A couple of seconds of pure shock was washed over by the strongest carnal urge Victor had ever experienced. He'd been with many a person, men and women alike, but no one had ever kissed him like this. The desperation of it, the heat on his tongue, the thunderstorm in his moans, Victor felt something uncoil rapidly in his chest. The entire thing was ripe with emotion, filled with strange comfort and familiarity, as though they'd been doing it for years. Yuuri clung to his shirt, while his other hand traveled to the small of his back and pulled him in, erasing the space between them. Victor buried his hands in Yuuri's hair, drinking in the feel and taste of this impulsive man, fully prepared to snap, and did nothing to stop him when he pulled him into the room and shut the door with his foot.

The bathroom light cast a soft glow on their entangled forms. Victor was now slightly damp from Yuuri's still wet body, and a pressure that hadn't been aroused in a long time took up residence in his pants. He was losing control, willingly resigning himself to feel anything and everything he could, and Yuuri seemed content to take him further off the edge with his glorious mouth. Victor pressed himself against the younger skater, his hands fucking everywhere now. The unbridled rush, the shameless proximity, the touching, the moans, the champagne...

Wait. He tasted like champagne...oh shit.

Victor's awareness came rushing back and he reluctantly pulled his lips away from Yuuri's own, but still held him close, "We really need to keep you away from alcohol, don't we?" he joked. Yuuri smiled at him, showing no offense that they were no longer kissing. He seemed oddly oblivious, as though roaming in a dream. He held Victor's face affectionately and the Russian felt his insides ricochet at being stared at with such genuine warmth. It was all he could do to say fuck it and see where the night led. But he didn't want to take advantage of Yuuri, and as willing as the man seemed, it didn't feel right to impose on him like this.

He took Yuuri's hand and kissed it lightly, wanting to reassure him, "Let's get you to bed. You're going to have a hell of a hangover. How did you even manage to make it in and out of the shower alive?"

Yuuri still didn't speak and allowed Victor to steer him to the bed. He briefly thought to look for some extra clothes to put Yuuri in but he was already comfortably on his side and curled into a rather adorable, drunken ball. Victor tucked him in, brushing some water from his forehead. His hand was trembling, the kiss fresh on his lips.

"Victor..."

Victor looked at Yuuri's face; his eyes were already closed, "Yes Yuuri?"

"Why did you...look so unhappy..."

Victor's eyes widened, "W-what do you mean?"

But Yuuri didn't reply. Victor stood listening to his soft breaths, the unexpected question, from the mouth of the most unexpected person, replaying in his mind. When did Yuuri find the time to make that observation?

He shook his head and made to leave, but a hand reached out and grazed his own, "Am I...dreaming..."

Victor's smile was sad, in more ways than one, "I don't think it will matter in the morning."

"Okay...will you...stay..."

Victor hesitated, once again feeling like an intruder. But, he found himself unable to say no. He looked around the room and saw a well-sized armchair off to the side. He pulled it towards the bed, as close as he could without having to prop up his legs, and relaxed into it. Yuuri's hand found his thigh once more.

"You dance...like your heart...is on fire..."

Victor was floored. What was it with this man tonight? Victor held his hand, stroking gently, "It was Yuuri. It...it burned for you."

"Tell me...why..."

Victor paused. He could lie. Should he lie? Yuuri wouldn't know the difference. Victor weighed the options and, wanting to take advantage of this unanticipated outlet to voice his inner demons, decided to take a risk, "Your technique on the ice is beautiful, did you know that? You have the skill but you lack the confidence. I have the skill but I'm starting to lack the inspiration. Everything is just so fucking monotonous now Yuuri. I keep telling myself I'm stronger on my own. What if I'm wrong? I'm twenty seven years old and I have nothing real to hold on to. You showed your confidence tonight, and that kiss showed your eros. It filled me with hope. Maybe one day I'll feel that kind of freedom. Maybe one day you'll show it on the ice."

"You...inspire me...but I failed..."

"Failure doesn't define you Yuuri. What you do next will. Tell me, what will you do now?"

"I'll skate...with you..."

Victor held Yuuri's hand a little tighter, "I would love that."

