Chapter Text
Yakov had said not to practice, that he was just here to observe since he would soon finally be able to move up to the junior competitions. But the last thing Yuri wants to do is sit around all day watching other people skate, and if that mean sneaking out his hotel room and into the rink before dawn, so be it.
This thought is viciously interrupted when he walks straight into someone bigger than he is and crashes to the floor.
“Oh, wow, sorry, I didn’t see you!” a panicked voice says, and Yuri has to blink a few times just to make sure he hadn’t fallen harder than he thought and the person in front of him is actually who he thinks he is. “Are you okay?”
Yuri keeps staring, mouth parted in surprise but no words coming out. He’d known the man was here, of course, and he’d been looking forward to seeing him, but not – not like this. Here, alone, after knocking into him.
“You didn’t hit your head did you?” he kneels in front of him, reaching out to gently feel for any bumps, eye wide and concerned.
“No,” Yuri croaks out finally, “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Yuuri Katsuki asks, and in the poster Yuri has hanging above his bed the man’s eyes look black, but this close he can see that they’re actually a soft shade of brown. Yuri nods, not trusting his voice, and he’s screaming inside to pull it together, but he’s still just sitting on the ground. Katsuki smiles, “Good. Sorry, that was my fault, I wasn’t paying attention. I thought I was the only one crazy enough to be practicing this early.”
“It’s okay,” and oh god if Yakov or Viktor could see him now they would make fun of him forever, or even worse Mila. “I’m not supposed to be practicing, I’m not competing. My coach just brought me to observe.”
“But you get antsy if you don’t skate,” Katsuki says knowingly and for some reason he seems content to continue hanging out with him on the floor. “I’m the same way. Sometimes when I get nervous and can’t skate, I dance. In the middle of the living room at two in the morning,” he flashes a smile that makes Yuri want to die, “He’s really nice about it, but it drives my roommate crazy.”
“Oh,” Yuri says, and Katsuki skates to calm himself too, to focus. Mila always called him weird and Yakov lectured him, but sometimes it wasn’t about practicing, it was just needing to move.
Katsuki goes crosslegged, clearly in no hurry to go anywhere. “What’s your name? I’m –”
“I know who you are,” he cuts him off, then blushes, then hates himself for both those things. Katsuki looks surprised, and Yuri can’t think as to why. He’s a nationally ranked figure skater. He’s Yuri’s favorite figure skater. His salchows are mediocre and his other jumps are even worse, although his spins are actually really good. But Yuri isn’t impressed by technical finesse, he’s forced to share ice with Victor Nikiforov after all. He’s impressed by Katsuki's step sequences, the way that when he’s skating it looks like the music is playing to his movements and not the other way around. It’s mesmerizing and breath taking and Yuri can never bring himself to look away, even when Katsuki makes a mistake.
On the other hand, he’d rather stab himself in the eye than see Viktor perform another quadruple flip. Viktor’s good on presentation, obviously, but he’s not on Katsuki’s level. No matter what anyone else seems to think.
“I’m Yuri Plisetsky,” he says, trying to fill the silence with something less embarrassing.
Katsuki’s smile breaks out across his face, “Hello Yuri. If you’re sure you’re okay, do you want to get on the ice? We won’t have much time until it starts filling up.”
Yuri nods, and Katsuki’s so nice, none of the articles had ever said he was nice.
He’s also clearly keeping an eye on Yuri as he skates, making sure he really is okay, and Yuri would normally be pissed off by something like that but he has his favorite skater’s eyes on him. They’re skating on the same ice, and instead he does what he can to keep Katsuki’s eyes on him, performing jumps and spins. At some point Katsuki starts clapping, and for a humiliating moment Yuri thinks he’s making fun of him. But when he looks up the older skater is beaming, “Great!” he says, and there’s nothing but open delight in his face, “You’re really good!”
New skaters aren’t usually happy with him when they see him skate. Especially the older ones. They get quiet, and maybe they’re not quite mean, but they’re also clearly not pleased about his talent. “Thanks,” he says, shy in way he hasn’t been since he was a little kid, and blurts, “Can you help me with my spins? You’re really good at them.”
There’s that surprise again, as if Katsuki doesn’t know that about himself. But it fades and he says, “Of course, come here and show me what you did again.”
