My dear readers, we are at a crossroads. After this chapter, there'll probably be another 2 to wrap up this arc (depending on my mood/schedule). I'd love to explore things further as Yuuri and Victor begin the competitive season, and I have some content mapped for it. If this is something you'd be interested in reading, comment and let me know :)
Yuri Plisetsky was arrogant.
Why shouldn't he be? He was an extraordinary figure skater. There was no need to be shy about that fact. The media showered him with praises, rival skaters looked on in awe, and any coach would kill to have him under their care. He was young, nimble, and graceful, moving across the ice as though he could soar through the sky at any moment. He was the Russian Fairy. It was all that mattered.
That fact was solidified when Victor Nikiforov himself approached him and offered a compelling ultimatum: "Win the Junior Championships without quads and I'll give you the best senior debut ever." Yuri complied with the request, starstruck that Victor would offer something so valuable to his future. Plus, he was never one to pass up any challenge. The gold medal became his, of course. He never doubted that he would succeed. With his end of the bargain fulfilled, Yuri looked forward to meeting his fellow Russian on the ice with a routine tailored entirely for him.
He never considered the possibility of things deviating from that course, never dreamed that a senior division competitor seven years his senior, who had dragged himself and his routine into hell, would affect his future in any discernible way. Yuri had no concept of failure. So, the sight of Japanese GPF finalist, Yuuri Katsuki, who had for all intents and purposes shown some worth by landing a spot in the top six, stumbling into a bathroom, face covered in tears, well...It. Really. Pissed. Him. Off.
Yuri leaned against the opposite wall outside the bathroom debating his options. He could barge in and demand that the man retire. He could punch him and his emotions into his next lifetime. The deliberations that followed all escalated in obscenities and violent tendencies, and as Yuri quietly pushed open the door, stepping lightly (a skill perfected from years of ballet), he found he couldn't narrow down a course of action. The man was barricaded in the middle stall, feet splayed, his sobs borderline gasping now. Yuri frowned. At least the fool had the good sense to do this in private. This was the complete opposite of a well-adjusted skater.
"You don't deserve to be on the ice," Yuri muttered. His voice didn't travel, nothing could with the man's heavy cries filling the space. There was much Yuri could say, ninety-nine percent of it scathing and berating. The only thing that stopped him from verbally undermining the man's night further was the image of Victor looking at Yuuri Katsuki's performance, his eyes burning in a way Yuri never remembered them looking. It wasn't an expression Victor held for longer than a few seconds, lest someone caught the shift. The media could extrapolate for days if one strand of Victor's hair was out of place, much less something so visceral. That was the one percent, that and Yuuri Katsuki's footwork which, try as Yuri might, he couldn't scrub the man's damn step sequence from his mind. So much potential deluged by doubt and fear. It was demeaning, both to the sport and to the renowned competitors he shared the ice with.
Yuri left the bathroom with a frustrated 'hmph', his mind on Victor's countenance. Perhaps he'd been trying to convey pity. To Yuri, that was a punishment in itself, to be dismissed by Victor Nikiforov, the skating legend who had the world at his feet.
In Yuri's opinion, Victor's pity (or otherwise) was wasted. Yuuri Katsuki was a dime-a-dozen skater who would never see the view from a podium.
Well here's something you don't see at every banquet...
For someone who placed last, he seems rather happy to further embarrass himself, don't you think...
There was that burning expression again. Yuri must've imagined it, the flash across Victor's face was so momentary this time. He looked on, curses rolling over his tongue but never making it past his lips, as Yuuri Katsuki renounced whatever sense of dignity he had left. As much as Yuri despised these social gatherings, this was repugnant and embarrassing, and for some inexplicable reason, it was rapidly leaving PG-13 territory.
A fucking dance-off?! What did he do to deserve this shit? He should've stayed in his goddamn hotel room, but no, Yakov wouldn't entertain his defiance, not tonight. Why the fuck was he competing with Yuuri Katsuki in this ungodly spectacle? Why was Christophe Giacometti bareback? Why was no one putting a stop to this? And why in god's name was Victor suddenly looking so enthusiastic?
Yuri sighed.
