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What if I made a mistake...

Victor's cringe was imperceptible. An odd pain spread from the middle of his back, as though someone had stepped behind him and drove a knife there. He tried to appear unfazed, tried not to let the words sink too deeply, tried to be objective. Yuuri was upset, he was scared, this was a defense mechanism, he was instinctively pulling away.

But for all his empathy, Victor felt utterly betrayed.

What if saying yes was a mistake...

What was he referring too, coaching him or them being together? Did the distinction even matter at this juncture? It certainly didn't to Victor. How could Yuuri be so heartless? There was no other word to describe it. To ask those questions was to negate the trust they'd build. To even think it, taking the word of outsiders over Victor's own, made him feel like an easily discarded toy. Hadn't their time together meant anything? Wasn't remembering their dance supposed to be a door to more wonderful things?

He'd planned to show Yuuri the pictures today. After practice, he would've taken him to the ocean and told him the story of how a man, shining brighter than starlight, drank himself into a beautiful haze of passion that left Victor perpetually floored. Now, he was handing over his phone and turning his back because if he stayed in range of this disaster of an exchange, he wouldn't survive it.

The more distance he put between himself and Ice Castle, the more his stomach turned. But baring his vulnerabilities in exchange for Yuuri's composure was something he did not fucking deserve. It was a harsh stance. On the one hand, he'd fallen asleep last night listening to Yuuri's heartbeat. On the other hand, his self-preservation roared to life in the face of this cruelty. It aggravated him having to accommodate both sides; he never wanted to deliberately think badly of Yuuri but he felt unsure of how he would manage being close to the younger skater after this.

His head was pounding. It wasn't that Victor didn't know how he felt. He'd known for a long time just what Yuuri Katsuki had done to him. He'd gone to the third floor of the hotel in Sochi because he'd needed to see Yuuri. He'd spent the months after that fucking pining for the man. He would've given anything during that time to be dancing with him again. Even now, if he hadn't reciprocated Victor's feelings, coaching him and being a part of his life would've been enough. Yuuri was beautiful, so fucking beautiful and seeing him skate with the confidence that his drunk persona had hinted at was, in short, bliss. If Yuuri let him, he'd spend his life doing whatever it took to keep the brilliance in his eyes.

Right now though, Yuuri's words were under his skin, wearing him down syllable by syllable.

'I've made so many mistakes in my life. Woken up next to so many people and felt nothing. Yuuri made me feel safe. How could he rip that away so easily today?'

Back in the day, sex meant nothing to Victor. It was easy to simply detach from the moment and let it happen. Quench the want, fill the void, and then exit the space. The first time he'd stealth-ed out of a hotel room, sore in all the right places, he was sure he'd found it. A plug, so to speak, for his loneliness. The fact that the satisfaction was temporary didn't matter. Doling out pleasure, rough and dirty, left his mind blank, something he desperately craved whenever he was off the ice. He'd been a self-serving piece of shit, but then so had the people he'd slept with. They didn't know him, or cared to know him. As he got older and began finding himself at the bar with Chris, warming his desensitized heart with vodka, the loneliness became a constant.

The compulsive one-night stands became fewer as the years passed. He returned home to Makka and, out of the eyes of the press and his fans, he shut himself off. It wasn't so bad but...it wasn't so good either. He felt trapped. Regretful. He concentrated on skating but there was only so far it could take him. He knew what he needed but didn't think it was obtainable. It was a depressing cycle.

Yuuri had brought him right up for air at the banquet, then with his viral video, and every single day he woke up in Hasetsu. Yuuri was a better man than most. He didn't exploit him or harbor fan-made expectations of him. He treated him like a human being. Victor could've been anything he wanted. Anything. And Yuuri chose to have as he was.

'Please come back to me Yuuri. I can't promise I'll go easy on you. But I can't lose you. Please fix this.'

Makka's excited bark brought him back to the the present. He looked around, slightly dazed, and realized he was on the beach. He hadn't been consciously aware that he'd walked in this direction, but then, there wasn't another place he would rather be (except maybe their ramen spot). Makka took a free run on the water's edge; he loved here as much as Victor did. He often asked Yuuri to watch the ocean with him during their downtime and Yuuri always looked charmed by his simple request. They hadn't been here since their kiss. Victor sat down, mostly because that memory lay waste to much of his motor functions. He wanted to kiss Yuuri on this beach. He wanted to tell him that he loved him. Above all, he wanted this morning to fucking cease to exist in their history.

Wishful thinking.

Makka trotted over and shook water all over him. Victor knew what the gesture meant, "Are you upset you didn't get to stay with Yuuri?"

At the skater's name, Makka's tail wagged like crazy, "I don't know what to do boy. It hurts."