It’s amazing, and Katsuki’s actually a good teacher, voice low and patient and oddly reminding him of Yakov. When other skaters start trickling onto they leave the ice, discussing Yuri’s spins and what he should work on and what he has down solid.
This is another thing he’s not used to and hadn’t expected – Katsuki isn’t talking to him like he’s a kid, not really. He’s speaking to him like a skater, like he’s smart and knows what he’s doing and doesn’t talk down or make fun of him once.
They say that meeting your heroes is always a disappointment, but Yuri thinks this is about perfect as it can get.
He’s proven wrong a moment later when they leave the rink and reach the expected part where they’ll go their separate ways, but instead Katsuki hesitates and asks, “Do you know any place around here to get breakfast? I’ll pay, I did knock you down after all.” Yuri’s stomach rumbles, answering for him, but Katsuki just grins and says, “Me too.”
~
Yakov stares down at his phone in disbelief, shakes it like that will make it make more sense before giving up and handing it to Viktor, “Vitya, what does this say?”
Viktor pauses in lacing up his skates and takes the phone. He clears his throat before reciting, “Have not been kidnapped. Getting breakfast with a skater.” He shrugs and hands the phone back, “Yura made a friend. So what.”
“Ignoring the part where Yura blatantly ignored my orders not to practice,” Viktor rolls his eyes because Yakov should have known that that was going to happen from the beginning, “Making friends doesn’t sound like a very – him thing to do.”
“He’s thirteen now,” Viktor says, “maybe he’s maturing.”
Yakov snatches his phone out of Viktor’s hands, “Why would that mean anything? You’re just as much of a brat now as when I started training you,” and stalks off.
Viktor calls out, “Don’t be like that! Come back! Yakov! My short program is today! YAKOV!”
~
“Where have you been?” Celestino demands, “You said you’d be back over an hour ago!”
Yuuri checks the time on his phone, and also sees the three missed calls, “Sorry! I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. I went and got breakfast after I was done.”
Celestino manages to maintain the angry façade for another moment, but drops it under Yuri’s sheepish wince. “Well, you do practice insanely early anyway, so I suppose we haven’t lost much time. Go get changed.”
~
Yuri shows up to the rink about fifteen minutes later than he had the day before, and Katsuki is already skating, headphones in so he’s not likely to notice him.
Yuri quietly goes to the edge of the rink, leaning on the side as he watches Katsuki skate. He’ll get on the ice himself in a moment, but for now he’s content to watch. The familiar beginnings of a routine starts, and he focuses on Katsuki even more intensely. The senior skater had messed up his short program in a half dozen ways the day before, but had still gotten impressive scores anyway thanks to his step sequence.
But Yuri recognizes this routine, it’s the same routine he did yesterday, only – different.
Here, where he thinks he’s alone, where there are no judges and no crowds, he performs it almost flawlessly. His spins seem faster, he lands all his jumps – but they’re not even the same jumps, he adds rotations and amounts, and ends it with a triple flip. Ends the program with it! Katsuki is known for his stamina, but that’s insane! None of the jumps were perfect, and he’d had to touch down on the last one, but it was still scarily impressive.
It’s clearly exhausted him, chest heaving, but when Katsuki looks up and sees him he freezes. Yuri bursts into applause, and doesn’t stop even as Katsuki’s whole face goes red and he glides over to him, taking out his headphones. “I didn’t see you,” he mumbles.
“That was incredible!” Yuri beams, “That was – the best thing I’ve ever seen! If you’d skated like that yesterday, you would have beaten all of them!”
Katsuki grimaces.
Yuri instantly feels the uncomfortable heat of shame bubble up in him and stuffs his hands into his jacket pocket. “I mean – not that yesterday was bad! I mean, just,” he looks down, and this would be the part where he gets angry and storms away, but he doesn’t want to be angry at Katsuki. So he swallows and looks back up, “Sorry. I – sorry.”
Katsuki gives a half smile, and it looks like it hurts. But he doesn’t seem mad either. “It’s okay, I wish I’d skated like that yesterday too.”
“Oh,” he says, and the air between them is almost easy and he should leave it, but he says, “I’ve never seen you skate like that before. I’ve seen all your competition footage, but I’ve never seen anything like what you just did.”