Alright. Fine. Frankly, it wasn't as disgusting as his face was communicating. This was much more bearable than listening to the man fall apart in a bathroom stall, that was for sure. He enjoyed feeling the pompous pricks around them emanate mortification, dressing their obvious disapproval with expressions of mild shock. Bastards. God forbid they live a little.
If Yuri hadn't spent years refining his perfect mask of antipathy, he would be laughing along with his colleagues. Not so much with Chris though. The man played up his sexuality to an almost alarming degree and he was licking his lips lasciviously in Yuuri Katsuki's direction, particularly the lower half of the man's body. Yuri would turn in all his medals if it meant he never had to witness that. Fuck, Christophe and Victor loved to needle a crowd. Speaking of which, Victor's eyes were fixated on the Japanese skater, his grin radiant, and it was reciprocated in kind as Yuuri shed his tie in one fluid movement and stepped towards the world champion.
Inhibitions be damned. Yuri knew the champagne had erased all sense of shame when Yuuri Katsuki laced his fingers through Victor's own and pulled him onto the dance floor. Yuri would've voiced his umbrage if it wasn't for Chris stepping back almost immediately, surprise (and acquiescence?) plastered on his features. Yuri decided shock was a safer option, and he and Chris disclosed as such between them. Victor seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the unexpected diversion. He looked happy.
Yuri recalled that Victor had been fairly quiet through that last day of competition, and for Yuri that boiled down to devoted concentration on the task at hand. Now, he was laughing and grinning, and giving himself freely to a drunkard in front of skating officials, sponsors, and a number of wealthy assholes who were no doubt appalled that Victor would ruin a perfectly good bespoke suit on this ignominy.
Yuri wasn't sure what it meant. He'd never seen Victor look so alive. On the ice he was a god, there was no denying that. But contentedness on the ice was different from the emotion he showed now. It was too nuanced. Strange, considering the expression he'd leveled at the Japanese skater during today's free skate. From the way Chris was cheering him on, it was possibly Victor following his friend's lead, working his playboy persona into the night's proceedings.
Leave it to Victor to find any reason to flaunt his ego.
On Love: Agape was sublime. Though it wasn't complete, Yuri felt an inspiring warmth bloom in his chest. Where Victor had found the time to craft it, between travelling and the World Championships, was beyond him. Would there ever be a day when Victor didn't live up to his genius? Probably not, given that he was watching him put together a second new routine. The accompanying music was exhilarating, similar in style to the strains found in Spanish flamencos.
"What's this routine called?" Yuri asked as Victor took a short stretching interlude.
"On Love: Eros. Eros is the opposing theme to Agape. Your routine represents unconditional love. This represents sexual love."
Yuri rolled his eyes, "Of course it does." But he couldn't deny that Victor's choreography was absolutely stunning, "Any reason you chose Eros over the other compositions you've been listening too?"
Victor winked, one of his signature gestures when speaking to the media, "I needed to remind myself of something important." Victor's eyes fogged over for a second before he busied himself with his water bottle. Yuri understood his explanation to some extent. Agape reminded him of his grandfather, it was that unbreakable familial connection that guided him on the ice. Yuri, however, was not about to ask who or what Victor had to remember in the context of sex. That was not information he ever wanted to be privy to. Surely this was one of his and Chris' ridiculous inside jokes; they savored sending the general skating populace into fits of speculation.
"Thanks for today." Yuri stretched his arms behind him.
"Sure. Are you headed home?"
"Yeah. You?"
"I'll be here for another hour," Victor said. Yuri nodded; that seemed fair. Victor had, as usual, strolled into the rink at lunchtime and Yakov had, as usual, shouted for the entire city to hear. However, Victor was anything but blasé about his career. He simply enjoyed watching Yakov lose his cool.
Even so, Victor had been eerily hushed since returning from the World Championships. He'd barely indulged Chris' nonsense during the press conference in Saitama and if that wasn't a sign, Yuri didn't know what was. He wasn't the only one who observed it; their rink-mates, Mila and Georgi spent an inordinate amount of time hypothesizing the reason for Victor's lackluster mood. He skated as he always did, with the flair and brilliance of man born to be on the ice but if Yuri had to narrow down where the subtle changes had begun, it would be the Sochi Grand Prix.
