving though.
The blondie shrugged, turning the key in the ignition a few times in a futile attempt to make it work again.
"Brat!"
"Um…right! We're gona have to push…" the boy said, already getting out of the car. "It'll go back up once we give it a little nudge".
The cold air hit Yuuri and he snapped out whatever evil horror trance he had gotten himself into. As he opened the door to get out as well, the blonde snapped it close with a leer. "We need some weight to be inside, you stay, piggy. Mr. Ciaobrows, you come push from the back."
Yuuri snorted at the nickname, then burst into full blown laughter, not even bothering to smother his guffaws.
Celestino threw his a dirty glare and heavily shuffled out, leaving an almost crying Yuuri inside.
Merrily, they pushed the car in the snow, the Italian old man pushing from the back, the blonde youth pushing right beside the front seat, the door open. Step by step, the vehicle inched forward. Then just as Celestino was starting to feel the burn of muscles in his arms, the blonde hopped into the front seat, with the agility of a tiger, turned the key, bringing the dead engine back to life and the car sped away, leaving the poor coach to scream after them incredulously.
Funny thing was, Yuuri himself was screaming as well.
"Oh shut it!", yelled the boy, snapping the door shut and turning around to face the Japanese. Yuuri snapped his mouth shut in sheer bewilderment from the death glare (he had to work on it, it looked too cute to be scary) the child was giving him. Yes child.
Somewhere in the process of all this he had unwrapped his scarf. Now it hung low on his neck, exposing his youthful features to the one and only passenger. He was incredibly cute. Women would swoon at his mare glance in the future. Honestly, Russians...
Dimly, Yuuri noted that this he was probably around 17 years old, if not younger. And this child had just kidnapped him.
Cute.
And weird. And scary. And I'm never going to see Kaa-san and Mari nee-chan again!
Clearing his throat awkwardly, Yuuri asked.
"Wh..where are we going?"
"What do you mean where? The airport of course!"
"Ah, of course! Wait who decided that?" He stared at the mirror, trying to be intimidating. Somewhere at the back of his mind he made a note that lighter colored eyes were automatically more intimidating. Right…
"What do you mean who? Yuri, of course!"
Yuuri put a hand to his heart, "I did NOT!"
The teen swung around to face him, one hand still on the wheel.
"Who the hell said anything about YOU, piggy? I said Yuri did, Yuri!"
"Ah…watch the road, please?"
He got an angry huff as a reply.
This kid was precious…like a cinnamon roll.
"So, Yuri who again? Decided, I mean, that we are going to the airport?"
"Plisetsky, remember that! Yuri Plisetsky did!"
"And..who is Yuri Plisetsky?"
"Me!"
"Oh…."
They spend a few more minutes in silence.
"Celestino is alone out there, in the cold, we really should go back. Yuri-cha~n, stop playing around."
The car came to a halt, making Yuuri collide with the back of the front seat. While he was nursing his nose, the boy fully faced him, nearly hanging off the seat. His expression was a mix between anger, guilt and admiration.
This baffled the skater to silence.
"You wanted to go back to your Japan, right? If we go back now, you'll have to do that interview! Right?!"
"Yuri-cha-.."
"Stop! Don't call me Yuri-chan!"
"Yurio then?"
"Wha? NO, no no no!" the blonde reached towards his almost namesake, hands posed as if to strangle him.
"Yurio, he is-.."
"Evil, manipulating, heartless, eyebrow man! The perfect villain! Besides, I actually messaged the taxi center for a car. He will have a ride anyways. What do you say?!"
Yuuri considered it for a minute, finger nearly in his mouth from his thinking pose. Yuri the Smaller raised a perfect eyebrow at the all too familiar gesture a certain playboy had.
"Okay!"
"Okay?"
"Uuun, Okay!"
