Chapter 9: Figure skating drama in Hasetsu
As the weeks passed by, Viktor gradually settled into his new life. Every morning, he accompanied Yuuri on his run. Sometimes, they would run together, but as Yuuri's extra kilos melted away, keeping up with him became harder and harder and so Viktor returned to his habit of riding his bicycle. They did stretching exercises together and the occasional weight training because Viktor was disinclined to let himself get out of shape.
When Yuuri was helping at the onsen or at practising ballet at Minako's, Viktor would skate at Ice Castle to which he and Yuuri had access in the mornings and evenings. In the initial turmoil of settling in, blended with the excitement of his reunion with Yuuri, it had slipped his notice, but since Viktor was here, he no longer needed to drag himself to the rink, regardless of whether Yuuri was watching or not. Here, away from the obligations and expectations of being a living legend, the choreographies he had designed back in Russia no longer felt bland and uninspired. The ideas poured out of him from an untapped well, as if the darkness had never taken him. And even when he did not work on these programmes, he found a profound joy in carving lines into the ice with the precision to which he had honed his skating skills over the years.
One year ago, living a life like this would have seemed too strange to think about, Viktor mused one afternoon. I thought I would feel dead inside, oblivious to the way my spirit had been withering away.
He stopped, watching the waves roll ashore. Seagulls cried high in the sky. Makkachin dashed by, making high-pitched noises of joy as he splashed through the shallow water. A group of white gulls that had been bobbing up and down with the tide flew up, shrieking. Having found new prey, Makkachin chased the birds, his excited bark echoing over the beach. Viktor laughed.
I don't feel dead at all. In fact, I have never felt more alive.
That was the strangest thought of all. Especially since so far things had not turned out as he had hoped for. Yuuri regarded him as an idol and, for once, Viktor found no joy in being idolised. Given how vehemently Yuuri blocked every attempt to talk about the banquet, he must feel great shame about that night. Without the book Viktor had purchased for his language studies, he would have probably never understood that this shame was likely to be rooted in Yuuri's culture, and thus he had stopped prying. That Yuuri continued being timid and aloof made no sense, though. By now, neither his overweight nor the initial shock about Viktor's unexpected arrival was an excuse.
I hope he will warm up to me once I can start teaching him. I know we had a thing for each other that night in Sochi.
This thought kept him going whenever he wondered whether Yuuri had lost interest in him. Not a single day went by without Viktor yearning to touch and hold Yuuri while forcing himself to keep it to a minimum because Yuuri still freaked out easily, whereas he had been unable to keep his hands off Viktor at the banquet.
He gazed at the westering sun and checked his phone.
"Makkachin!" he called.
His dog galloped towards him, water drops flying in all directions. Salty water sprayed Viktor's face as Makkachin shook his shaggy fur.
"How often must I tell you that birds are not for eating, you naughty little scoundrel?" Viktor teased.
Makkachin barked and wagged his tail.
Laughing, Viktor produced a bag with treats from his pocket. He giggled as Makkachin devoured the pieces, his coarse tongue licking over Viktor's palm.
"Sorry, Makkachin. This is all I brought with me. You must wait until dinner." He laughed again as Makkachin sniffed at his pockets and pushed his muzzle against his thigh. "No. I don't have any more treats. You ate them all. There will be no more treats for poor Makkachin. Never ever."
At the sound of his name, Makkachin barked and pranced around Viktor. "You are such a greedy dog!" Viktor knelt, trying to catch the lively standard poodle. "How about we go back to the onsen and see if Hiroko-san has a snack for you to keep you alive until dinner?" He managed to grab Makkachin and hooked the leash to his collar. "We should go anyway. Yuuri will be back soon. You want to see him, too, right?"
Makkachin panted. He was stupid and Viktor loved him for it.
I need to shave him, Viktor thought as they entered the grove that separated the beach from the district of Kagami. His fur is growing and matting by the day and it's already warmer than summer in St. Petersburg. According to his travel guide, Kyushu summers were sweltering.
Yuuri had not yet returned from Minako's when Viktor and Makkachin entered the onsen. Only a few guests lingered in the restaurant during these late-afternoon hours—most of them regulars like that elderly man in the brown bathrobe whose permanent presence qualified him as part of the interior.
"Come in!" Hiroko called in Japanese when Viktor knocked at the kitchen door.
Tightening his grip on the leash, Viktor bent down. "Now, be a good dog," he muttered, scratching Makkachin behind the ears. He pushed the door open. "Hiroko-san, do you have some spare bones for Makkachin, please?" he asked as he had memorised the question.
Yuuri's mother was arranging squid and vegetables as one of the onsen's cooks handed her two plates. "Oh, it is you, Viktor-san!" A smile spread across her face, emitting a warmth Viktor often wished his mother had given him. She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. "There are cutlet bones in the fridge—wait, I will fetch them for you."
While she flitted across the kitchen, Viktor inhaled the fragrances of frying fish and soy sauce that hung over the room and set his stomach rumbling. Attracted by the smell, Makkachin pulled the leash taut, but Viktor held him firmly in the doorway. That lesson he had memorised.
"For your dog, if you please, Viktor-san." Yuuri's mother pressed a plate with a small pile of bones in his hand. Her eyes that reminded Viktor so much of Yuuri's looked up fondly at him. "Are you hungry?"
"I can wait until dinner," Viktor assured her.
"You were on the beach. And you need strength for Yuuri." With a wide smile, she pressed another plate into his hand. Viktor struggled to hold both with the fingers he had available for the task. "I made melon buns. They are fresh. Please enjoy them."
"Thank you, Hiroko-san," Viktor said and inclined his head.
Again, that warm smile. "You're always welcome, Viktor-san."
A strange sense of awkwardness and comfort washed over Viktor. He returned the smile and left the kitchen.
At the staircase, he ran into a smaller figure. The bones clattered onto the floor as the collision jostled Viktor. He leapt to save the buns.
"Oh," Yuuri said softly. "Sorry. I…" Then he recognised Viktor and froze.