"Be...my coach..." Yuuri squeezed Victor's thigh, not noticing the tears now falling onto his hand. Victor covered his face with his free hand. What was even this night? Was it some kind of test? Was it fate?

"I'm no coach Yuuri," he wiped his eyes, "They say I only think of myself after all."

"Mmm," Yuuri yawned and drifted into a peaceful sleep, a major accomplishment considering the state of his liver. Victor watched over him, a great depression settling in him. Even though he'd revealed his troubles, here was another moment he started wishing Yuuri would remember. He would never know of their kiss, or how deeply he had cut with his innocent speech. He wouldn't remember dancing with him, or touching him, or looking at him with those magnificent eyes that shone like starlight. It felt too cruel.

Victor kissed his hand again, and leaned against the armrest. 'Just another few minutes,' Victor thought, looking at his watch. It was almost two a.m.

It would be another hour before Victor found the will to leave Yuuri's room.

Yuuri's alarm rang out, the shrillness dragging him out of sleep and into immediate agony. His entire body ached, but his head was the worst of the pain.

'Way too fucking loud,' he thought while his hand searched awkwardly for his phone, eventually finding it lodged under his pillow. He squinted at the time - eight a.m. Yuuri groaned and rolled off the bed, bumping into an armchair that he couldn't remembering moving. He absently began returning it to the corner, wondering what had possessed him to sleep half-naked, only to see something glint from the corner of his eye.

"Hmm?" he stooped, ignoring his sore legs, and fished a well-crafted silver watch from under the chair. It was minimally designed but luxurious in its elements and heavier than any watch Yuuri owned. Before he could decipher how the expensive timepiece had ended up in his room, his headache triggered a thick haze of nausea. He dropped the watch and phone on the chair and sprinted to the bathroom.

'Oh fuck, how much did I drink?' Yuuri tried to remember anything from last night and found a giant gap between arriving at the banquet and currently regurgitating much of what he'd eaten in the last twenty four hours. Why the fuck did he listen to Celestino? He should've rescheduled his flight and left Sochi right after the finals.

What a fucking nightmare the past two days had been. Yuuri gripped the sink, his stomach churning. Hungover, disappointed, broken, and missing a large chunk of his memory from the night before. This was not the way to start the morning.

Victor could not fucking believe he had dropped his watch in Yuuri's room. It was the only explanation at this point. He cursed himself as he retraced his steps early that the morning, and inquired about it at the front desk with discretion. Nothing had shown up in the lost and found, and Victor had triple checked his room. He made a note to ask a staff member to check Yuuri's room later.

'Goddammit,' Victor fumed, 'What is with the past twenty-four hours? How much more ridiculous can it get?'

He stood in the lobby, under the guise of saying goodbye to Yuri but silently hoping a certain skater hadn't already left for the airport. He listened to the younger Russian detail his plans for practice next week. Victor nodded and offered random advice, mostly to calm his nerves after being so careless. He sent his thanks to the universe that he was wearing shades as Yuuri exited the elevator. His eyes lit up in a way that lay his feelings out on his sleeve.

Yuuri checked himself out, and then stood alone on the opposite side of the lobby, scrolling through his phone. His coach stood at the front desk sorting out his own business. He looked like hell, the dark lines, bloodshot eyes, and uncombed hair impossible to miss. Victor's heart was speeding up though. Did he remember anything? Did he find the watch? Was he deliberately not looking in his direction? How had things escalated so quickly?

'Would you look at me Yuuri, for fuck's sake!' he shouted inwardly.

He couldn't take it anymore. Victor excused himself from his current discussion and casually strolled towards Yuuri, drinking his coffee as he bridged the gap. 'Stay calm, you're just greeting a fellow competitor, this is not a big deal,' Victor thought.

"Excuse me," he said and Yuuri nearly dropped his phone. The man looked up at Victor, not with longing, not with laughter, not with starlight in his eyes. No, it was replaced with something blank and unreadable, as though Victor was a common stranger. Yuuri shoved his phone in his pocket, took his bag and walked out of the hotel without a word.

Victor watched him go. He'd been right in his assessment at least; Yuuri didn't remember a damn thing. He was still battling whether that was a good or bad thing. But even worse, he was back to fully ignoring him. It was the second time in too few hours that it had happened and it would be many months before he admitted how much that single moment had hurt.