Three months later
Yuuri surveyed his bare room. His belongings were already boxed, save for a few loose articles and trinkets which he planned to stick into his carry-on luggage. There were dozens of tiny holes across the walls of the room, a patchwork reminder of the collage of posters he and Phichit had created since they'd been sharing the apartment. He sighed at the sight, turning away as the memories inched too close for comfort.
He'd finished college, finally, having taken an extra year to get the task done while he pursued skating. As much as it made him happy to have accomplished something, he was now caught in a loop of worry about what his next move should be. Heading home to Hasetsu was something of a last resort. Yes, he loved his family, and he missed the comfort of his small castle town but, no matter which way he sliced it, he missed skating more. It wasn't easily noticeable, especially after his disaster of a performance at Sochi, but it lingered below the surface. Pulsing. Waiting.
Yuuri wished he knew what he had to give it so he could feel whole again.
After breaking ties with Celestino, Yuuri never went to rink during his former coach and Phichit's practice times. Phichit knew he opted for quieter times, when it was generally just him alone. Yuuri never told him what he did during those hours on the ice but it was Phichit, and some days Yuuri was convinced he was all-knowing. Phichit also kept all their conversations light, fun and filled with traditional Thai music. There was no mention of next season. As far Yuuri was concerned, the furthest he could ponder was graduation. Any more, and he would break, just like he'd done in Sochi.
"Is that everything Yuuri?" Phichit pulled him from his thoughts. Yuuri smiled at his best friend.
"I guess so. It's not like there was much to begin with," he joked.
Phichit nodded, giving the small space a once-over; his eyes landed on a stack of glossy, curled paper poking from under Yuuri's bed. He made to bend, to pick them up but Yuuri shook his head.
"Leave those." Phichit recognized the strain in his voice, "It doesn't matter." The way Yuuri's eyes lingered on them screamed that yes, it did fucking matter. It would always matter. It was the reason he'd fought so hard to get to the Grand Prix finals in the first place.
Phichit immediately steered the conversation away from that particular brand of quicksand, "The shipping company should be here in an hour. C'mon, lets take a walk. Want to grab something to eat?"
Yuuri brightened just enough that Phichit could latch onto it and continue directing Yuuri towards more positive thoughts. He launched into a detailed synopsis of traditional Thai cuisine, and begged Yuuri to, again, explain what his favortie dish, katsudon, tasted like. By the time they'd sated their hunger, and returned to the apartment, Phichit had, for the time being, cheered Yuuri up some. It had become more difficult to achieve it, but Phichit was unapologetic in making sure Yuuri spent as much time in a good mood before heading back to Japan.
Neither of them wanted to admit it, but things were going to get difficult for Yuuri. Like it or not, something had to give.
They stood in the airport, tucking away their emotions in silly jokes and evanescent small talk. When Phichit eventual said 'Fuck this' and crushed him in a hug, Yuuri's eyes were swimming with tears, "Don't be a stranger Yuuri. I mean it. Message and call me as often as you like because I'll be doing the same. I don't care about the time difference, okay?"
Yuuri returned the gesture, a rare show of emotion to a friend who'd stuck by him through all his unsociable moments, "I will. I'm really sorry I have to leave like this." He mind wandered to the way Celestino had looked at him, his words of understanding and encouragement not meeting his eyes during their last conversation. Yuuri was used to that, used to being looked at with pity. He had an archive of such expressions for times he needed it least, like that godforsaken bathroom he'd found himself sitting in after his free skate in Sochi.
"You don't owe anyone an explanation, least of all me," he said firmly, and there was nothing but fierce resolve in his voice, "There's still time to make a decision, and whatever you choose, you know I'll support you."
Yuuri was nodding, fighting the tears; when he looked up, Phichit saw all the helplessness he'd been bottling for weeks spill over, "I-I don't know what to do Phichit. How do I come back from this? What should I do?"
Phichit pulled him into another protective hug, and rubbed small, calming circles into his back, "I know how much you love skating Yuuri. It's not something you can hide. I also know how much Sochi took out of you. It doesn't have to be the end. It was just one moment. It doesn't define you Yuuri."
Failure doesn't define you Yuuri. What you do next will. Tell me, what will you do now...
The voice was low and fleeting in the back of his mind. Somehow, it cleared his vision and breathing just enough that he heaved his way back from a mild breakdown. The voice was accented, soft and reassuring. It wasn't the first time it had swirled through his mind, leaving him with a fresh warmth that straightened his thinking, if only temporarily.
"Don't stress yourself out on the flight," Phichit continued, "There'll be time to think about what you want to do when you get back home. I know you haven't slept in the past few days. Please get some rest, do it for me, okay?"
