Chapter Text
Yuuri hadn’t thought about the trip to Colorado Springs in years, but he sure as hell was thinking about it now.
“Yuuri, again!” Viktor yelled across the rink, “We’re not leaving this rink until you run through the second half of your free cleanly!”
The quality of the training was just about the same as it was during the camp. A ridiculous amount of off-ice training to keep Yuuri in shape, exercises to keep his footwork sharp and fast, and of course the usual jump and spin regimen. There were some days that Yuuri would have preferred to lie down on the ice and let the Zamboni run him over than continue.
(Takeshi, who drove the Zamboni, probably would have done it too if Yuuri asked nicely enough. It was a small consolation.)
In addition to the hellish training regimen, to say that Viktor wasn’t exactly a great coach at first was an understatement. The "endearment" of "little piggy" still echoed in his ears. Ciao-Ciao had made them rice balls at least once a week, in the full-fat Italian style, which brought no small pang of bitterness to think about when he watched Viktor devour katsudon on the regular.
But even with all of the complaints, Yuuri wouldn’t choose to be anywhere but in Hasetsu with Viktor. He watched, absently tracing loops into the ice as he waited for Viktor to cue up his music from the second half of the program.
“Sorry, Yuuri!” Viktor called cheerfully from the boards, “Chris just texted, and I need to reply!”
“Okay, Viktor!” Yuuri called back, sighing slightly. He watched as Viktor giggled at whatever he was sending back before finally, the familiar piano of Yuri On Ice began again. He waited, counting the beats and skating slowly to where he would pick up the routine once more.
His cue came, and Yuuri sprang into motion, pushing off and gliding easily into his step sequence. From there, the program came cleanly—concentration driving Yuuri’s jumps in his second half, right up to a nearly-flawless quad flip. He could hear Viktor yelling over the music, his hand slamming enthusiastically onto the boards.
“Davai, davai, Yuuri!” Viktor yelled, “Keep that spin centered!”
It was times like this that Yuuri wished he could flip Viktor off during his spin and have it actually be seen, considering how ridiculously hard it was to center a spin while you were already in the process of spinning. But then again, if anyone could do it, it was Viktor.
Or maybe Viktor was just full of shit. The world may never know, Yuuri thought to himself as he struck his final pose, panting lightly.
“Good, Yuuri,” Viktor called, “Take three laps around the rink.”
Yuuri nodded, seeing no need to waste his oxygen on speaking when there was nothing else to say to Viktor. Even the one syllable of “hai,” or “da,” or “yes,” was too much. The first lap around the rink was not a lap for thinking; simply for breathing. On lap two, Yuuri absently reflected on how much he could go for a cup of tea. Maybe some ginseng? Matcha? Lap three, he cut off around the edge of the rink, gliding effortlessly to come to a stop in front of Viktor, who was staring at his cell phone.
“Vik—“
“Get in position.”
“What?” Yuuri gaped.
“Get in position,” Viktor repeated, looking up from his phone with the tiniest of smiles tugging at his lips, “You’re doing a full run-through. Show me that lovely stamina, hm?”
Yuuri moaned slightly, running his hand through his hair. Viktor’s eyes seemed to flicker for a moment before he looked away, turning back to the speaker system.
“When I hit play, I expect you to be in position and waiting for your music, Yuuri! Don’t keep me waiting!” his coach trilled, and Yuuri could practically see the innocent smile on his lips.
Yuuri complied. He might have been out of breath, but the idea of disappointing Viktor was more than enough incentive to go for another run through.
This time, the program didn’t run as smoothly. Yuuri tried to focus as best he could, but the jumps were not as clean as usual, and his quad toe-loop became a triple. He could hear Viktor smacking the boards again, yelling something in Russian that Yuuri couldn’t expand the brainpower to translate. He touched down on his quadruple salchow and tried not to groan as he went into the spin that, mercifully, was centered.
That was the only bright spot, because when he finished, Viktor was clutching the boards and looking highly irked.
“Quad salchow,” he growled, making the jump sound more like the worst curse you could call someone, “I want to see it, then three laps.”
Yuuri took one look at Viktor’s frustrated face and sighed, then turned away to build up speed for the jump in question. Forward entry, clean three-turn, and—
Ah. There we go.
Yuuri let out a sigh of relief on landing the jump, looking immediately towards Viktor. He gave a nod, gesturing for Yuuri to take his laps. On the first lap, Viktor stuck out his hand for a high five. Yuuri didn’t take it.
On the second lap, seeing Viktor’s big blue puppy dog eyes, he did.
