Chapter Text
Years from now, Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov will hold him close.
Yuuri will say in the quiet of their home- “Tell me darling, tell me what the visions said to you.”
Yuuri will murmur words of love; will offer soft, broken confessions of his own.
Years from now, Victor will know he is loved.
This is not years from now.
But it’s the start.
***
The summer had passed, the visions hadn’t reappeared, and Yuuri had seemed to grow more comfortable in Victor’s company. There had been days on the beach, sunsets on the bridge, late night talks in the onsen. Georgi’s words had come back again and again to haunt him. Fear is a part of life. Part of love too.
Seeing Yakov last night had shaken him; his old mentor had refused to even acknowledge his presence until Victor forced the issue. And then the cutting way in which Yakov had so casually dismissed him, with Georgi a hunched shoulder presence in the background…
Well.
He’d had too much to drink; he’d maybe not been the image of the smooth, sophisticated coach that he’d been striving to project. But not even this morning, his shame manifesting as a piercing headache, had he felt so wrong-footed. Nothing had prepared him for this moment, the screams from the crowd penetrating even into this subterranean parking lot. Chulanont? Perhaps? Yuuri had been strange all day, had been unfocused, and how could he blame the man? Victor had messed up last night, the least he could do was offer Yuuri a way out of this strange coaching arrangement. He…they…were running out of time. Yuuri had to skate, had to skate the way Victor knew he could skate. So, he made the offer to step aside, to take responsibility for his failure as a coach.
It…did not have the expected result.
Victor looked helplessly at the panicking, sobbing mess of a beautiful boy. He was so out of his depth, didn’t know what to do…he was afraid.
“Should I just kiss you or something?” he finally blurted, feeling his own panic beginning to rise. Yuuri sudden blaze of angry rejection left him floundering. He didn’t know what to do…he didn’t know what to do...he didn’t…
“You don’t have to say anything! Just stand by me!” Yuuri cried out, tears still streaming.
The words struck the breath from Victor’s lungs. Hadn’t that been what he’d been crying out for with Stammi Vicino? For someone to stay by his side? Just like the video, Yuuri was standing there, reaching back out to him in his own language. And Victor…Victor had someone messed it all up. Again.
They were silent as they made their way back out to the prep area, silent as Yuuri worked to fix the mess he’d made of his face, silent as Yuuri made his way onto the ice. Yuuri’s teasing poke of his thinning hair was the only indication that all was not lost. He vowed to make it up to Yuuri, somehow, starting the moment Yuuri stepped off the ice.
He didn’t know what he was doing…
But Yuuri was out there, somehow still laying down a heartachingly lovely program.
He was so afraid…
But Yuuri was scared too, yet he was out there, shaking off each mistake and moving forward.
As Yuuri launched himself into the air, through the four nearly impossible rotations of Victor’s signature jump, he knew.
He was in love.
And Yuuri, despite every mistake Victor had made, somehow loved him back.
He couldn’t really be held responsible for his actions after that.
***
Love, as it turned out, was not a panacea for all of Victor’s problems and fears. Yakov still wouldn’t speak to him. His hair was still thinning. He still didn’t know what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. And now, right when he couldn’t leave Yuuri, he had to.
Makkachin had been there for him long before Yuuri. He owed it to her to be there if…if…
He shook off the somber thought. He couldn’t think of that now. He had to do the impossible. Had to get back to his girl, sick and scared in Hasetsu. Had to make sure his love was taken care of, too. And to do that…
“Yakov! You’re the only coach for me!”
***
The trip home…to Hasetsu rather…was the longest of his life. Guilt nagged at him, making it impossible to sleep or eat, nearly making it impossible to breathe. Guilt at leaving Yuuri behind, guilt at not being there for Makkachin after dragging her to a strange country…
He nearly bowled Yuuko over as he made his way out of Fukuoka airport, his mind already working to figure out the easiest way to pick up the train into Hasetsu. He did miss Takeshi until the burly man was gently prying Victor’s carry-on from his travel-numbed hand.
“What…”
Yuuko slipped under his arm, smiling gently up at him as she began to nudge him out the door. “We came to pick you up. Yuuri was worried about you taking the train by yourself right now.”
He felt his throat tighten at Yuuri’s name. Yuuri, who was thinking of him even now, when Victor had abandoned him… “I…thank you. Is…is he…Yuuri, is he…”
“He’s fine, Victor,” Takeshi said firmly.
“Yurio took him to have breakfast with his grandfather and now they’re all heading to the rink for practice,” Yuuko added as they reached the Nishigori’s minivan.
Victor glanced at his phone as he climbed into the front passenger seat, struggling to do the mental math. The overnight flight and the late afternoon hours in Japan had him thrown off. Yuuri hadn’t skated yet, still had time to make it to the Final; Victor hadn’t ruined everything yet. He thumbed a quick message, letting Yuuri know he’d landed, then leaned his head back against the seat.
He wasn’t sure when he’d drifted off, but he awoke to the sound of voices talking softly, his and Yuuri’s names mixed in with the quiet Japanese words. Blinking, he started to turn his head to check the time, but stopped, his gaze arrested by the flash of pale skin and red eyes in the side view mirror.
Happiness always has a price.
The voice echoed in his mind before he could block out the sight. He couldn’t help the tiny whimper that escaped him. It had been months; he’d thought the visions were over…
“Victor?”
