Chapter Text
December
Fuck, it’s cold as balls.
Yurio steps inside the entrance to the rink, teeth chattering slightly. One would think that after all the years he’s devoted to dancing on literal ice, in fucking Russia no less, he should be well-equipped to deal with sub-arctic temperatures. But the world has a weird way of screwing him over sometimes.
Now, where the hell is Viktor… He checks his phone to make sure that this is the right time and place, and then his bag, for the package he was asked to deliver to freaking Katsuki Yuuri in return for getting some killer advice on his step sequence.
Not that he needs it or anything. He’s just here because he wanted to check out the competition.
Yeah, that’s why.
Instead, he spots none other than the fake Yuuri —I’m the real Yuri, dammit—and is even more pissed off.
He’d assumed that the one giving him pointers was going to be Viktor, but…
“Oi, Katsudon,” he says, by way of greeting. The guy looks up from breathing into his palms and smiles genially, like he isn’t facing down the Ice Tiger of Russia.
“Hello, Yurio,” he says pleasantly, breath still fogging up his glasses. “Chilly today, isn’t it?”
For some reason, this makes him even angrier. “As if,” he scoffs, forgetting his earlier chills. “Your ass would be frozen solid if you ever came to St. Petersburg.” With an annoyed it tsk, he stomps away.
But for some reason, his leave me the fuck alone body language doesn’t seem to be getting through to this guy, as always.
“Oh, Yurio!”
He rounds on him like a demon. “Don’t call me that!”
Yuuri holds his hands up in defense “Sorry, my bad.” The dude looks almost apprehensive for a moment, and Yurio feels both pleased and pissed off. “Listen, I was told…well, do you need any help with your step sequences? I’m not too great at them myself, but I was just wondering… ”
Oh, he cannot believe the nerve.
He mumbles something like “Stupid old man, tattling like a baby.”
“Sorry, what was that?”
“Fuck you, that’s what.”
He continues his angry, hands-in-pockets stalk to the locker rooms. Who does he think he is, anyway?
Then he slows, face dissolving into one of worry. Unfortunately for him, Viktor was still the best in his field, and that meant his advice actually stood for some shit. And if he set him up to work with this loser on something Yuri has always struggled with, then…
Besides, your step sequences have always been sloppy, so I can see where Yakov is going.
Shit.
When he emerges from the locker room, properly livid now, he sees the fool stretching leisurely, like he has all the time in the world. What the hell?
“Oi. Are you just gonna sit there or are you going to actually…”
You know you need to work on it, Yuri, says a voice in his head. Shut up, he responds. “…help me, dammit?”
“Of course!” Yuuri replies brightly, reaching into his bag for his skates. “Just one sec.”
Yurio figures that’s good enough, and turns heel towards the rink entrance and removes his guards.
“Stupid Viktor for making me come all the way here. Dumbass. Idiot. Where the hell is he, anyway?” Yurio mutters under his breath as he steps on the ice.
“Hey, do you know where—?” Yuuri follows him, his own skates flashing under his feet.
“No idea,” he retorts while he skates as far ahead as possible, because it makes him angry he was unknowingly caught worrying about the asshole. “He’s probably off doing something stupid again. Not that I care,” he tacks on, just in case anyone noticed.
Yuuri takes note of this with an all-too-knowing nod, then lags slightly farther behind to watch Yurio’s movements. Yurio does the same, observing the enemy from afar. Although it pains him to admit it, the guy is good. His movements are fluid, like a true dancer’s, and he definitely has the skill for some of the more complicated jumps. He does not look like someone who has never been in a real international competition.
“Your timing is off just slightly,” he supplies helpfully when he skates past.
I take it all back.
“Shut up!”
But no one comments on anything when Yurio does the drill again and again, changing his feet alternate just slightly until they’re nearly perfect.
Nearly.
At the end of their first set of drills, they head back for a water break. At the gate, he notices when Yuuri glances at him a few times nervously.
“Hey, could you teach me how to land a quad Salchow?” Yuuri finally asks in a rush, gesturing to himself. “I’m still not able to get it right.”
Yurio can’t help the startled expression that flashes across his face. Me? He thinks back to countless hours toiling at his home rink, jumping again and again until he gets his movements exactly right. He’s seen the bruises on Yuuri’s feet, the way the guy skates to his own music, and knows that he’s not the only one who practices until his legs give out.