"Yuuri," Viktor said, and his heart did a quad flip. He flung back his hair. "Hi."
Yuuri's fragrance was mixed with the saltiness of fresh sweat, enhancing his masculinity. Viktor could have inhaled it forever. Giddiness washed over him. He yearned to touch Yuuri, but even if he were not holding two plates and a leash, Yuuri most likely would freeze or flee.
"Let me pick these up for you, please." Yuuri bent down and started collecting the bones.
"Don't bother yourself, Yuuri. Makkachin has already taken care of his treat." Viktor nodded towards his greedy dog who was devouring one bone on the floor.
"Oh." Yuuri blushed and rose. "Thank you."
"How was ballet?"
"Good… thank you," Yuuri spluttered.
"That's good." Failing to chase away his grin, Viktor continued, "Makkachin and I were on the beach and your mother gave me bones for him and melon buns for me."
"This is nice of her." Yuuri nodded to the stairs. "I… I need to change and wash. See you at dinner!"
"Sure," Viktor replied, and before he could ask if Yuuri would like to spend the remaining time together, Yuuri had bolted upstairs.
He's still so awkward and not at all like he was at the banquet. And yet I'm drawn to him, Viktor thought, gazing at the staircase. Or is it his awkwardness I'm drawn to?
Squatting, he retrieved the bones except for the one Makkachin was chewing on. "Come, Makkachin," he said. "You can eat the rest on the veranda."
Whatever attracted him to Yuuri besides his skating and the joy he had radiated that night in Sochi, Viktor's heart had long surrendered to it because unlike his mind it paid no heed to unreciprocated feelings.
Yuuri had dawdled away the rest of the afternoon, playing Civilization. It was one of those games he could immerse himself in for hours and shut out the world around him. In the last few weeks, it had become a refuge as spending time alone had begun to feel weird. However, Yuuri still had no idea how to get to know Viktor without making an utter fool of himself. So far, his awkwardness had thwarted every strategy he had devised to start a meaningful conversation. Avoiding Viktor, however, was better than facing his perpetual reminder that Viktor had chosen to coach a man who was a loser in every regard.
When the colours in his room bled into the waning daylight, he went downstairs, stomach rumbling painfully. He was no longer hungry all day, but his meals were spaced out enough to whet his appetite.
Viktor already sat at their table. His face brightened when he spotted Yuuri and he cast one of those dazzling smiles at him.
"I am sorry for being late," Yuuri said as he folded his legs at the other side of the table. "Time went by so fast."
A frown wrinkled Viktor's brow. Then he swept back his hair and smiled another one of those smiles. "Don't worry, Yuuri. The buns your mother gave me earlier averted death by starvation."
"Oh, okay." Void of a smart reply, Yuuri fell silent. Why was something he did with his friends and family all the time impossible when it came to the man he admired with a fierceness that made his heart ache? He clenched his fists under the table. I wish I was stronger.
His mother brought ramen with egg and beef slices. Hungry, Yuuri pitched into the food, trying not to stare as Viktor made a ceremony of slurping the noodles but reluctant to look away because watching Viktor was a silent form of worship, and Yuuri savoured every second of it.
Eventually, Viktor sucked the last wriggling noodle into his mouth, the pink tip of his tongue running over his lower lip. "Vkusno!" Viktor exclaimed and lifted the bowl to his lips. His Adam's apple bobbed as he drank the broth in huge gulps.
Yuuri kept staring at him. The stars spun. The universe expanded. Even when conducting the most mundane action, Viktor was more gorgeous than he could bear.
"So, Yuuri." Viktor put down the bowl. "It's time for your weekly report. What's your weight today?"
The chopsticks slipped from Yuuri's slick fingers as reality jerked him out of his rapture.
What if it's not enough?
"Um, sixty-seven point five kilos," he said.
Viktor's eyes widened, but then his forehead creased with a frown. "One and a half kilos in one week? That's more than your goal!" He wagged his finger at Yuuri. "Yuuri, did you make this number up, so I'll let you skate?"
Hastily, Yuuri shook his head. "I… I did extra exercises and asked my parents for more chores. I kept going for a second jog in the evening. If you do not believe me, we can go to the scales now!"
A puzzled look crossed Viktor's face. His lips widened with a smile as his eyes wandered over Yuuri in appreciation. "Even if I didn't know how sincere you are, I could hardly overlook the change." He winked.
The sweat came down in rivulets now. "Your diet plan worked," Yuuri replied awkwardly. "Thank you again, Viktor."
Viktor waved that off as if it were nothing. "That's what I'm here for," he said, smiling.
Yuuri managed a smile. "So, when will you start teaching me?" he asked the question he had been desiring to ask for too long.
"Tomorrow morning."
A stab of anticipation made Yuuri jump. "Great! I cannot―" A memory struck him, and he froze. "I promised my mother I would clean the baths. I am sorry. I must do it before the guests arrive."
"Then join me when you've finished your chores. That way, I can prepare some things beforehand."
Prepare? Yuuri wondered, trying to read Viktor's expression. He's still talking about skating, isn't he?
Then he noticed the sparkle in Viktor's eyes. He's looking forward to it. Another surge of anticipation flared up from the pit of his stomach. But of course, he is. I've kept him waiting long enough.
"I will take care that my duties will not interfere with practice," he said.
"Great! We have lots of work to do!"
"Um, why?"
"You made last place in last year's Grand Prix Final and from there it went downhill," Viktor said, his voice suddenly stern. "Before we start, I want to have a closer look at your skills, so I'll know what to focus on when I teach you."
Yuuri's blood turned cold. This will be humiliating. Viktor would see all his flaws and of these, Yuuri had many. He would see how pathetic and mediocre Yuuri was. He would be disappointed. But to win gold, I can't chicken out. He will get to see even more flaws as the season progresses.
"O-okay." He swallowed and nodded. "I… I promise to work hard to become a better skater."