“All of it?” he asks, and there’s that surprise again, so honest and painful to witness that Yuri can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed.
“All of it,” he confirms.
Katsuki half smiles again, but this time it doesn’t look like it hurts him. “I don’t – do well, with crowds and, you know, pressure. I wish I did. But even with my coach, I don’t – I don’t know. I only skate my best when I’m alone. Which doesn’t do me a lot of good.”
“Oh,” Yuri says, softly, because he’s not stupid, he’s heard of more than one athlete that couldn’t handle the pressure. But it’s not fair, because Katsuki is handling it, mostly, is talented and strong, and before this he was just Yuri’s favorite skater, but now he thinks he might be the best skater. But he doesn’t know how to articulate any of that without seeming like a crazy person, so he asks, “Your triples are pretty good, but do you want to work on your quads? My coach won’t let me perform it in competitions, but I’m pretty good at the quad salchow.”
As soon as it’s out of his mouth he regrets it. Katsuki’s a senior skater, and an adult, and as he clearly just demonstrated he doesn’t need help from some kid, quads or no quads. Yuri’s thinking maybe he can just run away and pretend none of this ever happened and that he has any dignity left.
Katsuki doesn’t laugh at him. Instead he blinks and says, “Wow, you can do the quad salchow already? That’s amazing! I’d love your help.”
Yuri’s mouth drops open, heart in his throat, because – because no one takes him seriously, not Mila or Georgi or Viktor, not even Yakov. He’s good, but he’s a kid, and he has a long way to go. As they all keep reminding him. “Cool,” he chokes out, and says, hopeful, “Then – then we can work on my spins again? If that’s okay?”
“Sounds perfect to me,” Katsuki says firmly, “a nice even trade.”
Yuri retreats to pull on his skates before he can make a total fool of himself, but he’s beaming the whole time.
~
Yuuri meets the Russian junior skater every morning for the rest of the week, and it should be weird but instead it’s easy and – fun, even. It grounds him, enough that it effects his skating and he lands a couple of jumps that he’d been expecting to mess up. Even Celestino looks impressed. It also means he manages to scrape his way onto the podium.
Viktor gets first, of course, and Chris winks down at him from his place on second, “Drinks tonight?”
“Absolutely not,” he glares. Chris just shrugs, but he’s still smirking.
He’s tells himself that for once he’s going to tell the annoying older skater no, and not make a fool of himself in front of one of his only friends in the skating world, but he knows that’s a lie even as he thinks it. Besides, he’s pretty sure half the reason Chris hangs out with him is for the embarrassing antics he always seems to talk Yuuri into after a few too many drinks.
Chris shows up at his room, as usual, an hour after they’d managed to pry themselves away from the reporters. Yuuri’s in jeans and a white button up, clothes he’s not attached to just in case he ends up losing them. “Viktor’s going to join us,” Chris says once Yuuri has closed the door behind him.
Yuuri stares, betrayed. “Absolutely not.”
“It would be unsportsmanlike for us not to invite him!” Chris insists, pouting as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Besides, we were all on the same podium, there’s no reason for you to be nervous.”
He crosses his arms, “Oh, and how are we going to go out for an anonymous night of debauchery with Viktor Nikiforov with us?”
Chris silently holds up the chunkiest, ugliest pair of glasses he’s ever seen.
“Oh my god, this is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” he says faintly.
Chris claps him on the shoulder and steers him to the elevator, “Come on, we don’t want to leave Viktor waiting!”
~
He’s been friends with Yuuri longer than Viktor, ever since they were junior competitors together, and so he’s not surprised in the slightest when at the first club they go to Yuuri bolts to the bar.
“Are you sure it’s okay that I came?” Viktor asks, eyes concerned under the hideous glasses he’d forced his friend to wear. “I know you said this was something you two do together. I can leave.”
“We only do it alone because Yuuri’s anti-social and Sara and Phichit are too young, not that that stops them all the time. He’s just shy, don’t worry.” He looks over and Yuuri is taking shots. At this rate he won’t be shy for long.
“If you’re sure,” Viktor says, frowning.
~
Two hours and an ungodly amount of alcohol later, Chris and Yuuri are grinding on the dance floor while Viktor watches open mouthed.