When the old radio croaked to life, Yuuri was in the front, and the boys were munching on some pirojki and having a nice, pleasant chat about this and that ("how old are you Yurio?" "Don't call me..- uh whatever! I'm fifteen!" "Fif….teen. Ah. I see. WHO THE HELL LET YOU DRIVE? DO YOU EVEN HAVE A LICENSE?" "IF YOU YELL, PIGGY, I YELL TOO! And no, of course I don't! But my grandpa lets me drive for practice! I'm goo~d, right? Right?").
The old player was ignored mostly, until a certain song popped up.
Yuuri started humming almost on autopilot.
"Taaaam, tam pam, paaam, and the starry sky, spreading above~…"
Yuri glanced at him, eyes wide and staring. The Japanese skated grinned. "I love this song. Actually all the skaters my age and younger adore it."
"Really", Yuri inquired in a slightly disbelieving voice. "No one in my class knows it..like no one! But I really like it! My uncle hates it though…"
"Yeah, I know what you mean. No one in my course knows it either, besides me and my roommate Phichit! But he's a skater, so it's kind of …Yeah.", he trailed off, tapping his foot to the beat. "None of the older skaters like it though. Chris always 'stage vomits' when he hears it and Victor…ah.."
Yuri smiles mischievously and nods. Yuuri taps his foot, Smallish Yuri taps his fingers on the wheel. On an signal none of them even agreed on, they both started.
"I can rule the world, JJ, just follow me, I will break the walls, now look at me", they sing/scream simultaneously, each pointing to themselves like over washed drama queens. "..also be the blind side of the enemy, this is who I am, just remember me.."
Yuuri sprawls himself on the blonde's lap like a cat not even thinking that this child was actually driving. Yuri glances at him, face flushed from the adrenaline rush and sheer happiness of being able to sing his favorite song with someone who actually knew the lyrics.
"I'M THE KING JJ, NO ONE DEFEATS ME, THIS IS WHO I AM BABY, just follow me..-"
Yuuri raises his hands up like a conductor, while Yuri fake-longingly stares out of the window, eyes downcast.
"..just follow me off the ground", they sing softly, then burst in a fit of giggles.
In case you are wondering, no, they didn't crash on the way, yes, they reached the airport, yes, a certain phone was put to charge and bombarded with missed call messages from a certain coach who seemed to be back in the hotel already, no, Yuuri didn't return to him, yes, indeed he actually left for Japan, of course not before giving his almost namesake a hug and a promise to sing together again in the dead on night.
Wonderful memories, right?
In case you were also wondering, yes, Yuuri did forget everything after the 9 hour beauty sleep he got on the plane.
Shame…
Well, don't worry, in a few month those two will see each other once more, when Yuri follows his wayward uncle on his quest of self-discovery ( really, for a man who should be settling down with a family, self-discovery at his age? Pathetic!), love and inspiration to Japan.
More specifically, for a certain piggy who could hit all the highest notes like a pro in his most favourite song of his most hated singer/skater.
Honestly, JJ should go to hell.
But, maybe record a few songs before that…
Omake:
The car was safely parked in the garage and Yuri Plisetski was munching on the remaining potato bun. "Yuuri is interesting.", he mused out to the wide sky. "It's a shame he butchered the performance. Though, the choreography sucked so much.. ugh. But, I'm glad i got to see him!". He chuckled and took another big bite. Yuuri was his idol, that one and only skater he admired. And it was all because he saw that performance, back when Yuuri was 12. His very first one, and, well the only one he won. Since then Little Yuri followed his namesake's every move. He even has a photo collection in his phone.
With a password, so no one snoops. A certain silverette no one, that is.
"Well Victor sucks. Still don't get how that idiot didn't even recognize .. uh, idiot, stupid Victor!", he ranted, stuffing the rest of the pirojok in his mouth in one go. Yeah his uncle ( in reality he adored him probably as much as Yuuri) was an airhead, the biggest idiot the world could have.
Wiping his slightly greasy hands on his jeans like any teenage brat would, he huffed, rolled his shoulders and went on to undertake new mission - sneaking home unnoticed.
"YURI PLISETSKIY! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!"
"Uhh.."