That night, Yuuri lay awake. The way his heart was throbbing in his chest ousted all weariness. An endless row of weeks had passed imagining what it would be like to have his idol coaching him. And come next morning, it would finally happen! Yuuri had no illusions. Being trained by the five-time world champion would be tough. But Yuuri would embrace it willingly because he wanted to redeem himself.
His heart leapt.
Tomorrow, Viktor and I will be on the ice together.
The next morning, the regular crowd of reporters had laid siege to Ice Castle Hasetsu again. Since Yuuri had shown Viktor around the ninja castle that crowned the hill on which the rink was built, they came every day. As always, Viktor took off his sunglasses with the deliberate slowness of an actor in a commercial, waved at the reporters and bid them good morning. Then he picked the one he had declared the most annoying.
"The last time, Katsuki-senshu has been seen in public, he had dropped a significant amount of weight," Mr. Morooka said. "How long until he can resume practice?"
"Actually, we will start today," Viktor replied.
A collective sigh rippled through the crowd.
"Why is he not with you then?" Morooka demanded.
"Because he's busy at his family's hot spring. He will join me in about one hour." Viktor winked. "You really should visit the Yuutopia daytime onsen. It's a lovely place and they have the best katsudon in the whole city!" He gazed at the banner above the entrance that was a jumble of all three Japanese scripts translating to Welcome, Viktor! Welcome back, Katsuki Yuuri!
"In a few weeks, the Grand Prix assignments will be announced," Morooka kept prying. "The time to prepare for next season is running out. Will four months be enough?"
Reporters! Always so dramatic!
"Absolutely," Viktor said. "Early June is plenty of time to practise a new programme for a talented and experienced figure skater like Yuuri." He could not help a smile. "I'm sure you've seen the video of him skating my last free programme. Yuuri taught himself this routine. This man has much more potential than people give him credit for, and I will make sure it flourishes." He pushed his sunglasses back up his nose. "Now please excuse me, I must for prepare Yuuri's first practice. Enjoy your siege!"
His heart was pounding with anticipation when he stepped onto the ice. It had done so since he had woken in the predawn gloom. Two long months of yearning to share the ice with Yuuri had passed. As Viktor danced across the rink to the choreography he had been working on back in Russia thinking of Yuuri, reality caught up with him. Yuuri had not skated for weeks. The last time he had worked with a coach dated back to the Grand Prix Final half a year ago. There was a ton of work to do before Viktor could even think of teaching Yuuri a new programme. The ice did not forgive time off.
But he would finally get to see Yuuri skate. In this light, Yuuri being an enigma that warded off all attempts to get to know him seemed irrelevant―the best way to get to know someone was through a mutual passion.
I wonder how things will change from now on.
Anticipation and craving hit Viktor. He skated a sharp turn and moved on to the sultry step sequence that only existed because of the banquet. Whom was he trying to fool? He wanted so bad to see Yuuri skate that thinking of it had his heart bursting into the song Yuuri had sung back to him so many weeks ago. When Yuuri would see the choreography Viktor was working on, it would remind him of their dance, and he would finally warm up to Viktor so that they―
"You look like you're having a great time, Viktor!"
Confused that someone was shouting in Russian, Viktor spun. Recognition struck him like a shock as he spotted the youth in the leopard-pattern jacket, his unruly chin-length hair cloaking his head like a helmet of gold. He stopped, completely ripped out of his abandon. What is he doing here?
Putting on a smile, he waved. "Yuri, you're here?"
Yuri Plisetsky, winner of the last Junior Grand Prix and reigning Junior World Champion glowered at Viktor from behind the barrier. Next to him stood the Japanese Yuuri—Viktor's Yuuri, his face tense with the dismay Viktor was feeling at this very moment at the interruption.
Shouldn't he be at school? Viktor wondered. Then he remembered that a few days ago the summer break had begun in Russia.
"I'm surprised, Yakov let you come," Viktor said. "What do you want?"
The scowl the teen gave him was more than his usual pubescent scowl.
"Judging from that look, I forgot some promise I made." It took Viktor a while to recall the memory. Two years ago, he had promised a thirteen-year-old Yuri that he would choreograph a programme for him when he became Junior World Champion without jumping quads. However, back in March when Yuri had finally fulfilled his part of the bargain, Viktor had been too busy drawing a line under his career and his chance encounter with Yuuri that the memory had not even crossed his mind. Scratching his neck, Viktor downplayed his annoyance with a grin and glided to the gate. "Sorry, sorry. I totally forgot. But you knew, I was the forgetful type, right?"
"Yeah, I'm painfully aware of that." Yuri's fingers dug into the barrier as he propped himself up, revealing a black T-shirt with a tiger's head on the chest. His sense of fashion had always been a bit too eccentric for Viktor's taste. "But a promise is a promise!" His green eyes flashed with accusation as he jabbed his finger at Viktor. "You'll choreograph my new programme! Let's go back to Russia!"
The Japanese Yuuri gasped.
Huh? What is he thinking? Being undefeated in the junior ranks had spoiled Yuri. He would soon learn that he could not push his senior co-competitors around like teens and prepubescent children. Had his victories made him so arrogant that he had come all the way from Russia to hold Viktor to his promise first thing during his summer break? No, there must be something else.
Viktor left the ice and huddled into his down parka. The two Yuris kept staring at him, one grim, the other a frightened deer. I don't need to return to Russia to choreograph a programme, Viktor thought, but I don't want Yuri to think he came here in vain. His mind started racing as it brainstormed options and possible scenarios. Yuri was talented, but lacked experience. If he took practice seriously, he could become a top skater withing the next few seasons. Viktor was loathe to dim his fire.
"Okay!" he said. "I have decided! Tomorrow, I'll choreograph a short programme for both of you to the music for my short programme."
The two Yuris froze. Then they started shouting at once.
"Huh? To the same music as him?"
"What? The same choreography?"