Yuuri nodded and Phichit beamed, "Take a selfie with me. C'mon smile!" Yuuri obliged, because Phichit had that effect on him. He listened to the silly quip Phichit invented on the spot and found himself smiling wide and bright as the camera flashed. He would take that feeling on the plane and to Hasetsu. He needed to archive more of the good things than the bad. He would need those good moments to take him through the next few weeks.
Yuuri lay in the middle Ice Castle, his hometown rink, staring at the ceiling. He felt better tonight, ready, in a sense, to do something other than be depressed. He drew random shapes along the ice with his fingers, humming quietly. The words flowed through his mind as he sounded the melody:
Stammi vicino, non te ne andare
Ho paura di perderti...
He knew the translation well, having memorized it many months ago. Love wasn't a concept that Yuuri thought of often or had ever felt beyond the familial aspect of it, but if he had to attribute the feeling to something, it would be this song.
'If he's skating this for someone,' Yuuri's chest was tight, 'They're lucky. It's beautiful.'
"Hey Yuuri!" He turned to see Yuuko leaning against the barrier, "I got your message. Are you okay?"
He got to his feet, and skated to her, "That was quick," he was nervous, "I wanted to show you something. You of all people should appreciate it."
She clapped her hands excitedly, "Just seeing you on the ice makes me happy Yuuri. Is it a new routine?"
Maybe one day you'll show it on the ice...
Yuuri heard the voice, and it bolstered his spirit, "Not exactly. I've been practicing it since the GPF ended," he handed her his glasses, "Will you watch?"
She nodded eagerly as Yuuri took up position at the center of the ice. He bent his left foot slightly behind him, the tip of the blade against the ice. He relaxed his arms, bowed his head, and let that soothing voice in the back of his mind drown out the world around him. Realization dawned on Yuuko. That stance...holy shit.
"Aria," she murmured, fumbling for her phone to record the moment.
When Victor played the video, his heart went straight back to the Sochi banquet dance floor. He smelled the champagne, felt the hand on his thigh, heard the exhilarated breaths of a man who'd discarded his inhibitions, if only for a night.
Here was that same man, giving his soul to the music, his eyes again brighter than starlight, unaware of what the video would become. Yuuri perfectly replicated his free program Aria: Stay Close to Me. He frowned, restless now. Home alone in his apartment, with Makkachin staring at him as that hot anger highlighted his eyes, Victor could freely express his emotions. And right then, he felt a mixture of something very raw, and very unstable. He got off the couch, petting Makkachin in apology as the confused poodle jumped off of his lap. He didn't know what had come over him but he wasn't so naive to think a simple video of someone dancing his free program would rile him up like this.
No, it was solely Yuuri Katsuki responsible for this disorientation. Again. Fuck. Those focused but vulnerable coffee-hued eyes, now filled with the freedom Victor wished he'd seen on GPF ice, the freedom that still warmed him since the banquet, the freedom that led to a kiss that, on more than one occasion, woke him up in the middle of the night and directed his hand to his cock. He couldn't look away. Those eyes spoke volumes and Victor ran a finger over the phone's screen as though he could reach out and touch Yuuri's face.
He re-watched the video. The routine lowered some of the technical aspects but otherwise showed a completely different skater than the one who'd competed with him last year. His footwork was sexual and the control he demonstrated was filled with confidence. Why the fuck hadn't Yuuri Katsuki been on the podium with him? Victor couldn't understand it.
He paced, his eyes never leaving his phone. His mind kept feeding him vivid memories of the banquet and that fucking kiss. Victor had been enthralled, playing into the hands of the drunk skater, knowing it wouldn't last forever. Except, it was still there, looped in his mind. He hadn't forgotten the bold request that Yuuri had made. Be my coach, he'd said. Victor ran a shaking hand through his hair. Fuck, why was he shaking?
"It was a drunk moment," Victor reasoned, "it was forgotten."
Not by you, his inner voice mused.
"I thought I let this go."
Clearly not.
"All he needs is to always hold that conviction and he'll slaughter the competition."
Indeed. He's more talented than he realizes. But he won't and you know it.
"This is insane. I can't just leave Russia to be his coach. What about next season?"
Please. How much do you really care about next season? And by the way, no one said coaching him was the solution here. Seems you've given this a thought or two before, hmm?
"I had the man's tongue in my mouth. I thought about a lot of things that night."
But we aren't talking about that night. It's about right now. That video proved his capabilities. You've skated your whole life, you know talent when you see it. He should've stood on the podium at the Grand Prix. He should've qualified for the World Championships.
Victor massaged his temples, "If I do this-"
When you do this.
"Fine! When I do this, how do I get him to see what I saw that night?"
