I promise it gets better ;)

Day Three

Yuuri woke up on the morning of the Final with newfound determination.

His short program had been choreographed by Celestino, but he'd chosen the music this time. He would skate to a carefully tailored section of Beethoven's famous Tempest Sonata. Celestino had frowned when he'd heard the music – it wasn't exactly conventional skating music – but it had described Yuuri's emotional turmoil extremely well. After seeing Yuuri's determination, passion, and resonation with the music, Celestino had nothing more to say against it.

After the qualifying rounds, Yuuri was in second place behind Yurio, yet again. At least he wasn't fourth like last year, he thought. Victor would be proud of him.

He said hello to Phichit, Chris, and Otabek when he passed by them in the lobby. Yurio stuck to his side like glue (although he wouldn't dare admit it) as they ventured through the halls, heading for the locker room.

Yuuri's legs were still sore, but bearable. He tried to tell himself that he would be fine, but he didn't really believe it. Truthfully, he didn't care much for competing against Yurio; his determination was solely because of one thing Victor had said last year after he'd won silver.

They partook in a short warm-up before retreating to the locker room. As first and second place coming into the Final, the two Yuri's were last on.

He heard the cheers for Phichit off in the distance and knew that the Final had started. This, he thought, was where it started and ended. This was it.

He and Yurio locked eyes, saying nothing but communicating without words. Somehow, the teen's bright green eyes helped to comfort him. As though knowing what Yuuri was thinking, the teen suddenly pulled out his cell phone, fumbled with it for a moment, and then handed it to Yuuri.

"Here," he said, and Yuuri took the phone curiously. "That's Victor's number. Text him, tell him it's you."

Yuuri froze, his thoughts traveling a million meters per minute. "I – "

"Just do it," Yurio hissed, slamming a fist down on the bench for emphasis. "He's definitely watching the Final on live television, anyway. And he knows who you are."

The blonde paused.

"Sort of."

Victor had gotten a new phone and therefore a new number after the accident, but Yuuri had never asked Yurio for it. The teen had offered many times before (in order to avoid having to be the designated messenger between the two, when they had something to say – and they rarely did), but Yuuri had always turned him down. He had been – and still was – afraid to step into this unfamiliar, dangerous territory.

On the phone screen was a series of messages from the Russians' earlier conversation. It was mostly in Russian, which Yuuri definitely could not read, but he did pick out the messages in English.

[ 7:06 ] Yuri Plisetsky: Remember we're last

[ 7:07 ] Yuri Plisetsky: You better watch us.

[ 7:26 ] Victor Nikiforov: Of course I will! Good luck, [something in Russian Yuuri couldn't read]!

Yuuri's fingers trembled as his thumbs hovered over the screen. Across from him, Yurio seemed ready to rip him a new one for his hesitation.

Victor didn't know about their past – he was sure of that, because Yurio had asked if he wanted Victor to know and he'd said no. So to Victor, Yuuri Katsuki was nothing other than the man who'd won silver last year. To Victor, Yuuri was just Yurio's friend from Japan.

What was he supposed to say?

His chest ached – it hurt so, so bad.

"Just send him who you are," Yurio grumbled, seeming to sense Yuuri's inner turmoil. "He knows your name."

Yuuri shook his head and pushed the phone back into Yurio's hands. "I can't do it."

"What?" Yurio scowled. "You realize you've been ignoring him all this time – "

"I can't do it!"

Yuuri's outburst echoed through the locker room, and even Yurio – notorious for being the most obnoxious person ever – was silent. Yuuri's head was pounding, and his eyes were wide open but staring at nothing.

"Man, I really wanted to kiss Yuuri's gold medal, too..."

That was the only reason he was here. That was the reason he'd worked so hard. He was working hard to preserve Victor's memory – to try to honor his wishes. He had pushed himself to the breaking point because he was breaking inside.

"Hello?"