Viktor chuckled. "No, this piece has two different arrangements. I was trying to decide which one to use." Disillusioned and miserable as he had been, both choreographies had seemed bland. In the dark northern winter, he had thought he would never surprise the audience with these programmes and that he had lost his talent to create. It had required moving half a globe away to rediscover the beauty of these routines. He had intended to give one to Yuuri, anyway. "Of course, each of you will get a different programme. Let's hold a recital in one week! You'll compete to see who can surprise the audience more."
"You'll do whatever the winner says, Viktor!" Yuri demanded. "Agree and I'm in!"
All colour fled from Yuuri's face. "Whoa! Let's take a step back here!" He waved his hands about. "I don't want to be punished for losing!"
Viktor's heart did a flip. He had not expected that a fun challenge would rouse their fighting spirit this much, but it seemed to be just the push Yuuri needed to come out of his shell. With his eight years more experience and the short programme Viktor would tailor for him, this contest would be a piece of cake for Yuuri.
"Great!" Viktor exclaimed and did a small jump. "I love that kind of thing!"
"But one week is not enough time!" Yuuri protested.
"Are you afraid, fatso?" the other Yuri snarled.
"No," Yuuri replied stiffly.
"I don't care anyway because I'll beat you," Yuri sneered.
An inarticulate sound welled from Yuuri's mouth.
Viktor watched them, his heart pounding in anticipation. "You're already warming up for the contest. Wonderful! I can't wait to see you compete against each other!"
Of all things Yuuri had dreamt of regarding his first practice with Viktor, an angry teenager crashing it and threatening to drag his new coach back to Russia had not been on the list. He had expected embarrassment, botched jumps, humiliation because he was horribly out of practice, bruises, insults, and innuendos, even Viktor triggering a flight or freeze response with one of his over-the-top advances—and Yuuri would have put up with any of these gladly.
That Yuri Plisetsky would show up full of demands regarding a promise Viktor had made years ago was the stuff of nightmares too absurd to even think of.
He came because you wanted him to coach you, but you haven't even considered asking him to choreograph a programme? the Russian Punk had asked when he had shown up at the rink. What have you two been doing all this time?
I don't really get the whole picture, so you should ask him yourself, Yuuri had replied. But Viktor came all the way to Hasetsu because he wanted to. Just to become my coach.
That had infuriated Yuri, but at that moment, Yuuri had not cared. Yuri was World Junior Champion, but regarding skating skills, Yuuri was eight years ahead and Viktor had chosen him as a student.
However, his initial confidence had withered away when Yuri had insisted that Viktor would return with him to Russia because of a promise given years ago.
"Why's he taking so long?" Yuri Plisetsky glowered around the foyer. "I'm starving."
"I don't know," Yuuri replied. "Perhaps, he's in the shower."
Yuri's emerald eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You don't know?"
Yuuri shook his head. When Viktor was in the changing room, Yuuri would talk to the Nishigoris.
"Strange," the Russian Punk muttered. Yuuri had no idea what was so strange about him not watching his coach's every step.
"I'm sure he'll be here soon," he said.
"Hm." His hands bagging the pockets of his leopard jacket, Yuri Plisetsky wrinkled his nose. "He often gets fussy about his hair."
"I like his hair," Yuuri said, weirdly offended.
The other Yuri snorted.
"So, you just came from the airport?" Yuuri asked.
Yuri grunted.
"Where you will be staying?" Yuuri asked.
The Russian Punk scowled. "Didn't think my plan through that much."
"Didn't your parents book a hotel?"
"I came all by myself."
"Oh," Yuuri said, feeling awkward.
Yuri's eyes flashed green lightning. "Where's Viktor staying?"
"At my parent's house. My parents run a daytime onsen."
"What the hell is that?"
"It's a spa. A hot spring and a restaurant. You can come with us for now. My family will be happy to make the acquaintance of one of Viktor's—"
"The kitten and the piglet are already here!" a warm voice cut him off. "Nice!"
Yuuri spun as Viktor emerged from the changing room wearing one of his dazzling smiles that took his breath away. Did he just insult us? "I just talked to Nishigori. He will ask the management if we can book the rink all week. He'll let us know tomorrow—what's wrong?"
"No-nothing," Yuuri spluttered, while the Russian Yuri only changed the nuance of his scowl. "Yuri will come with us to the onsen."
"Cool!" Viktor said and strode to the exit.
Casting an apologetic glance at the other Yuri without knowing why Yuuri followed him. The wheels of a suitcase creaked behind him.
Outside, the afternoon heat hit Yuuri like a wall. The air shimmered above the asphalt. After the cold and dim interior, the light stabbed his eyes like an armoury of katanas. Seagulls cried above.
Viktor unlocked his bike and pushed it down the street. "Ah, you have a suitcase with you, Yuri," he remarked. "We'll walk, then."
The Russian Punk grunted something incomprehensible. Viktor's reply was both foreign and beautiful. So, this is how it sounds when he's speaking Russian, Yuuri thought. Viktor's English was fluent, and he only had a tiny accent. His native tongue had a whole different flow. It sounded like a well murmuring on a warm moonlit night—even more than when he was flirty. Yuuri could have listened to it for hours.
All way home, Viktor and his rink mate engaged in a conversation in Russian. They did not even notice Yuuri trailing behind.
They get along so well, Yuuri thought, forcing his gaze away from the glaring river as they crossed the bridge to his home district. It was strange to see the Russian Punk less bad-tempered. He once even let out a low bellow that seemed like his version of laughter. In all those weeks Viktor has been here, we never talked like that.
Yuuri could already tell that the other Yuri was almost pleasant company in Viktor's presence, whereas he was awkward and tense. Viktor and the Russian Punk had been rink mates and were excellent figure skaters. Yuuri skated several leagues below them. He choked on the sudden lump in his throat. He and Viktor—they were from different worlds.
When they finally reached the onsen, Yuuri let out a small sigh. He yearned to retreat to his room, immerse himself in computer games, and forget the world. Instead, he followed both Russians to Viktor's room.
Makkachin greeted them at the door, panting and wagging his tail. "Hey, Makkachin." Putting down his backpack, Viktor squatted down and nuzzled his dog.