The quiet, reserved Japanese skater had been steadily drinking and mostly ignoring him for the whole night. Then about ten minutes ago Chris had said, “I think it’s time.”
Yuuri had drained the last his drink, slammed his glass onto the table so hard it shook, and said, “You bet your ass it’s time,” and dragged him onto the dance floor.
Chris beckons him over, but he’s not sure where exactly in the writhing bodies he’s supposed to fit. Yuuri catches his eye and smiles at him for the first time tonight, cheeks flushed, and oh, okay then, Viktor can feel an answering blush on his own cheeks even though he’s only had a couple of drinks.
Yuuri pulls himself from Chris and holds out a hand, and Viktor lets himself be pulled closer, blushes even more when Yuuri throws his arms around his neck and says, “Viktor, Viktor, you – you need to dance with me.”
He looks around for help, but Chris seems to have melted into the crowd, so he says, “Okay,” and Yuuri grabs his hands and puts them on his hips, and Viktor is going to die. They keep dancing, and he catches glimpses of Chris but he’s giving them a wide berth. He’d make a note to yell at the other skater for setting him up later, except that Yuuri is gorgeous and the way he’d skated earlier was great, and Viktor doesn’t usually notice people like this. People get all flustered over him, but he doesn’t tend to feel this way, he’s not a casual person.
“Let’s get a drink,” Yuuri says, eyes half lidded, “It’s hot in here.”
They’re both sweat soaked, and it’s making the thin material of Yuuri’s shirt cling to him in interesting ways, so Viktor swallows and nods. Yuuri grabs his hands and drags him to the bar. There’s only one empty seat, and Viktor’s about to offer it to him when he shoves Viktor into it, giving an absent minded, “Here, you’re too tall,” and he isn’t sure if he should be offended or not but he laughs anyway.
Yuuri leans over to make eye contact with the bartender, which gives Viktor a lovely view of his ass in those tight, tight jeans. He’ll never make fun of the skinny jean trend ever again. “Yuuri,” he says. He turns to face him, and they’re almost nose to nose and whatever Viktor was going to say flies right out his head.
“Your eyes are blue,” Yuuri says, moving closer and bracing his arm around Viktor on the bar, caging him in, “Like – like – I’m from a beach town, and they’re like that perfect blue when the sun’s reflecting off it on a clear day, you know?”
Oh god, a gorgeous man is waxing poetic about his eye color and pinning him to surfaces. He’s never going to recover from this. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Yuuri nods, intently serious, and he boosts himself up and suddenly Viktor has a lapful of Yuuri Katsuki.
He forgets to breath as Yuuri knocks off those ridiculous glasses Chris had forced on him and he tilts his head up just enough to meet Yuuri halfway. He tastes like rum and sugar-sweetness from all those drinks, and he can’t ask him back to his room, not like this, but when Yuuri kisses him he doesn’t resist, opens his mouth up for him and digs his fingers into Yuuri’s hips to keep him from sliding out of his lap.
~
Yuuri wakes up to the harsh ringing of his alarm and wants to die.
“Turn that off!” Chris groans. His friend is spooning him from behind, arm around his waist as he presses his face into his back.
Yuuri dismisses the alarm and buried his head into his pillow. “I have to get up. I’m meeting someone at the rink.”
“Oh my god, why,” Chris moans, “It’s too early.”
“You can stay,” he says, untangling himself from Chris’s grip and shedding the clothes from last night that he’d fallen asleep in. At least he hadn’t lost them, so that was an improvement. “Did we get into a dance off last night?”
“Not this time,” he groans, shoving a pillow over his head as Yuuri flings open the curtains.
He considers showering, but he’s only going to get gross on the rink anyway, so he forgoes that and starts pulling on his practice clothes. “Anything interesting or more embarrassing than usual happen?” He pokes at the finger shaped bruises on his hips, “Did you do this?”
“No. You made out with Viktor Nikiforov and we got kicked out of a club for public indecency. Twice.” He pauses, “Only the second time was my fault.”
Yuuri rolls his eyes, “Yeah, okay. I’ll take that as a no then. Text me what time your flight is, if it’s late we’ll get lunch.”
Chris waves a hand in agreement and Yuuri grabs his skates before bolting out of the room and running to the rink.