Yuri's suspicions only increased when he'd happened on Yakov and Victor having a conversation at a respectable decibel.
"Vitya, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."
"What makes you think there's something wrong?"
"You haven't caused any level of trouble since Sochi. So, either I have ascended into the afterlife or...?" Victor never answered the question but his sigh spelled frustration. Since then, Yakov tended to stay with Victor at the rink past his practice times. It wasn't unlike Yakov to show concern for his skaters, but it was unlike Victor to allow it without being a wise-ass. Yuri wondered if someone had broken Victor's heart.
He shrugged; that was rink gossip influencing his thoughts. Victor's extracurricular activities weren't exactly a secret but he'd never faltered in competition. Victor was the top figure skater in the world, a five-time world champion, a prodigy in every sense of the word. Yuri was sure his uncharacteristic quietness was simply intense commitment to keeping his audience wonder-struck during the upcoming season.
Who cared if Victor was a playboy? None of that mattered when he wore gold around his neck.
Yuuri Katsuki tried to skate Victor's FS Program (Stay Close To Me).
Yuri's grip on his spoon tightened and he promptly lost his appetite. Was this some sad attempt to delay fading into obscurity?
"You didn't learn after Sochi did you piggy?" Yuri scoffed. What skater would let themselves go like that? "Retire you dumbass. Save yourself this humiliation." He closed the video barely ten seconds into the routine. 'Internet sensation' or no, this was as far as this piggy would get to any kind of worthwhile recognition. Yuri could only imagine how insulted Victor would be when he watched Yuuri Katsuki gut his free skate.
Victor never showed for practice. Yakov refused to say why on the first day. On the second day, he seemed to have turned grayer. Three days passed before Yakov had no choice but to face Victor's impetuousness. While he gave little information to the media regarding Victor's exact motivations and whereabouts, he was candid with his skaters. Yuri's shouting shook the foundations of the rink.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S LEFT RUSSIA?!"
Yakov sighed, "He's gone to Japan. He's taking next season off."
Yuri's mouth was a loop of unconscious jaw exercises, "Taking the- WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?! WHAT IS HE DOING IN JAPAN?!"
"He's going to coach Yuuri Katsuki."
Yuri blanched and his volume only rose from there, "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!"
"Language. You need to calm down Yuratchka."
"WHAT ABOUT AGAPE?! THAT SON OF A BITCH LEFT ME WITH HALF A ROUTINE!"
Yakov massaged his eyes, "I believe it may have slipped his mind."
"WE'RE GOING-"
Yakov went absolutely rigid, a clear and imposing show of power over the direction of their conversation, "No. We are not." His voice was grave, "You will respect Vitya's decision. As for your short program, I acknowledge that he is in the wrong here but I've watched Victor work on latter half of Agape. We'll be able to complete the routine ourselves."
"You support this?" Yuri sputtered, "You support him moving to Japan to coach that pig?"
"I have always trusted Vitya to find his way. This is his decision." Yuri glared at his coach; that answer was too neat, too impeccably wrapped to pass as anything credible.
Yuri had no space for support or respect. Only loathing.
In a move Yuri could only describe as conciliatory, Yakov contracted his ex-wife, Lilia Baranovskaya, to take Yuri under her wing. Her high features, and strict prima ballerina demeanor was as intimidating as they came but Yuri felt no fear. When she demanded that Yuri hand over his body if he had any intention of winning gold, he'd yielded his soul. There was no room for failure. As far as Yuri was concerned, it was time to take advantage of his youth and all that entailed to show everyone exactly what he, the Ice Tiger of Russia, was capable of. He would make Victor regret leaving Russia. He would make that pig wish he'd retired after Sochi.
Yet, for all his anger, Yuri wouldn't touch his short program.
"You need to address this-" Yakov tried.
"No."
"Yuri, Victor isn't coming back to Russia."
"You don't know that."
It wasn't the first time they were having this conversation. Yakov estimated he could reiterate the point another two or three times before he exploded. Lilia was making good use of Yuri's passion and ire, pushing him far beyond his usual limits. His free skate was shaping into a stunning revelation of his abilities. But he needed to face Agape. Yuri didn't understand. Yakov himself wasn't sure he understood Victor's rationale. He thought Sochi was just another one of Victor's elaborate exhibitions.