"What a hovel," Yuri growled as he gazed around the tidy room with an expression of dismay that made Yuuri wonder if he hated the whole world. "Where's my room?"
What? This wasn't what I meant when I said he can come with us! A fit of sudden anger flared up, powered by anxiety. Having a face-off with the boy who had told him to retire six months ago was upsetting enough even without having to endure him day and night.
"You're staying here?" Yuuri snapped.
"If you get Viktor to yourself all the time, it won't be a fair match!" Yuri retorted. "I'm staying here, too! All right?"
How does he think coaching works? The direction this was going in distressed Yuuri. It's only for one week, he reminded himself. We'll be at the rink most of the time anyway.
"Then feel welcome." He put on a polite smile. "It's not like I care what you think."
"The hot spring is great," Viktor interjected. He was sitting in his armchair, patting Makkachin, who had draped himself across Viktor's legs.
The Russian Punk snorted. "I can't take a bath with other people." He pulled his trunk to the adjacent room. "I'm going to sleep." And with that he jerked the door shut.
That's a private dining room! Yuuri wanted to protest, staring at the wooden sliding door.
Unsure what he was supposed to do now, he cast a glance at Viktor who was still sitting in his chair, his elegant fingers running through Makkachin's fur like a Hollywood villain. This is awkward. Why is it still so hard to talk to him? And why did he pit me and the Russian Yuri against each other when he came here because of me? Why—
The door opened with a violent shove, and Yuri stuck his head out. "Give me food! And a bath!"
"Okay," Yuuri said. "Come with me."
Without waiting for a response, he walked outside.
His father was at the counter, billing a group of men in business suits. Having an international celebrity living here still brought a fair number of guests besides the regular crowd, more than making up for the expenses the Katsuki family had because of their permanent guest.
"Um, Father," Yuuri said when the men disappeared towards the baths. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
His father looked up and smiled. "Sure, Yuuri. What is it?"
"One of Viktor's former rink mates came to visit. He will stay for one week." He swallowed. "Viktor is going to have us compete against each other, and he needs a place to sleep. I offered to let him to stay with us. I hope that's okay."
"Is this the young man who came with you earlier?" Toshiya asked, nodding behind Yuuri.
"Yes." Glancing over his shoulder, Yuuri swallowed. "This is Yuri Plisetsky. He's on summer holiday."
His father beamed. "Friends of Vicchan are always welcome. I'll have your mother deal with his accommodation when the evening rush is over."
"Thank you, Father," Yuuri said and made way as a couple with three children approached the counter, asking for a family bath and dinner.
Katsuki Toshiya motioned for the family to wait and walked over to the two Russians. "Welcome, Yuri Plisetsky," he said to the youth and bowed. "The Katsuki family is happy to have you staying with us."
Yuri's mouth popped open when Yuuri translated the words. "Um, thanks," he muttered.
"We will prepare a room for you," Yuuri told him. "Until then, you can bathe and dine."
"Great!" the Russian Punk growled.
"Cool! Let's all bathe together!" Viktor exclaimed. "Yuuri, you're coming with us, right?"
"Um…" It was the last thing Yuuri wanted. But if I retreat, Yuri has already won. "O-okay," he said.
Grinning, Viktor put his hand around Yuuri's shoulder and walked towards the baths. Flustered and bereft of speech, Yuuri hurried to keep up with him.
"Bah!" Yuri spat from somewhere behind them. "I'm not gonna bathe with either of you!"
"Don't worry, Yuri!" Viktor called over his shoulder. "You don't need to share one tub with me and Yuuri."
Huh? "WHAT?" Yuuri exclaimed, freezing all over. He meant the pool, right?
"Yuuri!" Viktor called from the changing room. "Are you coming?"
"Um, yes!" Yuuri replied, and stumbled after him.
For the next few minutes, he had no time to subject Viktor's words to a deeper analysis, for he had to explain the onsen rules to Yuri and show him around. "And the towel is never to touch the ground," he finished. "Cover your private parts with it when you walk around. When in the tub or the spring, put it on your head."
"The… what parts?" Yuri asked.
"The…" Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, unable to voice any of the synonyms he could think of, all of them too obscene for his taste. He made a vague gesture below his hip.
"Eh?"
Viktor laughed. It was a beautiful sound, clear like the chime of a bell, and it made Yuuri ache. He never laughs when I say something. The only times I heard him laugh have been when he was talking to Makkachin. He listened as Viktor spoke to his rink mate, probably explaining the onsen rules in Russian.
Eventually, Yuri nodded. "I think I got that."
They took off their clothes and headed to the baths where they washed. The spring was occupied with a few guests, but when Yuuri, Viktor, and Yuri stepped onto the engawa, they went inside—not without staring at the fair-haired foreigners. Yuri Plisetsky glowered at the hot spring in dismay.
"That's not a tub, that's a fucking pool! How many people go in there?"
"We had as much as ten inside once during peak hours," Yuuri replied.
"That's gross!" Yuri made a retching sound.
"Well, if you find bathing with other people so disgusting, we have a tub over there." Unable to suppress a smug grin, Yuuri pointed at the wooden tub next to the spring. "No one will bother you in there."
"Nah, I wouldn't say it's necessarily a tub for one person alone," Viktor said. His eyes flashed to Yuuri, and he winked. "It would be snug in there for a couple."
"You disgust me, Viktor!" Yuri snapped and stomped over to the tub.
Laughing, Viktor replied something in Russian. His hand touched Yuuri's bare shoulder. Yuuri startled.
"Let's go into the tub for the adults, Yuuri," Viktor said and stepped into the spring.
Sweat breaking from every pore, Yuuri followed him. Although they bathed together almost every night, it often felt a bit weird and awkward. Sometimes, Viktor would become flirty all of a sudden, and Yuuri never knew how to respond. He was not born for this kind of thing.