He startled as a gentle hand gripped his shoulder.
“Whoa, hey, you fell asleep, hon,” Yuuko said soothingly from the back seat. “We’re almost to Yutopia,” she added when he looked back at her.
“Yutopia? I thought…the animal hospital…”
Yuuko smiled. “Mari called a little bit ago. Makkachin was released. They’re taking her back to the onsen to rest. Looks like you could use a bit of rest too, huh?”
Victor felt a bit of the tension in his lungs suddenly ease.
The rest of the ride was a blur, their arrival at Yutopia greeted by both Hiroko and Toshiya. Yuuri’s parents chivvied him inside, refusing to let him carry his bag as they ushered him up to the banquet room where Mari was sitting with a docile Makkachin.
“She’s pretty drugged still,” she said quietly as Victor curled himself around his girl.
He chanced a glance in her direction, offering a shaky smile. “Thank you for taking care of her. And for calling…”
Mari shrugged, then ran her hand down Makka’s side. “Yuuri…he would have blamed himself. If…if something happened and you weren’t here. I…I hate that I had to call him like that. Again.”
Victor hesitated, uncertain of what to say. He knew, now, what had happened at Sochi, knew the meaning of that little shrine in the back of the onsen. “It wasn’t your fault. You did the right thing, calling. Both times,” he said, voice loud in the too-quiet room.
Mari looked up at him, her eyes blurry with unshed tears. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like I did the right thing.”
He hesitated, uncertain of what to do. He was so bad with people crying, yet the people he cared about kept doing it…
As if sensing his thoughts, Mari ran the sleeve of her robe across her eyes, turning back to him with her normal calm exterior. “Men’s free skate starts soon. I can help you carry Makka downstairs if you want to watch with us?”
He nodded, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.
***
There were two good things about Yuuri placing fourth at Rostelecom.
1) He still made it into the Final, albeit by the skin of his teeth.
2) He didn’t have to perform in the Gala.
Victor knew he should have insisted that Yuuri take the ISU’s offer to skate anyway, should have insisted that Yuuri attend the closing Banquet. He did neither, selfishly wanting Yuuri back home and in his arms. It would cause some grumbling, he knew, but…
(Happiness always has a price.)
He had to be better. For Yuuri’s sake, he had to be a better coach, had to stop being so selfish, had to…
BORF!
Makka’s happy bark broke through his dark reverie, and he glanced up, catching Yuuri’s wide-eyed surprise through the glass barrier. There was a moment, as he stood with open arms, where the reflection on the glass shifted and red eyes flashed (You’ll always make mistakes) and then the moment was past and Yuuri was there, holding him as if Victor was something precious, something needed and wanted.
(Something loved…)
“Yuuri,” he said, emotion clogging his throat. “I’ve been thinking…”
***
Dreams and nightmares are two sides of the same medal.
Yuuri Katsuki, as Victor learns in Barcelona, is capable of being both.
***
“Victor Nikiforov is dead,” Yuri Plisetsky pronounced, his foot firmly planted in the small of Victor’s back, probably leaving a teenaged footprint on his admittedly overpriced trench coat.
“Did you want to skate with me?” Victor asked, wondering if it was Yura’s way of saying he cared. In typical punk fashion, Yuri made it clear that wasn’t the case. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that his former teammate was clearly fixated on the Japanese Ace. He and Yura had always had far too much in common.
Perhaps he needed to ask the boy whether he had ever seen anything strange in the mirror…
The grumpy teen finally slouched off, leaving Victor alone to return to his contemplation of the golden ring that Yuuri had so shyly placed on his hand the night before. It was the culmination of nearly a year of push and pull between them, Yuuri’s answer to the question Victor had so nearly posed at the arrivals gate of Fukuoka Airport.
He loved.
He was loved in return.
The world had shifted, and everything felt fresh and so much clearer than it had in years.
He was happy.
So of course everything came crashing down around him a scant handful of hours later.
***
Yuuri was talking but the words were lost to the buzzing in Victor’s brain.
He’d been happy. He’d been so close to his forever, and now…
Yuuri moved Victor’s bangs out of his eyes, the gesture strangely tender in the midst of a break up. Because Yuuri was leaving him. Or...making him leave. Making him go back, back to Russia, back to the ice, to the numbness, to the medals twining like a noose around his neck until he couldn’t feel, couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t…
At some point he’d swallowed down his tears, had managed to hold some semblance of rational discussion with his lover (ex-lover? soon-to-be-ex-lover?). He couldn’t remember when Yuuri had left the room, but he was alone now.
As you should be. Why would anyone stay when you aren’t perfect?
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
Victor slid off the bed, hands over his ears as the awful, rib-aching sobs returned.
Pathetic.
Frantic now, he pushed back to his feet, making his shaking way to the bathroom. Fingers clenching at the porcelain of the sink, he struggled to steady his breathing as he raised his head, staring at his reflection in the mirror, waiting for the image to shift, for the voice in his mind to match the reflection.
I’ll take it all away from you, someday.
Even gold loses its shine.
Once you give up your throne, your world will never be the same.
You can never go back to the life you had.
They’ll only love you as long as you’re perfect.
Happiness always has a price.
The words swirled and echoed through his mind, and in the mirror…
Pale skin.
Disheveled silver-blond hair.
Icy blue eyes, rimmed with red.
He stared, waiting, but the image didn’t change and the voice didn’t fade.