Makka licked his hand and settled into his lap. Victor stared out at the ocean, wondering whether Yuuri had looked at the pictures yet.

Hiroko looked up to find Victor and Makka entering Yu-topia covered in quite a bit of sand, "Victor, you're back early! Is Yuuri with you?"

Victor leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, "Good morning Hiroko. I'm letting him practice on his own today. "

Hiroko could be blind and still see through that bullshit; she'd noticed the way he tensed at Yuuri's name and Minako had already climbed out of her hangover to inform her about the press' brutal coverage, "Is everything okay?"

"It's fine."

His voice was balancing on a tightrope. Hiroko nodded, letting her smiles ease him, "Alright. Would you like something to eat then? I can bring it up for you, if you want."

"Sure. I'd like that."

Hiroko watched him go, his shoulders sagged, his eyes dull. The morning had not been good to him. She got her phone and called Yuuko.

"Hello Hiroko, is Victor back at Yu-topia? I messaged but he never responded. He left Ice Castle in a hurry."

"He's here," Hiroko said, "Is Yuuri okay?

"He's skating. It's...it's bad. I don't want to disturb him but I'm so worried. He said some things..." Yuuko's voice was quiet, "I wasn't part of that fight and I felt run over."

Hiroko frowned her way through Yuuko's account of the argument. She swore to herself that if any of those reporters made another appearance in Hasetsu, she would drown them in the hot springs, "Can you stay with Yuuri please? Just until he calms down?"

"Sure, I wasn't planning on leaving anyway. I'm thinking if he doesn't stop by lunchtime, I'll try to talk to him."

"I appreciate that Yuuko, thank you."

Victor brought his laptop out of sleep, and quickly exited the browser, not in the mood to look at any of his social accounts. If he saw one more article painting Yuuri in an unfavorable light, he would fucking explode. Instead, he browsed through a folder with all the videos Yuuko's triplets had filmed at the rink. He found one of his favorites, him and Yuuri finishing their fifth run through of On Love: Eros before lying right on the ice, totally winded. Yuuri's head was cushioned on the lower part of his arm while they laughed.

It was pathetic. This was the longest they'd gone without talking, or being in each other's presence. It made him feel confined and he hated it. However, he wanted the space to breathe. Fucking hell. The exasperated noise he made brought Makka protectively into his lap.

His Skype rang in the middle of the video. Victor paused it, shaking his head. What the fuck was Chris doing up? It was barely morning in Switzerland. Victor sighed and answered the call.

"Don't you ever sleep?"

Chris was all patronizing and sultry tones, "Victor, darling, sleep takes away from hours of pleasurable activities that I would much rather be indulging in. I thought you already knew that or didn't last night teach you anything?"

Victor couldn't help it; the taste of Yuuri would never leave his lips, "Did you call just to mock me?" Chris raised an eyebrow; the edge in Victor's voice resembled glass shards.

"Actually, I was worried. I've been trying to reach you for hours."

Victor massaged his temples, squinting, "Sorry. It's been a rough morning and...Yuuri has my phone."

"Oh?" Chris smiled, "The pictures?"

"The pictures." Victor repeated because it was gnawing away at his fucking soul.

Chris considered that for a moment, "Ah. You're fighting. I take it those reports didn't sit well with him?"

"No. They didn't."

"Did the drunken kitten break your heart?" The question was sincere, not teasing, and for Victor, there were no words to answer it.

"Victor?"

"Like I said Chris," Victor said through gritted teeth, "Not a good morning."

Chris had never heard Victor sound so demoralized, "What did he say exactly?"

"It's a mistake."

Ouch. That young man had sharp claws, "I'm sure he didn't mean it. You remember how difficult it was for us, learning to manipulate the press? They pounced because you became so private. Yuuri is fresh meat. That's why they went so far, to provoke you."

"Are you justifying what he said to me?"

'Victor Nikiforov, not wanting to be pushed away. I should've made this bet with him years ago.' Chris thought. "Not at all. You have every right to feel the way you do. You can't bottle that up. Let it run its course."

"So what's your point?"

Chris was not used to this kind of darkness from his friend; he tried to pacify him, "You're both on the same page when it comes to being crazy about each other but there are other pages that need work. This fight, however bad, is one of them. Yuuri clearly has deep insecurities and the years you spent locking yourself away is another story entirely. Those things can't be glossed over. This was bound to happen and I think it's best it happens now."

Victor stroked Makka's fur; the poodle wasn't the only one who missed Yuuri, "He recognized the dance and the kiss, can you believe that?"