What a day! Yuuri thought as he rested his head against the stones. He wanted nothing but to rewind the day to when he had woken this morning, his heart drumming with excitement because Viktor would start teaching him. How happy he had been! But Yuri Plisetsky would still have shown up.
After the Grand Prix Final, I should have continued practice and maintained a healthy diet. Then, I might have had a chance against Yuri. Winning will be a piece of cake for him now.
"Yuuri!" Viktor called.
Startled, Yuuri opened his eyes. Then he realised that Viktor was speaking in his native tongue to the Russian Punk who had collapsed over the edge of his tub with a languished expression. Yuri growled a reply. Viktor laughed and uttered some more words in Russian.
He's happy that his rink mate came. If Yuri wins, this would be the perfect excuse for Viktor to go back to Russia. I can't believe he turned his promise to coach me into a competition! Even if he once promised Yuri Plisetsky he would choreograph for him, he decided to coach me!
"Yuuri, you're so quiet today."
It took Yuuri a while to realise that this time Viktor had indeed addressed him. "Huh? Oh, I am just tired," he lied.
"But you didn't work out today."
"Um, my chores this morning were very exhausting. And… I jogged to the rink."
Viktor smiled at him through veils of vapour. "Well, then save your strength for tomorrow, will you?"
"O-okay."
The conversation died and the lump in Yuuri's throat grew.
He was relieved when after the bath he could excuse himself for a few minutes because he needed to change into fresh clothes.
As the restaurant was crowded that night, they ate in the private dining room. "What's all this food?" Yuri asked as he glowered at the menu Yuuri's mother had brought. "I can't read this."
"These dishes are all very good." Viktor pointed to one item. "If you're exceptionally hungry, I'd recommend this."
Yuri Plisetsky shrugged. "Okay. But no chopsticks!"
"Katsudon extra-large," Yuuri's mother smiled. "I'll bring it immediately. Yuuri, Viktor-san, what do you want?"
"Just one beer, please," Viktor replied.
I want katsudon, too! Yuuri thought. I've reached my weight goal! That's a reason to celebrate!
But to get katsudon, he would need to win against Yuri Plisetsky. And if I lose, I can eat katsudon as much as I want because then there won't be one more season for me.
"Um, ramen, please," he said.
His mother disappeared and soon returned with their order. The Russian Punk picked up his bowl and wolfed Yuuri's soul food down unceremoniously with a porcelain spoon. Viktor emptied his glass in one go and refilled it.
"Is the food good?" Yuuri's mother asked.
"Great," Yuri replied after Yuuri had translated her question.
Katsuki Hiroko smiled. "I am happy you like it."
Something is off, today, Yuuri thought as Viktor refilled his glass once more. He picked up his chopsticks. Viktor is always hungry after he's been at the rink. But tonight, he doesn't want to eat at all.
It filled Yuuri with foreboding. Pushing his worries aside, he started eating. The miso soup that was the foundation for the ramen tasted like water tonight. The slimy noodles made him shudder. When Yuuri picked up an egg slice, he choked on the mushy texture of the yolk.
Yuuri draped his chopsticks over his bowl. It was no use. The unease that had stirred when Yuri had voiced his demand had swelled into a tempest.
The door slid open. "Yuuri, do you have another visitor?" Mari asked.
Shovelling rice and pork into his mouth, Yuri spun. "Huh?"
Mari stared at him for a long moment as if he was an apparition. Then she uttered a high-pitched squeal that made Yuuri's eardrums explode with pain. "No way! He looks like my idol, the blonde guy from Takao!"
Their mother grinned. "His name is also Yuri."
Mari made a noise of displeasure. "Huh? That's confusing!" She pointed at the Russian Punk. "Okay, you're Yurio!" she said in English.
Yuri Plisetsky's eyes shot green daggers at her. "What?"
"Yuuri, where will Yurio stay?" Mari asked.
"Oh, I thought upstairs in the storage room…," Yuuri replied.
"The storage room?" she exclaimed. "Oh, no! I need to clean it up!" She trudged to the stairs. "Yuuri, come help!"
Yuuri dropped his chopsticks. "What?" He shot a hesitating glance at Viktor and Yurio who seemed to have forgotten him, then hurried after her. Viktor's voice rang through the corridor as he said something in Russian. Yurio growled a reply. Viktor laughed. It was a stab in Yuuri's chest with a golden blade.
Yuri has more potential than I do. He's pretty confident in saying that he'll win the Grand Prix Final on his first run as a senior. Above all, he's comfortable in front of Viktor. Compared to me, he's much more suitable to become Viktor's student.
Suddenly, the air in the house was too stifling and the walls seem to close in on Yuuri. He bolted upstairs and snatched the backpack, which he had never opened since he had packed it last night from his room.
"Yuuri!" Mari called from the storeroom. "Where are you going?"
But Yuuri was already on his way out into the night.
Yuuri had been acting strange since Yuri Plisetsky had crashed his first skating practice. Viktor had written it off as annoyance at the disturbance, just as said disturbance had annoyed him, but when Mari returned from preparing the storeroom without Yuuri, Viktor had been starting to wonder whether something was wrong.
"He left a while ago," Mari said as she cleared the table. "At a time like this, he'd be at Minako-san's place or at Ice Castle. He's always been that way."
She offered no further explanation, leaving Viktor bewildered. He still knew little about how Yuuri spent his spare time. Often, he would go for a jog after dinner and he spend a lot of time in his room gaming, but having in mind the poorly masked signs of distress Yuuri had displayed during day, serious worries now clouded Viktor's mind.
As Makkachin was nowhere to be seen, Viktor went out alone. Maybe Yuuri had taken the poodle with him as he sometimes did when he went for a run. He had no idea where Yuuri went running alone, so Mari's words were his only clues. While he was walking through town, Viktor's worries grew. All day long, his mind had been busy refining the choreographies for the two Yuris, oblivious to the notion that Yuri's arrival somehow held the power to rattle Yuuri. Now the annoyance he had played off all day rekindled like a dark fire consuming him from the inside, unable to tell whether he was more annoyed with himself for forgetting a promise or with Yuri because he had reminded him of said promise at the worst possible time.