Yuuri jumped, because he recognized that voice. He turned to stare wide-eyed at Yurio, who was looking away with a petty scowl on his face. He was holding his cell phone, and on the screen read Victor's name in Russian.

Yuuri knew that, if nothing else.

"Hello? Yura?"

"Yeah, it's me," Yurio grunted, before rolling his eyes and forcing himself to say, "Are you watching us?"

"Of course I am, my dear Yura! Oh – is Yuuri there too? I've heard so much about him!"

That was all he was to Victor now – the man that he'd heard so much about. Yuuri wasn't anything special anymore. He was just Yuuri – a name without a face, one of Yurio's friends who might never even meet Victor.

That was his own fault, but even so...

"Yeah, he's here," Yurio said, after it was clear that Yuuri would say nothing. "Hey, idiot, say something."

"Hi, Yuuri! I'm Victor Nikiforov, Yura's friend! How are you? I'm really excited to see you skate! Ah, Chris's form is perfection..."

The seconds were counting down. Yuuri was going on in less than ten minutes. He would have to leave soon, to go find Celestino by the rink. He trembled. Was he supposed to respond?

"Wow! Amazing! Hey, Yura – you'd better do well, you hear me? This people are amazing!"

"Yeah, yeah," Yurio grumbled, and the unspoken words hung over them: So were you. The blonde reached over and delivered a swift whack to Yuuri's ribs, but still Yuuri couldn't think of what he was supposed to say.

"Makkachin, are you watching this? Isn't it amazing?"

"I'm going to win!" Yuuri suddenly blurted out, and Victor's chuckle died halfway through. "I-I... I'm going to win for you, even if you don't remember me anymore!"

And then he left.

Tears welled up in Yuuri's eyes, as he pushed through the locker room door. It was almost his turn, anyway. Celestino was waiting for him.

No, not just Celestino. Victor's voice echoed in Yuuri's head. "The world is waiting for you, Yuuri. How long are you going to stay in warm-up mode?"

Who was Yuuri skating for?

He was skating for Victor.

"But what use is it if you don't believe in yourself, Yuuri?"

He had never believed in himself. How was he supposed to change that now? All he could do was hope that his – his – his love for Victor was good enough. Right?

Right?

"You always have to believe that you are the only person who can skate this program."

Celestino said nothing when he saw Yuuri's conflicted state and only patted him on the shoulder firmly before sending him out onto the ice. Yuuri could barely even see the world around him through his tears, and wondered if that was a bad thing.

He took his place in the center of the ice. The music started. He flailed.

He had suddenly realized that he'd blindly walked into this competition. What was he doing? He had to focus – what was the next jump – what was he supposed to do?

Shit. Yuuri searched frantically but found nothing, and he leaned too far to the right and almost hit a wall that he still could barely see. Damn, damn, damn –

"You tend to flub your jumps when something's on your mind," Victor whispered in his ear. He tried to relax. That was right. He couldn't think too hard. He just had to keep going – like he'd been doing these past six months.

Why did that have to happen to Victor – to them? To Yurio? What divine presence had decided that shitty fate? Victor had been the world's greatest ice skater. Victor had been everyone's idol.

And now what?

In personality he was the same, but he remembered nothing.

He was twenty-eight years old, but he might as well have been three.

And Yuuri was so heartbroken and so downright angry. What had he done to deserve this? What had Victor done to deserve this? Yurio? Hell, what had the world done to deserve this? It wasn't fair – it wasn't fair – it just wasn't fair –

And he'd been planning his comeback, too. He'd been working hard for it. Now that would never happen.

"Man, I really wanted to kiss Yuuri's gold medal, too..."

He was going to win the gold this year, for sure. He would win it for Victor – even if Victor didn't know who he was. He would win it for Victor – for the only person he'd ever really loved.

But more importantly, he had to win it for himself – the only person he'd never cared about.

He thought he could see Victor smiling.