Kiss him.
"I want him to trust me, not punch me."
Okay, then channel all those years of experience and put it to good use. Sure as hell beats picking at the dregs of your inspiration.
"And if he decides he doesn't want me as a coach?"
Then really kiss him.
Victor sighed. He scrolled through his pictures, and found the one he had selfishly taken in Yuuri's room that night. Victor had finally convinced himself that it was time to get some sleep but the memory of what had transpired between them wasn't enough. He'd wanted something tangible.
He let the video play one more time for good measure, after which he booked his flight to Japan.
Yuuri was currently on the ground, a phone clutched in his hand as people screamed at each other. The room spun around him and he was cold sweating as though ill on his death-bed. The phone vibrated incessantly as messages poured in from, literally, around the globe.
"How many times do I have to tell you rascals not to use my account without permission?!" Yuuko yelled, pointing and waving her phone liked she was crazed. Her daughters, Axel, Lutz and Loop, launched into rushed apologies and explanations in unison which only served to make Yuuko shout even louder. Takeshi tried in vain to soften the situation, reasoning that it couldn't cause much harm.
"It's just one video! Okay fine, it's viral but c'mon-"
"Are you mad?!" she rounded on her husband, "Minako is losing her mind, the views are rising that fast! And look at him! He's basically catatonic! That cannot be healthy!"
The five Nishigoris stared at Yuuri's unmoving form, wondering if moving him right then was wise. Yuuri could be sensitive that way. Loop poked him tentatively with her toe which provoked Yuuko back into her tirade. Takeshi held his head with a prolonged sigh. It was going to be a long night.
He kneeled next to Yuuri, "Hey, you okay there? Let me check your head for any bumps."
Yuuri let himself be moved, sitting up and wincing as Takeshi found a rather nasty bruise on the back of his head, "C'mon, lets go to the kitchen. Yuuko will be at it for a while."
They walked to the next room, and Takeshi went searching for the first aid kit. Yuuri sat quietly, the phone still clenched in his hand. The notifications were non-stop ever since the video went viral. Yuuri put his head between his legs, pretty sure he was going to throw up a year's worth of food very soon. Takeshi rubbed his back gently, worried by how green Yuuri's face was becoming.
"I'm really sorry about this Yuuri. My girls are sometimes too precocious for their own good. But...is it so bad? Yuko said your skating was amazing. I know you like to keep practice skates to yourself but you shouldn't feel embarrassed that people are seeing it."
Yuuri couldn't speak and Takeshi, forever the understanding friend, tended to his bruise without another word. Yuuri couldn't bring himself to say why he was really upset. Skating Aria - Stay Close to Me meant so much more to him than words could express. It didn't matter much what people thought of it. He didn't skate that particular routine for anyone but himself.
He was upset because Phichit had left frantic messages that the video had been sent, multiple times, to Victor Nikiforov since it blew up on social media. His email, his Instagram, his private messages, Victor had to have seen it by now. Yuuri's face burned. He'd humiliated himself at last year's Grand Prix and now, he was being unintentionally humiliated by three skating otaku. If the triplets were older, Yuuri may have taken his anger out appropriately. Right then, he was trapped in a carousel of awful thoughts, round and round they taunted, making his migraine worse by the second.
'I'm sorry Victor,' he reflected sadly. As it was, Victor Nikiforov would likely write him off as a joke for daring to attempt something as sacred as Stay Close to Me. Yuuri retreated further into his shell, sure that nothing would help him recover from this shame.
Victor stood in the airport, smiling down at his longtime coach Yakov, who, as usual, was infuriated with him. Victor was amused as persons passed them with wary glances. He saw some fans think twice about approaching them, and part of Victor felt happy. He wasn't in the mood to take pictures or sign autographs. He just wanted to get on the damn plane but Yakov was hell bent on believing he could change Victor's mind.
"You must be joking Vitya! Japan? To coach him?! I beg you, tell me this is one of your outlandish jokes."
Victor kept smiling, his mind occupied by unruly black hair and velvety lips, and Yakov's anger rose in wake of the obstinate silence, "If you leave now, you can't come back, you do realize that right Vitya? You career cannot survive this."
"We'll see," Victor brushed some stray lint off his jacket and picked up his bag, "stay in touch will you? After all, you were the best coach I've ever had."
"Vitya, I implore you-"
Victor held up a hand, his patience waning, "Yakov, I've never done ninety percent of things you've asked, but you've always trusted me to find my way. Why is this any different?"
What could Yakov possibly say to that? Victor was a right pain in his ass, but it was one he respected. Yakov watched his student walk to his gate with a heavy sigh.
'I hope you know what you're doing Vitya.'