"I'm not surprised," Chris smiled, "He didn't touch Yuri or myself, yet he made it his business to physically take you onto that dance floor. I call it like I see it and that wasn't your average fan or schoolboy crush. That was the champagne revealing deeper things. Foreplay, if you will."

"Then why do this? Why say something so fucking-"

"Victor," Chris chided, "Let it run its course."

Victor sighed at the reiteration, "I..." He trailed off. Something about his tone concerned Chris.

"Victor, are you thinking about leaving Hasetsu?"

"No." Immediate, firm, truth.

He tried another route, "But you're rethinking your feelings?"

"No." There it was. Reluctance. He wondered if Yuuri knew the damage he'd done.

"I'm not saying to forgive him. Not until you're ready, at least. Just..." Chris' worry slinked into his voice, "Let's not go back to four a.m. drinks, okay?"

Victor couldn't answer. He was terrified and any sound would articulate that. Chris waited a few seconds then said goodbye, hoping that both men found their way through this unfortunate trouble.

Still fairly wet from his bath, Victor curled into bed with Makka, pulling the blanket up to his chin. It smelled of him and Yuuri. He moved his bangs from his face and closed his eyes, inhaling the distinct musk. It both soothed and wounded him. He fiddled with Makka's ear, wanting to sleep his way through to dinner. The sleeping pill he'd taken should allow him to drift so he wouldn't have to think for a few hours. He was shifting, trying to find a comfortable position when he heard Yuuri's loud footsteps echo from the stairs. He was on his feet and marching to his door as Yuuri bolted down the hallway.

But...he couldn't bring himself to open it. He stood with an outstretched hand that grasped at air. The strain was frustrating. He wanted to check on Yuuri, he really did but...

'You still can't bring yourself to look at him, can you? You can't blame yourself that watching old videos is all you can handle right now.'

Victor stood with tears in his eyes, listening to the audible thump that emanated from Yuuri's room. It almost sounded like he'd dropped to the ground. He then heard an indistinct noise, like a muffled laugh, but it was difficult to know for sure. What did it mean? Was it the banquet folder? He sat against his door and blinked away his emotions, keeping an ear out for whatever other sounds wandered his way.

Yuuri lay on the floor, Victor's phone in one hand, and the watch in the other. His body didn't seem to care that he was still in his filthy clothes, it welcomed the relief of not moving. He compromised by using his heels to slip his shoes off, whispering apologies to his feet in the process. He wanted to go to Victor, but 'not today' resonated loudly in his mind. So, he'd crumbled to the floor, and proceeded to come to terms with the serendipitous nature of their bond.

He didn't know when he fell asleep, but it must've been for hours because he woke to a dark room. He exhaled, not feeling the pulsing ache as much anymore. His hand closed around the watch and Yuuri smiled. When he'd checked out of the hotel, he had every intention of handing it over to the front desk. He couldn't explain why he'd convinced himself to hold on to it. Now he knew.

Yuuri sat up slowly, gauging his muscles and limbs for any permanent damage from the morning. Everything seemed intact, although his feet were a bit too swollen for comfort when he stood up. He rested the phone and watch on his bed, and stripped off his clothes, looking around for a towel and robe. He tiptoed out of his room, tentatively checking for any light from Victor's own. There was none and it was quiet; perhaps he was also caught in a nap. What Yuuri wouldn't give to be under the covers with him.

After letting the heat from the springs temper his bruises, he got dressed and slipped both of Victor's belongings into his pocket for no other reason than wanting to have a part of Victor with him. There still wasn't any light from the man's room; maybe this was a good time to get some food. He went down to dining area and bit his tongue to stop the gasp when he saw Victor right there, having his dinner. Was he sneaking around to avoid him too? Probably. Victor's back was to him but there was no mistaking the way his body tensed upon realizing that Yuuri was behind him. Fuck. Yuuri's conscience took action, telling him to go straight back to his room and starve, not wanting to make the day any more uncomfortable than it already was. He nodded to himself and made to leave, only pausing when he remembered Victor's phone.

Yuuri turned around and carefully bridged the gap, sliding the device next to his hand, fighting every urge not to touch him, "Thank you for letting me see them," Yuuri whispered. Victor's hand twitched, but he made no other movement. Yuuri left him in peace, not wanting to force him into a conversation. He deserved his space and Yuuri deserved the rejection.

'I'll make this up to you,' Yuuri promised, 'Please don't give up on me yet.'

The morning brought with it more palpable tension. Yuuri hadn't slept, spending the night becoming a connoisseur of every fine detail of the watch. He listened as Victor moved around, knowing he was ready to leave when he heard Makka's telltale bark. God, he missed that poodle. He got out of bed and prepped for the morning, ultimately arriving late for practice. Victor spared him a bare, cold glance, not bothering to comment on his tardiness. It was only fair, he didn't expect Victor to magically fall into his arms, but fuck, it made him miserable and he never wanted to see it again. He consciously tugged at his long sleeves covering the bruises, not wanting to guilt Victor into talking to him. If he noticed the ones on his hands, he hid the observation well.