“Sorry I’m late!” he says, and Yuri pauses mid-routine to smile at him. “What did you want to work on today?”
They skate together like they have these past few days, and it’s just a fun and easy between them as always. As the hour ticks by, Yuri gets quieter and quieter, and his lips barely twitch upwards when they step off the ice and head to breakfast.
He can see that Yuri’s upset, but trying to hide it, and this is stupid. They’re helping each other out, and they get along, and it’s perfectly normal for him to go, “Hey, give me your phone,” in the middle of their shared plate of waffles.
Yuri raises an eyebrow but hands it over. Yuuri goes to the contact page and adds himself in there, including his skype and instagram even though he barely uses the thing. He’d noticed Yuri was particularly fond of the app, and between him and Phichit he might actually get dragged into using it more than twice a year. “I could still use your advice on jumps, if you have the time,” he says, handing the phone back.
Yuri takes it with a blank face, and Yuuri’s worried he’s done something wrong until the younger skater launches himself across the table and grabs him in what an octopus might define as hug. “Yes! Absolutely!”
He’s not a touchy person, but he laughs and hugs him back as his worries drain away. “Good.”
~
The light of midday is streaming into his hotel room, but Viktor is still in bed, arm flung over his eyes and a grin he can’t force down over his face.
His phone beeps, and if it’s Yakov he’s ignoring it. But it’s a text from Chris saying: here’s a commemorative photo.
He flicks the message open, and it’s from later in the night. He’s back in those clunky glasses, Yuuri’s arms are around his neck, and they’re smiling at each other.
“Oh my god,” he says quietly, hugs his phone to his chest not unlike a teenage girl, and wonders if making the photo his wallpaper would be too much.
~
“So,” Phichit says as soon as he gets back, literally as soon as he walks through the door of their apartment. “Congratulations on getting bronze. What’s going on with you and Plisetsky?”
“Hello to you too,” he says, stripping off his coat and dropping his bag to the ground. He’d unpack and take care of it later. Long flights always left him exhausted. “How did you know I was with Yuri? Were you social media stalking me again?” he collapses onto the couch, swinging his legs onto Phichit’s lap.
“How could I be?” he complains, “You never post anything!”
“Phichit,” he says, mock stern.
The teen sighs and says, “Plisetsky has a solid instagram. He posts his food when he goes out – and you were in some of them. Not all of you,” he amends when Yuuri raises an eyebrow, “just like your elbow or a bit of your torso or something. But since I’m your best friend and a brilliant detective, I figure these things out.”
“You’d noticed he’d followed me on Instagram so your stalked his profile in terrifying detail?” Yuuri translates.
Phichit pretends to be offended for all of two seconds before going, “Yeah, pretty much.”
“He helped me with my jumps,” he says. “He’s nice.”
“He’s thirteen!” Phichit protests, “Why was he helping you?”
Yuuri rolls his eyes, “He’s good, what does his age matter?”
“I guess,” Phichit says doubtfully, “Okay, whatever. Have fun with your adopted little brother.”
Yuuri snorts and rolls off the couch onto his feet. “I’m going to go take a shower.”
“Good!” Phichit calls after him, “You stink!”
~
Phichit had said it mostly as a joke, but as the months pass it seems to be more and more the truth. They text and skype, sending each other videos of their routines asking for advice and input. Yuuri talks to the kid more than he does his actual family, but – it seems to be doing both of them good.
He’s heard the rumors about the kid, that he was talented but also arrogant and bratty and a pain to deal with. He can see hints of that sometimes, when they two of them are arguing about a step sequence or choreography, but for the most part – well, if Phichit didn’t have very reliable sources, he’d think Plisetsky was a sweet kid. Mostly. He complains about his teammates and coach with a viciousness that Phichit personally finds concerning, but Yuuri just shrugs off.
“They treat him like a child,” Yuuri explains, “and he is, and you know, he needs normal teenage things like discipline and a schedule and boundaries. But treating him like a kid when it comes to skating is pointless. He’s better than half the senior skaters already, and talking down to him only pisses him off.”
Phichit supposes that makes sense, and doesn’t bring it up again. Besides, he may be right – no matter how much they argue about skating, Plisetsky never directs the contempt he seems to have for everyone else at Yuuri, so his friend must be doing something right.
