Chapter Text
I watched his latest performance. The way he went from a quadruple toe loop to his step sequence so effortlessly was a beautiful thing. His platinum hair was in a loose braid. His black and silver skin tight leotard was breathtaking It was like ice was growing on it.
He looked both male and female with that half skirt and hair. But he was all male. The outfit left nothing to the imagination. He was built like a lioness. Graceful. Powerful. The way his body moved was enough to make even the straightens man gay and the gayest women straight.
For me, it's made me question if I was ever into women.
He was always like that. Right from the beginning.
He never ceased to surprise me. Or the rest of the professional skating community. He was my inspiration for going professional. Even if I was only 15.
He was Russia's golden boy, 17-year-old Viktor Nikiforov.
I was Japan's fairly recognizable, Katsuki Yuuri. I wasn't nearly as famous or as good as Viktor, so I was very surprised to find that I was getting the last spot for the Junior Grand Prix Final. My parents were ecstatic. My sister praised me. I was just shocked that I would be able to skate on the same ice as Viktor. The boy who I practically worshiped since I was 7.
I made a promise to myself. If I got a good score. I would introduce myself to Viktor, and if I didn't, then I'd consider an early retirement.
I sat there, shattered. Why?
I let my anxiety get the best of me, and I failed. I got in the last place. Viktor, without a surprise, took first.
He was too perfect. I hid in the bathroom. I had already dealt with my parents, breaking the sad news to them that I might just end up retiring. I was just crying- no sobbing. I heard someone hit the door to the stall I was hiding in.
"Hey! Get your ass up, you fat pig!" A Russian boyish voice said. I jumped up and unlocked the stall. There stood a small, angry, blond boy. About 11. But boy was his look enough to kill. His blond hair was shaggy and slightly covering his light green eyes. His face retained only a little bit of the baby fat that made most children's face cute and round. But he clearly wasn't a baby. No. No baby could make a face that fierce.
"Why are you crying, pig?" He demanded. I shrugged and didn't meet his eyes. "Is it because you lost? Oh boo hoo. Get over it. If you're going to let it get to you, if the stress is too much, then just retire, moron!" He yelled before turning and storming off.
I couldn't tell if his words were meant to be encouraging or demeaning.
I sighed and dried my tears. My couch, Celestino, and best friend, Phichit, will be looking for me. I straightened and left the bathroom, trying to convey some sense of calm and pride.
I walked next to Phichit and our coach as we were leaving the rink. I held it together, but just barely.
"Yuri, your step sequence can use some work," I heard the familiar voice of Viktor Nikiforov and I turned to see if he was talking to me, but of course he wasn't. He was talking to the little kid from the bathroom. So his name was Yuri.
"Yeah, so, Yukov never lets me practice on the ice as much as you. He thinks I should be practicing my ballet for now before I fully step on the ice," He said. Viktor laughed. It was an amazing laugh.
"Yuri, he is right. It was like that with me too, so don't get discouraged. He'll let you on the ice more often when you're ready. And trust me, that day is close." They walked past us. But Viktor must have felt someone watching him.
He turned and caught my eyes. He didn't seem to realize I was another skater because of what he said next.
"Commemorative photo? Sure!" Why was he so cheery? Because he won? I turned on my heel and walked away. Phichit and Celestino called for me. But I didn't listen. I didn't want them to see that I was holding on barely by a thread as thin as a spider's silk and as strong as a baby's hair.
Celestino had to practically dress me in my only nice suit and tie and force me to go to the damn banquet where all the skaters attended after the season to show there were no hard feelings. To show that, at the end of the day, they were all friends.
All the best were there. Jean-Jacques Leroy, Christophe Giacometti, and of course, Viktor Nikiforov. His little ice skating buddy, Yuri even happened to attend. Maybe he was Viktor's plus one.
Since we were in Spain this year, the drinking age is different than Japan. I stayed near the wall, holding a flute of champagne in between my fingers.
I took a sip and let the bubbly liquid flow down my throat. It had a pleasant enough flavor. Though I didn't know how strong the alcohol was since I've never had it before. But my head felt funny, so I figured that it was strong.
Before I knew it, I woke up in my room. My head was pounding. Everything was so loud. Even the sound of the clock ticking on the wall above my door was too much for my sensitive ears.
I groaned and rolled over, but moving was a mistake. My stomach rolled and I shot up in bed and ran to the bathroom. The food I had at the banquet ended up in the toilet bowl. Such a waste. I called for Phichit to bring me some painkillers. He brought them and just laughed at my sad, pathetic state.
"That's what you get for drinking 16 flutes and an entire bottle of champagne," He laughed. Did I really drink that much? I don't remember anything from last night. God only knows what I did.
"Please tell me you're joking," I said. I took the pills and downed them with sink water.
He laughed again. "Sorry, but I can't," He said. I groaned.
I sighed and waited for the pills to kick in. My headache and nausea dissipated.
"When does our flight leave?" I asked. He checked his phone. The case had a gel, glittery hamster on it.
"Three hours. So I suggest you shower, sober up and get packed. I won't tell your parents you got drunk, so you owe me." And with that, he left. And I was alone. In a bathroom. With vomit still in the toilet.
I reached up and pulled the handle to flush.
Three hours later, I was in my first class seat on a thirteen-hour flight to Tokyo International Airport where my parents and sister, Mari, will pick me up for a three-hour car ride to Hasetsu Onsen. Home. I wanted to groan at the thought of seeing them after my failure. But my little poodle would be happy to see me after several months separation.
I got Vic-chan because Viktor has a little brown poodle who he really loved, so I wanted the same feeling. I even named him Viktor after him. My childhood friends just smiled and thought that it was sweet that I named him after my staking hero.
As soon as I got my bag, though, I was bombarded with by Minako, my childhood friend, and ex-ballet teacher. "Yuuri~!" She yelled, hugging me and nearly knocking me over. "Sorry, the family couldn't be here. They wished they could have been, but Vic-chan wasn't doing too well so they had to stay," She said.
"What's wrong with Vic-chan?" I asked concerned for my little brown puddle. Her eyes filled with sorrow. "Minako, how is my dog!?" I demanded. Tears streamed down her face.
"I'm so sorry Yuuri, but he may not make it till morning."