"On Love. Run it for technicalities."

Yuuri bit back a protest. Was that routine a suitable choice after yesterday? It struck him as very masochist. But, Victor was his coach and he was here doing his job, which was miles better than being ignored. Yuuri nodded and took up position on the ice. Needless to say, it was not a good day for Eros. Sure, Victor's sublime mouth had more than extended his definition of it, but neither of them had anything close to sexual notions on their mind. Trying to skate the routine without the requisite mindset only diminished the choreography.

"Again."

Yuuri followed the order. That's what it was. Victor's usual lightheartedness was replaced by a taunt stance that Yuuri hadn't yet figured out how to break through. He was unreadable, and his far proximity was the only thing occupying Yuuri's mind.

"Again."

The word held such animosity. The only reason he wasn't being stubborn to offset Victor's pettiness was because he had created this rift. He had to pay the toll for his stupidity. It didn't matter if Victor was doing it on purpose.

"Again."

Yuuri gritted his teeth. His idiotic quad attempts from yesterday still sat in his bones, and the pain was rapidly reviving. It would only get worse if he put appeasing Victor above his own well-being. He'd completely forgotten to soak his feet in salts last night and he didn't know how much longer he could ignore it.

"Again."

'I need to do something. I can't handle much more.'

"Again."

Yuuri under rotated a jump and tumbled. It wasn't as nasty as yesterday, but it still elicited a weary groan. He shifted onto his back and closed his eyes, breathing hard, counting all the things he needed before he could consider skating today: sleep, a meal, a massage, Victor's lips. To stand a chance of obtaining that last one, he actually needed to confront Victor about the banquet, which seemed incredibly unlikely under their current circumstances.

"Are you okay?" Victor skated to him, faint concern in his features.

"Yes." Why was he lying? He was anything but okay. Victor seemed to be asking himself the same question if his glare was anything to go by. He extended his hand and Yuuri took it, getting to his feet with a pained grunt. Without warning, Victor took advantage of his lowered reflexes and grabbed his upper arm, his nails digging through the fabric. He pulled up Yuuri's sleeve to the elbow. Fuck. He attempted to wrestle his arm back but Victor's grip was unmovable.

"You can't practice like this."

"I can."

"Your form has been off since we started," Yuuri could smell the anger coming off him, "Why didn't you treat these injuries?"

"I'm fine, really." What the hell was he doing? Yuuri had no idea why he was fighting so hard to continue when he had no stamina and no eros to fill a shot glass, much less take him through another few hours of skating. His unintentional inflexibility seemed to exacerbate Victor's mood. He tugged hard on Yuuri's arm, until they were basically nose to nose.

"Take off your skates." It was not a friendly or flirtatious tone. He sounded dangerous. Yuuri didn't know if to be afraid or hopelessly turned on. In spite of the situation, his mind leaned towards the latter.

"And what if I don't?"

As quickly as he had seized him, Victor let him go. Like Yuuri, he also had no idea why he just did that. He knew Yuuri was in pain, it was obvious from the moment he got on the ice. Yet, he'd pushed and pushed, trying to sort through his emotions, trying to be Yuuri's coach first. Victor didn't like being at the mercy of his feelings, not like this. Why were they even practicing? Why weren't they talking about the fucking banquet-

"Why were you in my hotel room in Sochi Victor?"

He looked at Yuuri, genuinely startled, "I went to check on you," he said automatically, "You were drunk."

"You didn't know me," Yuuri said slowly, "Why did you care? No one except Celestino knew what room I was in, which means you either had to ask him or the front desk. Why go through that trouble?"

His oddly specific line of questioning was throwing Victor off, "I just told you-"

"You've never lied to me. I know we're fighting but don't lie to me about this. Why did you come to my room Victor?"

Somehow, giving in to Yuuri's demands required so much effort, not because Victor didn't know what to say, he just wondered if this was the right moment to say it. Yuuri folded his arms, and waited. He hadn't planned to blurt out the question but being that close to Victor's face had erased his reservations.

Neither of them noticed the young blond man that walked into the rink, flanked by Yuuko who was equal parts shocked and fangirl-ing. They didn't see the way he looked at them, his famous punk attitude on full display. They didn't hear the obscenities he muttered under his breath as they stood staring at each other instead of, oh, skating.

"HEY VICTOR!" Yuri Plisetsky shouted. They turned at the intrusion, eyebrows raised, "WE NEED TO TALK."