It never crossed his mind that his world champion would develop feelings for the drunk Japanese skater.
Yakov's constant nagging was beginning to affect Yuri. He found himself thinking 'Victor isn't coming back' at randoms moments each day. It made him sick. What the fuck was Victor really doing? He was impulsive, flirtatious, and the walking personification of trouble but this was overdoing it. It was one fucking dance. That did not warrant Victor taking a sabbatical from his career to fuck around in Japan with a failed figure-skater. Yuri clicked on the video: Yuuri Katsuki tried to skate Victor's FS Program (Stay Close To Me).
He paused it after five seconds.
He threw his phone across the room.
He picked it up and duplicated the process before dropping his phone again.
The rinse and repeat moves went on for about an hour before Yuri, exhausted from the day, sat on his bed and grudgingly watched the piggy skate Victor's free program.
"What the-" he whispered after the first viewing.
He watched it again.
And a third time.
"What. The. Fuck."
'He deserves to be on the ice. He was born to be on the ice.' Yuri covered his mouth as though he'd said the words out loud. It wasn't just his footwork. It was his everything. Why skate like this in private? Why fuck up on the world stage? Was the piggy insane?
'I'm still better than him.' But the thought was like sand slipping through his fingers. Yuri couldn't deny what he'd just watched. Saying he was better and testing that confidence on the ice were two different things.
'He'll never make it to the GPF. Not after last year. Victor can't save him.'
They were empty words, all of it. He believed them as much as he believed Victor would come back to Russia.
The next day, Yuri went straight to Yakov and asked to see the rest of Agape. The old man gave him a relieved smile.
That pose...that was an exact replica of their banquet dance! Yuri shook his head as he scrolled through the articles. The piggy had been wrecked though, there was no way this was something he had initiated, which meant that Victor was the culprit for this media storm. Yuri cursed under his breath; the man was supposed to be concentrating on his career, it hung by a thread as it was. He'd called Yakov to vent but much of his words were born from a swelling rage. He didn't care who the piggy chose to frolic around with, but he did care if Victor was being less than sincere.
Why he cared, though...
"Do you think Victor's fucking with...Katsuki?"
Mila was thoughtful, "Are you actually interested in Victor's affairs outside skating?" he leveled a scowl at her and she laughed, "Hey, you've always avoided the gossip, so I'm just curious."
"Hard to ignore it now," Yuri lied, "The pictures are all over the internet."
Mila nodded, "I've known Victor to be a lot of things but those pictures were something else."
"Meaning?"
"You'll hate me for saying this, but you'll understand when you're older."
He kept his annoyance at a minimum, "So, is that a no?"
Mila studied him curiously, "No. I don't think he's messing around. Not this time."
Yuri sat in the airport with a frown, shrouded in dark shades and an over-sized hoodie. This was arguably one of the most reckless things he'd ever done. He could barely explain it to himself when he booked his flight to Japan. The words were jumbled, mismatched, and complicated. He closed his eyes and focused on the sentences that he'd managed to form:
'The piggy's Aria skate was amazing.'
'I need him on the ice at next season's GPF.'
'Victor better not be denying the piggy his potential.'
'I will rip Victor to pieces if he is. If not, I'll only rip half of him for abandoning Agape.'
Feeling protective of someone that he didn't know was extremely jarring for Yuri but he was driven by one thought: 'Yuuri Katsuki deserves to be on GPF ice.' There had to be a reason he fucked up in Sochi.
Yuri had to make sure he wasn't going to fuck up a second time.
Hasetsu was an invigorating breath of fresh air. As soon as Yuri stepped off the train, he felt instantly relaxed. The tension from the flight, his roaring anger over the past two months, it melted away like heated butter. It wasn't a feeling Yuri had expected, but it was one he welcomed. All he'd known was skating. Competing. Winning. It was nice to know something less demanding for a change.