Kachuu Snack Bar was a small pub in an alley downtown. Dim light spilt through the windows when Viktor arrived. A handful of people occupied the tables. A flat-screen TV was humming on one wall.
"Viktor-san," Yuuri's ballet instructor greeted him. "What can I do for you?"
"Hi, Minako-san," Viktor replied. "I was told I might find Yuuri here."
"Huh, Yuuri?" Minako frowned. "He's not here. Want a beer?"
"Sure." Viktor climbed a barstool. "Mari-san said he might be at your place."
"By 'my place' she meant my ballet studio." Minako put a bottle of beer and a glass in front of Viktor. "May I ask what happened? Has it something to do with Yuri Plisetsky being in town?"
Viktor shrugged, not surprised she had already heard the news. When he had checked Twitter before dinner, the internet had been abuzz with speculation on what the Russian Punk was doing in Japan and whether Viktor was opening a skating school in Hasetsu. Viktor had even received an angry message from Yakov, demanding to know whether he had encouraged Yuri to follow him. Viktor had ignored them all.
"I suppose so," he said. It was the only explanation of Yuuri's heightened weirdness that made sense.
"That's not good."
"Why?" Viktor asked.
Still frowning, she propped her arms on the counter. "Whenever Yuuri gets anxious, he wants to practise. In the past, I often ended up going along with it and keeping him company."
The strong nutty flavour of the beer was wasted on Viktor as he took a sip. Anxious? That explains his behaviour. But why? He took another sip, trying to drown a weird sense of guilt. Should have looked after him better? But how should I have known? "Then he must be at the rink," he said.
Minako nodded. "Ice Castle lets him skate anytime if they're not booked already. What Yuuri had going for him was an environment where he could practise alone whenever he got anxious. He's no genius, but he was gifted with more free time than anyone else to skate."
No one was born a genius. Passion was the innate trait that made an athlete go to great lengths on their way to a gold medal. Success came with the determination to work hard, a functioning support network, and the right teaching method. Viktor had been privileged in this regard thanks to his skating federation and his government showing a keen interest in funding sports, but skaters from other nations were less fortunate. That Yuuri had people looking after him, calmed something inside Viktor and filled him with a strange guilt.
He emptied his glass and put a bunch of Yen notes on the bar. "Thank you, Minako-san. I'd love to chat for a little longer, but I must check on Yuuri."
Wisdom sparked in her eyes, and she smiled. "Good luck," she bid him.
Indeed, Yuuri was at the rink doing what he had been denied that day. And he was not the only one gone astray who had washed up here.
"Makkachin!" Viktor exclaimed when he spotted the dog next to Nishigori when Yuuko brought him to a room with technical equipment that had a window overviewing the rink.
His poodle dashed over to him. "You stole away with Yuuri, huh?" Viktor asked scratching the dog behind the floppy ears. "You naughty little scoundrel."
Makkachin barked and wagged his tail.
"You've been watching over Yuuri? Good dog! When we're back home, I'll ask Hiroko-san if she can spare a cutlet for you." Viktor rose and addressed the Nishigoris in English. "Thanks for looking after Makkachin. How long has Yuuri been here?"
"He came about one hour ago," Nishigori replied.
"Did he talk to you?"
The burly man barked a laugh. "Other than 'can I have the rink?'"
"Yuuri-kun rarely talks," Yuuko said. "He's too focused on skating."
"He's always come here to practise by himself," Nishigori added.
That's not practising, Viktor thought, eyes following Yuuri with growing concern. The contrast to the video clip rattled him. There was no music, no song. If it could be called skating at all. The bleak expression on Yuuri's face told tales of the dark place his mind was in. That was not the Yuuri who one day ago had rejoiced because skating lessons were finally about to start. It was not the Yuuri who had told Viktor in the morning he would hurry to finish his chores so he could join him at the rink, either. Suddenly, Viktor wished he had paid better attention.
"It made me think that he really loves to skate." Yuuko was watching Yuuri, a wistful gleam in her brown eyes, her hands clasped. "As a child, he didn't even play with his friends."
Her husband snorted. "Well, he was never very good at making them in the first place. Skating aside, he's not good at putting himself out there. I don't want this to be the end for Yuuri."
The end? But I've just came here to coach him.
"Me neither," Yuuko said. "And he really hates losing. I hope you'll bring out a new side of Yuuri-kun that we've never seen before."
The song in Viktor's heart took a painful twist into a minor key. All those weeks he had thought Yuuri was just awkward around him, but Nishigori's words suggested that Yuuri's struggles with social interaction were of a general and more profound nature. Thinking back to Sochi and the few situations in which Viktor had seen Yuuri interacting with strangers, this explanation seemed reasonable.
Whenever Yuuri gets anxious, he wants to practise.
Somehow, Yuri's sudden appearance had stirred an anxiety in Yuuri that exacerbated his struggles. But why? Did he fear losing against the boy? It made no sense to Viktor. Why would a Grand Prix finalist whose skating created the most beautiful music and who had skated a perfect copy of Viktor's latest masterpiece fear losing against a teenager? However, all the clues led to this conclusion. Suddenly, Viktor realised that he was scratching the surface of something he was just beginning to understand. The banquet and the video were proof of the confidence and talent Yuuri possessed, which, for some reason, he failed to see for himself.
Viktor's heart grew heavy with guilt and affection. "So, a magic spell to turn the piglet into a prince…," he mused.
The Nishigoris stared at him flabbergasted. "Huh?"
"Nothing," Viktor said. "Thank you. I know a lot more about Yuuri now." He whistled for Makkachin and left.
Deep in thought, he walked back to the onsen. Makkachin trudged alongside, his paws softly padding on the pavement. This day had underpinned how gloriously Viktor had failed to become acquainted with Yuuri. I wish I knew the source of his struggles, but at last, I know he wants me to be here, he thought as he crossed the bridge. Perhaps even more than he's aware of.