“You’re such a dork,” Yuuri said breathlessly as he glided to a stop in front of Viktor, “Honestly. Did Yakov ever do that? High five you guys?”
“No,” Viktor replied, giggling a little, “But I high-fived him a lot. That counts, right, Yuuri?”
“Sure,” Yuuri snorted, “Sure, we’ll say it counted.”
He let his head tilt to the side, letting out a long sigh and closing his eyes for a moment. The ghost of a touch on his neck made Yuuri startle, blinking as he saw Viktor pull his hand back and bite off the leather gloves he wore. The older man didn’t look at him until the glove was off.
“Hold that thought,” he said softly, and Yuuri stayed still, head still tilted to expose his neck. Viktor’s hand moved confidently, cool fingers resting on the pulse point of Yuuri’s warm neck. Yuuri, barely breathing, tilted his head back to its normal position, but still Viktor didn’t move his hand. Instead, he leaned closer—silver fringe brushing over his eyes, close enough that Yuuri could see the startling black of his eyelashes.
“Remember to breathe, Yura,” Viktor breathed, his voice barely above a whisper, “Your pulse is roaring like a jet plane.”
The silence seemed to stretch a moment too long, Yuuri feeling somehow like a butterfly pinned to a cork board as he and Viktor stared at each other.
“A-always with the airplane metaphors,” Yuuri managed to snark, doing a backwards swizzle away from Viktor’s hand as the Russian’s eyes dipped downward—to his lips? It couldn’t be. Yuuri pressed his own cold hands to his cheeks, feeling their heat against his frigid fingertips. Viktor looked somehow disappointed, his hand outstretched for the barest moment.
“First Aeroflot, now this?” Yuuri tried, laughing a bit nervously.
“Ah, yes,” Viktor finally murmured, letting his hand fall, “Always keeping me waiting, Aeroflot.”
The Russian forced a smile, meeting Yuuri’s eyes before he slung his coat over his arm and picked up his phone once again. The screen lit up, displaying the profile of one @christophe_gc. Viktor frowned, tapping back through the screen before reaching Instagram’s home page. He closed the app, then looked back up at Yuuri with that same slight smile.
“Take a break,” he encouraged, “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Get warm, hm? Or, you know...”
Yuuri didn’t know, but nodded encouragingly as Viktor stepped out of the boards the back way and walked towards the doors of the Ice Castle. Yuuri stayed on the ice, watching as he left. The summer sun of Hasetsu seemed brutal when compared to the refreshing air of the rink. Yuuri grabbed his phone and his dirty guards, tapping them against the boards before doing a series of lazy grapevines towards the other side of the rink, where the exit was still open. It took several tries to open his phone with his frigid fingers, scrolling through the notifications.
@phichit+chu tagged you in a video!
Yuuko waved enthusiastically from the front desk, on the phone with someone but still enthusiastic. She fumbled for her own cell phone with one hand while still holding the desk phone up to her ear
“Excuse me for a moment, ma’am—“ she said, “Yuuri! The video your friend posted was so cute! Have you seen it?”
“Oh no,” Yuuri grimaced, “Not yet.”
“Check it!” Yuuko beamed, before returning to her phone call. The heat of the lobby was a welcome change for his stiff hands, while sweat began to bead on Yuuri’s neck. One of the girls back in Ann Arbor used to joke that she herself was creating condensation when she came out of the rink, like a water bottle beading up in the sudden warmth. At this moment, Yuuri thought she might have a point.
@phichit+chu: according to FB it’s the second anniversary of what is probably the best program @katsu-goner has ever done. here’s his step sequence because DAMN SON. tell @v-nikiforov to work on a duet with you! #KatsukiYuuri #exhibition #bleachers #iwannagetbetter
Oh, this was so much worse than Phichit’s last birthday post.
…Alright, in his defense, at least Phichit posted the best part of the program, Yuuri thought, the step sequence he had crafted was truly the best part of the entire program. But the entire program was a joke. Yuuri sighed, watching the small figure of twenty one-year-old Katsuki Yuuri, Japan’s ace, dancing across the screen as the chorus to the song swelled. He had a smile on his face, laughing as he heard Phichit cheer as he executed a perfect bracket sequence into a couple chocktaws.
The program was invented one day when Celestino unexpectedly took ill, ostensibly thanks to some undercooked arancini that still had some uncooked egg in them. Consequently, Phichit and Yuuri were left with a relatively empty rink for about seven hours, and hurried instructions to practice, but not too heavily, lest they hurt themselves before Celestino came back.
Phichit, naturally, decided that there was no better time than the present to create exhibition programs.
“You’ll choreograph mine and I’ll choreograph yours!” He had teased, “We can pick each others songs and everything!”