This is stupid. He blushes slightly and turns his nose up, like a housecat who just fell and didn’t want anyone to see. “I guess,” he says after a moment, trying not to look so pleased.
Yuuri smiles. Yurio refuses to admit that he looks like a nice person, not a pathetic loser, when he does, and steps back onto the ice with an annoyed scowl.
Eventually, the large clock on the wall reminds them that it’s almost time for the rink to close up for the day, and Viktor still hasn’t showed. Not that he’s surprised in the least.
Unless, of course, Viktor set him up to work with the other Yuuri. Now that he thinks about it, that’s exactly the kind of shit the smiling baldie would pull on him.
Bastard.
He watches the other Yuuri step off the ice and wonders if he should just go ahead and drop his end of the bargain, because the stupid old man didn’t do jackshit to help him.
But…
He thinks of his newly improved step sequence.
He hates owing people anything, especially competitors.
Ugh.
“Wait, Katsudon,” Yurio says, voice resigned. The idiot turns around, a question on his features. It pisses him off even more that he can read the other guy so easily, even though they’ve only known each other for a few weeks at most (and thanks to a certain lovestruck idiot, he knows the guy eats pork cutlets like a madman, hence the nickname).
He skates up, steps off the ice, puts on his guards, plunges his arm into his bag. Pulls out the parcel, stomps back to an inquisitive Yuuri, and shoves the package in his unsuspecting hands. “I was told to give that to you,” he huffs. “It’s not from me.”
Yuuri looks down and sees a small envelope. It’s wrapped in dark blue paper, with little designs that look like sparkling jewels and red accents.
“Thank you?” Yuuri says, like a question. With a scoff, Yurio returns to the ice, determined to get in a few more minutes of practice.
He tries to act uninterested as Yuuri opens the package, slightly curious himself. What was so damn important that he had to deliver this stupid thing by hand?
Yuuri seems to squint to read it, his glasses no doubt somewhere else.
And then he bolts, nearly tripping over himself to remove his skates and jamming his glasses onto his nose.
“Where are you going, Yuuri?” asks—who is that again? The skater from Thailand always calls him Ciao-Ciao. The man seems appalled when Yuuri sprints past him, still shoving his skates into his bag, not even acknowledging the man.
Yurio almost ignores the concerned look that flashes across Ciao Ciao’s face.
But because he knows the look of someone who feels like they need to run to get somewhere before it’s too late—
Sirens, bright lights, reporters,
“wait, what do you mean, the old man fucking fell?”
“…semi-permanent damage…”
“awww, was Yuri worried about me? Don’t worry, it’s just a little break, nothing serious!”
one month.
then two.
then three.
“I think I need to take some time off. Just…for a little while”
then four.
“There’s nothing in skating for me now.”
five.
“I’m going to Japan.”
six.
“Yuri, I think I’ve found my new inspiration! His name is—”
“He’s going to see that idiot Viktor!” Yurio finally hollers from the ice, shoving all the memories down. To his relief, his voice sounds normal.
But because no one can see him from this distance, he almost allows his eyes to soften slightly. Almost.
Stupid Viktor, he thinks as the other Yuuri runs out of the rink like his life depends on it. Stupid, stupid.
He goes back to perfecting his step sequence.
~
The air is cold, and his breath unfurls in front of him like smoke. With a shiver, he readjusts his hamster-patterned beanie (courtesy of Phichit), then approaches the gate to Shinjuku Garden.
Because of the winter conditions, he supposes, there is no one here. His change slides into the machine with a soft click, as familiar as taking off his shoes when he arrives home. Aside from the crunch of snow underfoot, it is completely silent.
He thinks of his no-doubt warm apartment (Phichit can’t stand the cold), ready with dinner.
I should be somewhere else right now.
Past the now-frosted banks of the pond, its surface as still as glass. Of course, he can’t skate on it, but he wants to.
I should be somewhere else right now.
Over the creaky wooden bridge, taking care not to slip on patches of ice.
I should be somewhere else right now.
Finally, after ducking slightly under the vines that watch over a little alcove he knows all too well, their once-pink fingertips dusting the top of his head with snow, he sees a slight curve of a smile, a foot tapping a little impatiently, childlike. He smiles.
I should be nowhere else but right now thinks Katsuki Yuuri, age 24, lost in the beauty of the man sitting before him. He watches the slight smile on the other’s lips grow into pure light at the sight of him, and simply admires.
“Yuuri!” Viktor says, perking up. “You’re here!”