Yuuri is better for it too, somehow. Steadier, like being a crutch for Plisetsky had forced him to find firmer footing himself. He tries asking Celestino his opinion on everything, but their coach only says, “I called Yakov and he’s just as confused. We’re just going to go with it for now.” Which doesn’t tell Phichit anything but if Yuuri’s happy and the kid’s happy that’s all that matters.
Right?
~
Viktor leans back against the edge of the rink, refusing to admit he’s pouting. He’s looking in the direction of Yuri, who’s spending their break at the other end of the rink typing rapidly on his phone. Since his grandfather isn’t exactly a large fan of texting, there’s only one person Yuri could be talking to. “He barely even yells at me anymore.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Georgi says, foregoing drinking his water in favor of dumping half the bottle on his face. “He still yells at you plenty.”
Mila goes on her tiptoes so she can rest her chin on Viktor’s shoulder, “It’s cute, he’s made friends with his hero.”
“Hero?” Viktor demands, “I thought I was his hero!”
Georgi raises an eyebrow. Mila moves from behind Viktor to lean over the barrier’s edge so she can look at him pityingly. “No, you’re his rival. He wants to beat you, not be you. There’s a difference.”
Viktor crosses his arms and huffs, nose in the air, “Well, I don’t see what’s so great about Yuri.”
Mila jabs her fingers into his ribs, “Don’t be a jealous brat. I’m sure he treasures you as a rival too.” He yelps and skates away from her, betrayed. He’d actually meant he didn’t know what was so great about their Yuri that the Yuuri he’d made out with was texting their rinkmate and not him, but considering he hadn’t actually told any of them about that night he decides to let their mistaken interpretation stand.
He wishes he could ask Yuri to pass on a message, or ask for Yuuri’s number, but he really, really doesn’t want to explain why he wants it.
She sighs. Georgi hands her what’s left of his water, and she sips at it. “I am glad Yuri has a friend. He’s not great about those.”
Georgi steals his water back, frowning. “Do you think our Yuri has told his Yuuri that he’s part of his online fan club?
“Absolutely not,” Mila says, “Also don’t you dare bring that up, we’re not supposed to know that. You're lucky that’s the most embarrassing thing you found on his phone - he’s thirteen!”
Georgi hums and glides back into the center of the rink, unconcerned about his blatant disregard for other’s privacy. Mila rubs at her forehead and goes to pull her skates back on.
~
Yuuri’s doing aerial yoga in the living room, hanging upside down by his hips. Phichit had been a little too eager when Yuuri had asked about installing the stripper pole, and he’d had horrifying premonitions of his workouts ending up all over his friend’s instagram. The aerial silk hook had been a compromise.
“HEY!” Phichit walks into the room, waving Yuuri’s phone, “Your mini-me is calling.”
“He hates when you call him that,” Yuuri sighs, holding out his hand, still upside down.
Phichit gives him the ringing phone, “I can’t call both of you Yuri, and he gets all offended when I call him Yura.”
Yuuri rolls his eyes, flicking his thumb across the screen, “Hey Yurochka.”
“Katsudon,” Yura returns, and Yuuri regrets telling him about his traditions regarding his favorite dish only because it had garnered that unfortunate nickname. Yura had screenshotted his contact lists, and Yuuri’s photo was a picture of his mother’s katsudon that he’d sent him. “Are you busy?”
He flips up and does a split in the air, then back over so his head’s less than a foot from the floor. They really need to mop. “No, I’m just hanging out.”
Phichit snorts.
“Whatever,” Yura says, “Can you skype? I want some help with my routine, and Yakov keeps telling me to relax.”
“Sounds relaxing,” he observes, “Hold on, I’ll call you back on skype.” He disconnects the call, then calls back using the video service.
Yura’s face fills the screen, red and sweat drenched and with enough angry tension in his body that he’s clearly two seconds away from snapping himself in half. He squints, “Are you upside down?”
“Yes,” Yuuri says, and leaves it at that. “What’s wrong with your routine?”
“Yakov keeps bitching about my step sequences not being fluid enough,” he snarls, “but he’s not telling me how to fix that and I’m about to scream.”
Yurui flips back up again and shifts until he’s lying in the silk like a makeshift hammock. “Let me see.”