Yuri glanced at the paper he'd scribbled on. It wasn't difficult to find the address of the hot-springs and the rink known as Ice Castle; both became public knowledge after Victor's presence in Hasetsu was confirmed. Yuri asked around as surreptitiously as he could on the fastest route to Yu-topia, using vacation as his go-to explanation. It wasn't long before he found his way there. He met a plump woman at the entrance who was the splitting image of Yuuri Katsuki.
"I'm Yuri Plisetsky. I'd like a room."
Hiroko ushered the teen inside, his name jolting her memory. Victor had fondly mentioned him a few times when she'd asked about Russia, "Hello Yuri! Welcome to Hasetsu. Are you looking for Victor and our Yuuri?"
"Yes. Are they at practice?"
He was poised, curt, and just a little bit nervous. Hiroko's unwavering friendliness tended to have that effect on people like him, "I'll point you in the right direction. Leave your things there. We're a bit busy, but I'm sure we can find a room for you to stay in while you're here."
Yuri didn't know why this woman made him feel homey but her smiles were warm and welcoming. He couldn't be rude to her if his life depended on it, "Thank you."
Yuri shut Victor's door as the piggy left with Makkachin. He didn't know why the man was hiding or why Victor was avoiding any question on the subject, but he didn't like it. Victor had gone from flustered, as he and his student stood in silence on the ice, to flashing Yuri that million dollar smile that he reserved solely for the press. His walls had been up ever since. The most Yuri could work out was that they were fighting and the media was obviously responsible for their disagreement. Why neither of them were fixing their issues and opting instead to tip-toe around each other was the source of much vexation for Yuri. He wanted to throw them into a room and throw away the fucking key. This was not the way for a coach and student to behave.
At least he had confirmation that Mila was right. Victor wasn't an unfriendly person by any means, but his interactions with the piggy carried transparent undertones. They cared for each other, and Yuri didn't have to be a full-fledged adult to make that conclusion. How deeply it ran was another question entirely.
He accessed his contacts and clicked Yakov's name, planning on keeping their conversation as short as possible.
"Yuri. I'm almost afraid to ask." Yakov sounded tired.
"I'm in Japan."
"I figured you were."
Yuri had been preparing for a confrontation, sarcasm at the minimum, but not this forbearance, "That's it?"
Yakov sighed, "Yuri, we finished Agape. You said yourself that you wanted to show Vitya exactly what you're made of. So, unless I'm missing something, you're not there for him."
Yuri's mouth fell open but he quickly recovered, "I'll be back in a few days."
"I understand."
"Seriously old man-"
"Yuri, stop. I'm not going to fight you on this. If you can't say out loud the real reason you're in Japan then you are not ready to have any conversation on the matter," Yakov exhaled, "I'll see you soon."
Yuri didn't have time to contemplate what he was about to do, nor did he need too. All he knew in that moment was the vehement mixture of outrage and the blistering cold front that originated from the two men behind him. It was synchronous, apoplectic, and primal. Yuri's glower followed suit. He'd never paid attention to how the piggy interfaced with the press, but Victor Nikiforov had never once let his cheerfulness and charm slip in front of them, much less descend precariously into a ballistic state.
Yuri was used to Victor's nonchalance about the gossip that followed him. He neither confirmed nor denied any of the stories, only laughed and winked and flaunted his alluring good looks. Yuri had to swallow his smirk as he realized just how much had changed. The way the two men rose to each other's defense, possibly envisaging what line they could cross that wouldn't result in jail time, it was satisfying as hell to experience.
'This isn't a game to either of you, is it? Do you love each other, is that it?'
That lounge incident was enough trouble for his colleagues for one week. So, Yuri saved them the inconvenience and did the one thing he'd wanted to do since he got to Hasetsu, the thing he thought would've been directed to them and not some outsider. He pointed at the reporter and gave him a piece of his fucking mind.
Yuri stood with Yuuko, watching through the glass as the piggy ran a particularly stunning step sequence, the variations emotive and soulful. Victor stood close by, observing his student intently. Yuri recognized the burning look in his eyes.
'It wasn't pity you showed in Sochi, was it Victor? You saw his potential too. And you weren't being a playboy at the banquet. You were fucking whipped.'
"Katsuki's a completely different person," Yuri commented.