Yuuri snaps out of it, and can’t help but raise one eyebrow, holding up the note reading “meet me in the garden” in loopy handwriting. “You said to meet you?”
Viktor claps his hands. “Excellent, I see Yurio was able to give it to you! How were his step sequences?”
“Someone taught him well,” Yuuri replies in amusement. “I just helped him a little. I think. Although, he did seem really angry about something. Something to do with meeting you and a bargain?”
Viktor waves the comment aside easily. “Ah, he’s always like that, don’t worry.”
Yuuri has his doubts, but he elects to keep them to himself. With a semi-nervous laugh, he says, “So? Is everything alright?”
He had run here like something was chasing him, so his heart still has yet to return to normal. Thoughts of Viktor leaving for good, of returning home, leaving him alone…there could only be so many reasons why Viktor would want to talk to him here, of all places.
Viktor stands up and pats him on the shoulder reassuringly. Yuuri feels his still-stuttering heart try to jump straight out his chest. “Don’t worry, Yuuri! No need to look so frightened. I have a gift for you.” With a flourish, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out—
A CD case. He waves it in the air, and Yuuri watches as it glints and reflects the muted sunlight, then as he presses it into Yuuri’s gloved hand.
Yuuri stares at it, comically similar to how he stared when Yurio handed him the envelope back at the rink. “Um.”
“You have to open it!” Viktor says excitedly. “C’mon, go ahead!”
Yuuri does. Unsurprisingly, there is a single CD sitting in it.
Before he can speak, Viktor says, “Don’t worry, I have the song on my phone, too, so we can listen to it.” He pulls out his phone and fiddles with the apps until he’s found whatever he’s looking for, and hovers his index finger over the play button. Then, he holds his free hand out to Yuuri invitingly.
“May I have this dance?” he asks, breathless, and if Yuuri didn’t know any better, he would almost say that Viktor looks…nervous.
He almost laughs. What could Viktor Nikiforov, world champion figure skater, poodle lover, rainy park frequenter, possibly be afraid of?
Of course, there is only one answer Yuuri could possibly have.
He nods, and takes his hand. Viktor laces their fingers together (there goes Yuuri’s remaining heartbeats), then lets the music play.
Even though his phone speakers are no stadium sound system, the snow around them seems to mute the rest of existence into the background, leaving them in their own little world, the music ringing loud and clear.
The first thing he hears is the piano. Lilting, dancing, beautiful. He sucks in a breath, and Viktor begins to move.
One, two, three, four.
(He moves his hand to the small of Viktor’s back and bunches his fingers in the material of his coat).
After a few measures, he hears a violin, soaring through the sky, in harmony with the piano chord after chord, bringing memories that seem nearly forgotten; a half-dream, a part-reality.
(Viktor twirls him with a breathless laugh, dips his head back like they’re on the edge of the world).
Together, for awhile, the two weave around each other, playful and longing, sneaking glances when they think the other isn’t looking.
(On the contrary, Yuuri can’t stop staring. For the record, neither can Viktor).
Then, the quiet. The violin is gone. The piano notes seem almost lost for a few endless beats, unsure of their place, how they fit in the song.
(Viktor lets go of his hand momentarily to swing Yuuri out into the snow).
But somehow, some way, the piano picks itself back up, gaining dynamic, tempo, emotion. Its own kind of quiet strength.
(Yuuri does a graceful pirouette in the snow and ends with his hands extended high above his head, much to the delight of Viktor).
And then the violins sing again to rejoin the music, quiet at first.
(Yuuri nearly leaps back into Viktor’s outstretched arms).
Then, in joyous harmony—
(The winter wonderland holds its breath—)
The two burst forth, two halves of the same whole, beautiful and bright and alive.
(Viktor moves so close Yuuri can see the faint laugh lines under his eyes, feel nose bumping his).
It sounds like triumph incarnate.
And as the last chords of the song fade away, Yuuri meets him halfway.
(He tastes like chocolate and coffee).
The song ends.
They break away at some point. Yuuri isn’t sure when, his ears ringing.
“Back when I used to be…well, when I was still competing,” murmurs Viktor suddenly, breath fanning across Yuuri’s cheeks. “I had my music for all my programs composed for me. Recently, I got in touch with some old friends, and…well. Here we are.”
Yuuri is speechless, still lost in the lingering chords that sound like wedding bells in his head.
“If I were your coach,” Viktor says, eyes twinkling. “I would highly recommend you consider using it in the upcoming season.”