And I want to be here, too.
His heart twisted. Viktor stopped and leaned over the rail. The clouds had dispersed, and moonlight pooled on the water like liquid silver.
I could free Yuuri of the disturbance and send Yuri back to St. Petersburg. But I must take Yuri seriously, or I will have failed as a coach before I truly started coaching. Neither Yuri deserves this. It will only be for one week. I will make my first coaching experience and Yuri will return home with a new short programme.
It would be like a workshop, not that Viktor had any experience with those, but the prospect that he would not be totally focused on Yuuri, might make it easier to try some things. And when Yuri was gone, Viktor would use this experience to train Yuuri.
But what can I do about Yuuri's anxiety? It's just an exhibition. He shouldn't be nervous in the first place.
However, if that was enough to upset Yuuri, Viktor would have a lot of mental coaching ahead in addition to teaching skating to turn the nervous little piglet into a proud and graceful ice prince.
Makkachin pressed his paws into Viktor's thighs. Absentmindedly, Viktor scratched the poodle's head.
It's my fault that Yuuri is upset. I must find a way to fix it.
And he already had an idea about how to do that. It was not fair, but as in war, all was fair in love.
"Hey, fatso! Where's the bathroom?"
Yuuri watched in dismay as Yuri Plisetsky emerged from the storage room, which was only accessible through Yuuri's room. It was the only spare room available. His family's daytime onsen was not a hotel.
"Second door down the corridor," he replied.
The younger skater grunted something that could have been a thank you or another insult and trudged out of the room, a tiger-patterned washbag under his arm.
"Well," Viktor said. "Since you two get along, I'll return to my room and work on your choreographies." He pushed himself off the doorway he had been leaning against. Yuuri was not comfortable having either of them in his domain. He smiled and winked. "Good night, Yuuri."
"Good night, Viktor," Yuuri murmured to Viktor's back disappearing towards the stairs, Makkachin on his heels.
He's been acting weird all day, Yuuri thought as he slumped on his bed. He knew Viktor had come to Ice Castle to retrieve Makkachin. He must have seen Yuuri's underwhelming skating skills. His throat constricted. I bet he knows he'll leave. He knows I'll never be able to outrival Yuri Plisetsky.
This notion had been festering inside Yuuri since the Russian Punk had demanded to return to Russia together with Viktor. Thus, when Mari had instructed him to help her clean the storage room, he had slipped away to the rink to calm his mind. When he had returned, Mari had readied the room alone, and with that, the petrifying dread had returned with a vengeance.
I'm out of practice. I'm in no shape to win a competition. I haven't practised for months. I won't be good enough to beat Yuri in one week.
"Are you crying, fatso?"
Yuuri flinched at the gruff voice. Never in his life had he been insulted as much as during the few hours Yurio was here. That was, however, negligible in the light of the reason he had travelled all the way to Japan.
He looked at Yuri, who was glowering down at him.
"I'm not crying," he said, biting back his annoyance.
"But you look like that. Just so you know, I hate crybabies."
"Okay," Yuuri said. Yurio's English was limited, but he was well-versed in insults and cusses.
"I'm the better skater and I will win. Your video of Viktor's free was pathetic. Don't get what he sees in you."
Me neither, Yuuri thought. "I didn't mean for anyone to see it."
Yurio broke into laughter. "So, he came here because of a video you didn't even want him to see although you wanted him to coach you?"
It took Yuuri a while to muddle through the weird phrasing. He nodded.
"Bah! You don't have a claim on him!"
Despite himself, hot anger shot through Yuuri's veins. "You don't have a claim on him either," he said. "Viktor came here because he chose to coach me."
Yurio clenched his fists. His face contorted with anger. "I don't care a fuck. He made his promise to me long before you threw yourself at him. And I will make sure he keeps it!"
Why does he hate me so much? Yuuri thought. I haven't done anything to him, but he already hated me when I lost the Grand Prix Final. "We'll see whose coach Viktor will become," he replied, trying to appear calm although he was trembling from the inside. "The decision is his to make."
The Russian Punk gave a grim nod. "We will. Night."
And with that, he stomped into the storeroom and slammed the door shut.
Yuuri sank back into his pillow, unable to shake off the notion that the contest was already decided.
Post-chapter scene
As they stepped outside, Viktor stopped. "Yurio," he said. "Do you really want to go to the rink in these shoes?"
Yuri Plisetsky stared down at his worn-out black and yellow sneakers. "What do you mean? My skates are in my backpack. And my name's not Yurio!"
Viktor laughed.
"He'll make us run all the way," Yuuri explained.
Yurio's face darkened. Muttering something in Russian that sounded like a curse, he bolted back into the house. "Meet us on the street!" Viktor called after him.
Relieved to be rid of Yurio for a minute, Yuuri followed Viktor through the front yard.
"Yuuri," Viktor said. "There's something I wanted to ask you."
A sudden nervousness clenched Yuuri's stomach. "Yes?"
"Which traditional methods for introspection do you know?"
Yuuri had expected all kinds of questions, insinuating ones most of all. "Um, what exactly do you mean?"
Before the garage, Viktor stopped. "What do Japanese people do when they seek introspection? Do they go to a cave for meditation or something?"
Confused, Yuuri considered the question. "I do not know about caves, but some people go into nature. Some Zen masters and Shinto priests climb mountains or stand under a waterfall and meditate for days, even weeks."
"Sounds time-consuming and ineffective." Viktor entered the garage and returned with his bike. "Are there faster ways for enlightenment?"
Not knowing why Viktor wanted to know, Yuuri frowned. "Well, there is a temple downtown that allows visitors to participate in meditation and spiritual rites. But I… I do not recommend this."
"Oh. Why?"
"I… I heard they practice flagellation, my apologies."
Viktor's face lit up. "Flagellation?" he echoed. "I―" His gaze wandered to something behind Yuuri and his mouth widened into a dazzling smile. "You've come just at the right time, Yurio! Let's go!"