"You can thank Victor for that," Yuuko smiled, "You know Yurio, for someone who goes out of his way to be this punk..." She let the sentence hang, wanting Yuri to give his explanation freely. He wanted to be indignant at her prying, but Yuuko was incredibly likable and Yuri was all out of disgruntled thoughts and actions.
"There are some things I don't tolerate," he said, "This morning was one of them."
"If you don't mind my asking then, why are you really here?" her voice was gentle, "Yes, the routine but even that strikes me as odd. Why didn't you come to Victor earlier? Or why didn't you and your coach finish it yourselves?" Yuri narrowed his eyes and she clarified, "I'm not asking for Victor and Yuuri. They can have that conversation with you themselves. What I meant, and you've probably already noticed it, is that we're all protective of Yuuri, Victor by extension, and now I find myself feeling the same way about you."
Yuri sighed. His compulsion was to lie, to hide behind the attitude but...would it really hurt to be honest for once? "Yakov insisted I respect Victor's decision. I wouldn't have given a damn if he wasn't so adamant about it. So, we worked on my free skate, and I refused to touch Agape for a long time because I honestly believed Victor would come back. I knew he was torn about next season but I never expected..."
Yuuko nodded, "You wanted him to coach you."
"Who wouldn't?" Yurio mused, "Victor gets on my last nerves but no one can deny his brilliance. I'll be making my senior debut next season and I intend to win gold at the Grand Prix. I thought Victor was the key, both as a choreographer and a competitor."
"So, what changed?"
"Aria."
"Yuuri's video?"
Yuri leaned against the wall with a sigh, "When it went viral, I didn't care but when Victor left Russia, I had to face it. At first I thought Victor was looking for any reason to take some time off. When I watched the video..." Yuri gave a small, wry laugh, "It was my own fault for underestimating the piggy."
"Hold on," something dawned on Yuuko's face, "You flew to Japan, by yourself, in the middle of training, because you thought Victor was using Yuuri?"
Yuri huffed a breath, "I just wanted to make sure Victor wasn't stroking his own selfishness."
"That's actually sweet. A bit rash, but very sweet," she grinned, "You do know you could've called right?"
Her teasing was actually endearing, "Well, after those pictures this week, I wanted to see it for myself," he studied the duo and said the words he hadn't been able to say to Yakov, "I don't need Victor on the ice."
Yuuko made an educate guess as to who Yuri did want on the ice with him. She ruffled his hair affectionately and he gave an appreciative grunt, "Are you sure you're only fifteen?"
He gave her a rare smile, "Don't get me wrong. I'm going to win gold. Competing against the best will only make my victory sweeter."
"Of course," Yuuko laughed, "Whatever it takes to motivate you right?" She watched Yuuri land a clean triple lutz and smiled at Victor's pleased expression, "They've had a rough few days but they always bring out the best in each other, on the ice and off."
"Well, I hope that carries through to the season because if the piggy doesn't make it to the Grand Prix, I'll fly back here and set them both on fire."
As puzzling as it was, he and the pig-...Yuuri were having dinner, in public, and it actually wasn't a horrible experience. It was enjoyable spending time with a...friend? It wasn't like he was about to ask, or ever refer to the man as anything but 'piggy' out loud but Yuri assumed that's where they were headed. Yuuri Katsuki was really easy to talk to once you started to know him. There were traces of his banquet personality when he laughed and shared details about hometown and Yuri felt thankful that he hadn't shattered the man's heart back in Sochi.
The only thing he would've liked to erase from the evening was Victor's unabashed Russian comments about the curvature of Yuuri's ass, among other very suggestive declarations. Yuuri looked at him for some indication of what Victor was saying, but Yuri was having no part of that mayhem.
'Fucking hell Victor, keep it in your pants.'
All in all, it was a good night. It was nice watching Victor so comfortable with Yuuri and Minako. It was nice to see Yuuri more outgoing than he'd thought possible after Sochi. It was really nice to smile at the sight and have Yuuri tease him about it.
Yuri liked Hasetsu. A lot. He would have to make the most of the rest of his time here. He snuck a glance at Yuuri and Victor, who shared a wholly affectionate gaze despite the latter's intoxication. He bowed his head, hiding the widening grin on his lips.
'You're both fucking idiots.'