After a moment, Yuuri takes a shuddering breath. “You still want to coach me? And for me to…use this song? That you had composed… for me?”
Viktor nods, once.
“I—I don’t think I’ll be able to…live up to it. To…you,” he whispers.
Viktor places both hands on Yuuri’s face and brings their foreheads together softly. “Yuuri. You are the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met in my life,” he says. “You have a dream, and you’ve worked for it. Still are working for it.”
Yuuri wills the water pooling in his eyes to disappear. Rain, rain go away.
“Whether or not you want to use it is completely up to you,” Viktor says, voice gentle. “Whether or not you want me to stay by your side is your decision.” He shifts slightly, so that they’re eye to eye. “But please just know this— that you’ve earned the right to skate on any stage you wish, to whatever music you make for yourself.”
“And no matter your decision,” he continues, fingers stroking the sides of Yuuri’s temple, “Please know that I am here for you. Always. You are so full of life, Yuuri,” Viktor finally breathes, and so Yuuri does too. “That you helped me find mine again.”
Oh, dear. Yuuri’s eyes, despite his best efforts, overflow anyway. He wraps his arms around Viktor and doesn’t let go. Viktor mirrors him.
“Thank you,” he chokes. “Thank you.”
Viktor holds him tighter. “No, thank you, Yuuri.”
They step apart once more. There’s a silence, a defining moment, those few seconds after a jump in the air, a leap of faith.
Yuuri opens his mouth.
“Yes.”
And he sticks the landing, notes the garden around them, amused.
At the same time, Viktor lets loose an overjoyed yell, then picks him up by the waist and spins them in a circle together, much to the protest of a very red Yuuri.
“Viktor! Put me down!” he says, but he’s laughing. Viktor does so with a wide grin, and once Yuuri’s feet are planted solidly on the ground, he brushes a feather kiss to Yuuri’s cheek.
And with that, Yuuri could probably melt the snow with the heat of his face right now, but there’s more he needs to say. “I promise,” he begins, and Viktor sobers up almost immediately, “that I will do my absolute best. I’ll show the world that I’m worthy.” His eyes are serious, the kind reserved for before a competition. “Worthy to skate on the same stage as you.”
Viktor acknowledges him with a solemn nod. “I expect nothing less from my beloved student.”
Student. “Thanks…Coach,” he says, and Viktor protests immediately.
“Hey, now. None of this ‘coach’ business, please! Just call me as I am.”
“Let me think…Ok, lover, then.”
“Yuuri!”
Oops. Perhaps he’s been skating to Eros for a little too long.
After the ensuing tackle-hug that inevitably occurs, pink faces all around, Viktor suddenly gets quiet.
“Oh, and for the record,” he says with a wink, “you already are. Worthy, that is.”
Yuuri blushes again, and mumbles a gracious thank you.
His embarrassment only intensifies when they return to the benches to retrieve their scattered belongings, and Viktor somehow sneaks his hand into Yuuri’s, lacing their fingers together as they walk back towards the entrance.
Phichit is going to have a field day with this development, he thinks wryly.
“What did you think of the piece?” Viktor asks, grinning ear to ear. Yuuri tears away his thoughts of horrid Instagram stories and prospective family dinners to answer.
“I loved it,” he says, with enough conviction to crack glaciers. “It was so…beautiful.”
“Yes!” Viktor swings their linked arms together triumphantly. “I’m so happy you think so too! It reminded me of you when I first heard it, you know.” Glossing over the fact that he just called Yuuri beautiful—good God, how is he going to survive this—he says excitedly, “What do you want to name it? Honor’s all yours!”
“Hmm…”
As they walk away from the little alcove, Yuuri glances at the silver sky dusting the world in white, at the glass pond that will thaw come springtime, at the snow ahead of them untouched by their footprints. A new chapter, a clean slate.
He remembers months and months of this being in this place, listening quietly to more than one kind of music. When he thinks of the many more to come, he smiles.
His days of waiting are over.
“How does Yuri on Ice sound?” he finally says, eyes shining.
If the garden left behind them, hushed with snow and the promise of warmer days, agrees with him, it remains silent. For now. Really, anything it could possibly say is already tumbling out of the once-stranger’s heart-shaped mouth delightedly, so there’s no need.
Besides, if it wishes to see the two again, all it must do is be a little a patient.
And so, it does what gardens do best, and waits for the rain.
Fin.