Yura nods and hand the phone to someone who obligingly holds it up so Yuuri can see the whole rink. He goes through his routine, and Yuuri has seen it before but he pays special attention this time to the transitions from jumps to presentation and back. Yura finishes with both arms outstretched before breaking the moment and angrily skating back over and snatching the phone from whoever had been nice enough to hold it. “Well?”
“I see what he means,” he admits, but when’s Yura’s shoulders get impossibly tenser he hurries to add, “I think it’s where your jumps are placed – as soon as you start to get in the groove of it you have a jump or a spin and you have to start all over again. It’s hard to make it look fluid the way it’s set up now, I think.”
“You could do it,” he accuses, ice blue eyes narrowed.
He opens his mouth to deny it, but hesitates – Yura gets angry when he underestimates himself, which wasn’t something he thought he did but Yura doesn’t agree. He runs the routine over again in his head, and, well, Yura’s not wrong. “Probably. But I can’t land my triples nearly as well as you can.”
That seems to relax him a little at least, and he says, “Yes, you can. Have you talked to your coach about adding the changes I recommended for you?”
“I tried,” he says, an unusual flash of irritation going through him, “He didn’t think it was such a great idea.” He barrels forward before Yura can start cursing Celestino, “Give me like a day and I’ll send you some ideas for reordering your routine around, okay? I usually end up designing my own step sequences for Celestino’s routines anyway.”
Yura huffs, blowing his sticky bangs out of his face, “Okay. But talk to your couch again. Your free skate isn’t pushing you enough.”
“Fine,” he agrees, already dreading the conversation, “But only if you get off the ice for today. You’re not going to improve if you’re too frustrated to focus.”
For a moment he thinks Yura is actually going to curse him out, but he bites it back and goes, “Fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” and hangs up.
Yuuri sighs and pulls himself up and out his silks. Phichit helps him fold it, mouth pulled down at the corners. “Not to agree with the angry thirteen year old, but he’s sort of right about Celestino.”
“You’re literally agreeing with the thirteen year old,” Yuuri points out, tucking the silks into the corner, “Besides, you love Celestino.”
“He’s great,” Phichit agrees enthusiastically, “but I don’t know, Yuuri. You’re a brilliant skater. I feel like he should be giving you more complicated routines.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Let’s not talk about it, I get enough of it from Yura.”
“Okay,” his friend says agreeably enough, but Yuuri knows he hasn’t forgotten it for a second.
~
Yuuri looks from his training and class schedule to his calendar, and he could do it. He hasn’t taken too many days off this semester.
Besides, most importantly, he would have liked to have someone there for him for his first serious competition.
He opens his email to write a quick note to his professors.
~
Celestino stares. “You’re going to Mexico?”
His student crosses his arms, “It’s for three days. I’ll be back on Sunday. Is there a problem?”
He looks toward Phichit, who only shrugs. Then back to Yuuri. “No,” he says slowly, “Is there … is there a reason you’re taking three days off in the middle of training to go to Mexico? Not that that’s a problem, but you’ve never done it before. Ever.”
Yuuri flushes and rubs the back of his head, “No, not really.”
Phichit rolls his eyes.
“Okay,” he says, because there’s nothing else to say. “Have a nice trip.”
His eldest student nods and walks out, presumably to pack. For his trip. To Mexico.
“Booty call?” he asks hopefully.
Phichit shakes his head, “Not even close.”
~
Yuri is staring angrily at the ground as they wait for the ice to be cleared, and Yakov knows it’s probably nerves, but Yuri’s piece is about innocence and childish discovery and the red-hot anger that his youngest student bleeds constantly isn’t the best mindset for this.
He also doesn’t know how to comfort him because he’s a teenager who hates everyone and everything, but who will certainly hate himself if he messes up his short skate.
“Yurochka!” an unfamiliar voice calls out, and Yuri’s head snaps up. Yakov doesn’t know which reporter or fan just made that mistake, because the only person allowed to call Yuri that is his grandfather, and he throws a fit if anyone else does it –
“Katsudon!” Yuri answers, waving his arm in greeting, and the first smile Yakov has seen all day breaks out over his face.
He turns and the Japanese skater who had altered his routine is hurrying towards them. He waits, because absolutely not is Yuri going to let this man get away with calling him that, no matter how happy he is to see him.