“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Yuuri remembered saying, “I’m a bit worried about what you’ll pick.”
“Just think,” Phichit teased, “You can have your own revenge.”
Yuuri, expecting that he needed revenge, had choreographed a program to Bomba Estereo’s “Soy Yo” for Phichit, complete with a lot of poses and silly footwork that would make his best friend smile.
Phichit, hitting accidentally hard, choreographed a surprisingly sincere program to Bleachers “I Wanna Get Better.”
That was the refrain that was echoing through Yuuri’s head when Viktor burst through the doors.
“Yuu-riiiiii!” He trilled, blue eyes wide and a heart-shaped smile on his face, “I saw your program! Or what your friend Phichit posted of it! You’re so cute! You looked like you were having so much fun! Christophe said there’s nothing else on the internet of this; why is that? Wasn’t it an exhibition skate? Where did you perform it? Can I see more?”
The sudden onslaught startled Yuuri into a brief moment of silence before he laughed slightly, his shoulders relaxing as he shook his head.
“It was a joke,” he explained, “I mean, sort of? Ciao-Ciao was sick, and Phichit and I got bored, so we choreographed exhibition skates for each other. Kind of like, ah, dance programs? We didn’t use many big jumps, just a lot of spins and some doubles. Can’t sprain an ankle on your day off, you know?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Viktor said seriously, as though he too had heard this refrain countless times before from Yakov, “Why don’t we choreograph one? Phichit tagged me in the video too!”
Yuuri did a double-take, realizing that yes, @v-nikiforov was indeed tagged in the post. Worse, @v-nikiforov had liked the post.
Worse still, @v-nikiforov had commented.
@v-nikiforov: [heart-eyes emoji] yuuri was so small! but still just as cute!!!! what a great idea!!! )))))
Come to think of it, that comment was probably why Yuuri had eleven unread messages from Phichit.
Whoops.
Yet.
Drawing on a source of confidence Yuuri didn’t quite know he had, he stood and met Viktor’s eyes.
“Only if it’s a duet,” he said sweetly, “I’ve been thinking about doing something fun.”
There was a clatter from across the lobby, and Viktor and Yuuri both turned to see Yuuko struggling to retrieve the lobby phone that she had dropped. She popped up after a moment, face red and trying to reassure the person on the other end of the phone. Viktor’s eyes seemed impossibly blue to Yuuri, but then he smiled once more as though nothing amiss had happened.
“Really? You want to skate a duet with me?” he gasped, as though that wasn’t one of Yuuri’s tightly held dreams since the tender age of eight, “Yura! That’s so creative! To what song?”
“That’s a surprise,” Yuuri said with a tiny smile, “But it can go up on Instagram later. I promise.”
Viktor beamed, the heart shaped smile widening to the point where his blue eyes crinkled up in pure happiness.
“What are we waiting for? Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Yura! Don’t keep me waiting!”
“Why do you keep calling me Yura?” Yuuri asked curiously, a little confused when Viktor turned pink. He pushed the silver fringe out of his eyes, smiling the patented Nikiforov smile at Yuuri. Yuuri raised an eyebrow, unimpressed after several months of being on the receiving end of a smile that could be turned on like a light switch.
“No,” he said sternly, “That’s not going to work on me. You can’t charm your way out of it, Viktor.”
“…it’s a nickname,” Viktor finally said, “In Russian. I call little Plisetsky Yura or Yuratchka. Mila Babicheva used to call him Yurka, or at least she did when I was still at the rink in Moscow, you know?”
“I think he’ll be upset that I stole his nickname,” Yuuri said gingerly, what he could do that wouldn’t upset the temperamental blond.
“It’ll be our little secret then, won’t it, Yura?” Viktor teased gently, nudging Yuuri towards the rink. “Let me get my skates on. Warm back up, and play that music for me, won’t you?”
Yuuri laughed, taking his guards off and leaving them by the side of the boards. Viktor practically skipped over to his skate bag, eagerly reaching for his own black skates and looking up to toss Yuuri a bright, excited smile.
“Go!”
Yuuri shook his head, amused, and skated over to the sound system. He plugged his phone into the sound system, waiting for the static to dissipate before scrolling through his phone.
Yuuri pressed play and smiled.
@katsu-goner: @phichit+chu you were right. duets ARE a lot of fun! check viktor’s insta for a few more takes! s/o to best duet partner @v-nikiforov and his looooooong legs. you’re not just in it for the #CheapThrills <3. #Sia #SeanPaul #ViktorNikiforov #whatstrangetagsihave
Somewhere in Thailand, Yuuri knew his best friend was screaming with joy.