Day Five

It was the day of the free skate. Yuuri, who was still in second place behind Yurio, would go on second to last.

To say he was nervous was an understatement. If he didn't make gold this year... well, he'd be disappointed, to say the least. He had worked so hard for Victor, but...

He steeled his nerves. Just like last time, he would skate for Victor. And finally, finally, he would skate for himself. He would skate for all the hard work he'd put in. He would skate for all the tears he'd shed. He would skate for his own pride and his own confidence.

He would skate until Victor's eyes were only on him.

Celestino patted him on the shoulder. Yurio gave him a nod. Phichit loudly cheered Yuuri's name – and so did the entire stadium. The audience was waiting for him, just like Victor had said.

"And now we have Yuuri Katsuki of Japan, carrying on Victor Nikiforov's legacy with 'Stay Close to Me'!"

And the cheering continued. Yuuri positioned himself in the center of the ice. Even hearing Victor's name had made him tremble.

One last time, he thought. The audience would see the Victor that lived on inside of him. And they would see him – Yuuri Katsuki, with all his faults and chubbiness and all the things he was bad at – and they would see his suffering and his tears, and they would see how broken he felt inside.

The familiar music started, and he stepped off into a simple step sequence.

One last time.

His eyes filled with tears, and his vision was blurry. He didn't care. Finally, finally, this was for himself. And after this, he had decided, he would retire. Victor was gone, and Yurio was the up-and-coming star of the skating world. There were plenty of people to take his spot.

He had never been the most amazing skater, and now his idol – his motivation – his inspiration – was gone.

The music was filling his heart – filling the empty space Victor's absence had left. And it was like Victor himself was speaking to him, because Victor was here with him –

"Careful on your quad Salchow. You'd rather over-rotate than under-rotate, right?"

Yuuri nearly over-rotated, but he didn't. He landed it perfectly.

"And here's the combination – remember, focus on the right foot landing, and you'll be fine!"

Triple axel, single loop, triple toe loop – perfect.

Victor was cheering. "Yes, Yuuri! Go! You're doing great! Now remember how we skated this at the exhibition last year – just pretend I'm with you. You're beautiful. You're captivating."

Yuuri had never been more relaxed on the ice. Victor was here with him, and he was fine. For once, he wasn't hurting.

"Good form there, Yuuri! Now there's the quad flip coming up, but you can do it. I'm here with you."

Yuuri went into the quad a bit weak. Things were going by in slow motion. He wasn't going to make enough rotations – he would miss by half a damn rotation –

And then it was like something was pushing him through the air, and he landed perfectly. A perfect landing. Four full rotations. Victor winked at him. "See? Perfect!"

"You're cheating, you know," Yuuri accused him, but he just chuckled.

"Anything for my sweet Yuuri!"

The music was crying out to Victor, begging him to stay – Yuuri was crying out, begging him to stay –

"Stay close to me
Don't go
I'm afraid of losing you.

"Your hands, your legs
My hands, my legs
The heartbeats
Are fusing together..."

God, he was crying. He was crying during the Grand Prix Final. He was crying on live television. He was crying.

"Let's leave together," came the lyrics in Italian. Yuuri was spinning, fast, the world a dizzying blur around him.

Victor smiled at him and mouthed the words as they came.

"Now I'm ready."

And then came the applause.

It took him a while to calm down, but he watched Yurio's performance and was extremely impressed. He didn't care about winning at this point; he had fulfilled his goals.

Even so, he was on edge as the scores for Yurio came out.

Amidst the good job's and the congratulations' and the you were amazing's were Yurio's pat on the head, Phichit's enthusiastic hug, and Chris's tearful proclamation of love to Yuuri's performance.

None of it mattered. Victor had been happy. And more importantly, he reminded himself, he had been happy.

Well, so had Celestino, because Yuuri had beaten his own world record from last year for a grand score of 334.05. Now it just came down to what Yurio scored.

"We have the scores for Yuri Plisetsky!" said the announcer in perfect English. It was quickly translated to a dozen different languages, and Yuuri's heart was pounding. Why was he so nervous? He couldn't beat Yurio, could he?

And he didn't even care about winning, so what did it matter?

"His score for the free skate is 228.15, giving him a grand total of 333.17!"

Yuuri's heart clenched. And unclenched.

What the actual hell?

People were screaming – not just for Yurio, but for him. He had won. He had won gold.

He stood up and yelled with them, his voice lost among theirs. "You see that, Victor?!" he screamed, the waterworks starting again. He just couldn't help it. "I did it – I did it!"

He had done it. He had won a gold medal.

If only Victor was here to kiss it.