Instead of yelling at him, however, Yuri leaps into the older man’s arms, and Katsuki stoops over enough so that Yuri doesn’t have to strain on his tiptoes. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, giving Yuri another squeeze before letting go. “It was harder to get security to let me back here than I thought it would be. I ended up taking a lot of selfies with security guards?”
“What are you doing here?” Yuri demands, but he’s beaming. “This is a junior only competition!”
“I know,” he smiles sheepishly, “But it’s your first Grand Prix event! I didn’t want to miss it. You’ve been working so hard.”
There’s a moment where Yuri’s absolutely still and Yakov has no idea what he’s thinking. Then he gives Katsuki the smallest, sweetest smile he’s ever seen him give anyone, and tackle-hugs him one final time before taking off his skate guards, shoving them at Yakov, and stepping on to the ice.
“Hi,” Katsuki swallows, eyes looking anywhere at Yakov, “I’m sorry for just showing up like this. I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”
He’s clearly braced for a lecture. Katsuki thinks he’s about to yell at him, but he came anyway because he wanted to support Yuri. Yakov curls half his mouth into a grin and claps him hard enough on the shoulder that he stumbles. “Thanks, kid.”
~
By the time Yakov makes it to the rink the next morning, it’s clear that that Katsuki and Yuri have already been there for a while, both of them sweat soaked as they skate through the end of Yuri’s routine together, and it’s like seeing double vision. It looks like Katsuki knows the routine by heart, and he has a sneaking suspicion that Yuri knows Katsuki’s as well.
He’s seen Yuri on the phone with the kid before, but in person is different. Yuri gives Katsuki a respect that he doesn’t afford anyone, Yakov included, and he’s less offended by that than he is intrigued.
Yuri skates better with Katsuki around too, the other skater calming the nerves he denies he has just with his presence.
He’s wonders how upset Celestino will be if he kidnaps his student.
~
Yuuri has just gotten off the plane in Detroit when his phone rings, Phichit’s face filling up the screen. He’s so tired all he wants to do is sleep for a week, and he’s sure whatever his roommate wants to talk about can wait until he gets home. But it’s also not like he has anything better to do while he’s waiting for his cab, so answers.
“I can’t believe you let it ring that long,” Phichit scolds before he can get a word in, “Anyway, you broke the internet.”
“That sounds unrealistic,” he yawns, “also, I barely use the internet.”
His cab finally shows up, and he gratefully slides into the back seat. “You may not, but everyone else does. Everyone’s freaking out about you showing up GPJ Mexico and all the photos they got of you and Yurio together.”
“Yurio?” he asks, “Where did that come from?”
“Your sister suggested it, since it’s not Yuri or Yura.”
He pulls back the phone in disbelief, staring at it like it’s betrayed him, “You talk to my sister?”
“You don’t use social media,” his friend complains, “How else is she supposed to know if you’re alive?”
“By calling me?” he says, “Her brother?”
Phichit makes a dismissive sound at the back of his throat, “Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, there’s like a thousand photos of Yurio hugging you and the two of you getting breakfast and stuff everywhere. You and Yurio’s fans are going crazy, they think it’s the cutest thing ever.”
The fame part of his career has always been the hardest part to swallow. “Well, that’s good, right?”
His friend’s voice softens. He knows how Yuuri gets about his image and his fans and all the things off the ice that he wishes he didn’t have to think about. “Yes, Yuuri. It’s a good thing.”
“Good,” he says, and doesn’t know what to say besides that.
~
Chris looks at his phone and is seriously tempted to let it go to voicemail. Considering the deluge of photos Yuuri’s been tagged in, this call can only be about one thing.
“Hi Viktor,” he sighs, giving in, “How are you?”
“How come he’s friends with Yuri and not me?” his friend whines into the phone, sniffing obnoxiously. “I want to be his friend!”
Chris rubs at his temples. If he’d known inviting Viktor to go out with them would result in this many irritating phone calls, he wouldn’t have done it.
~
Less than two weeks after Yuri returns from JGP Mexico his instagram and twitter followers start aggressively tagging him in some sort of video. Confused, he opens it.
It’s Katsudon, clearly having just come from practice and doing his best to hide his irritation about being ambushed. “Yuuri,” the reporter says off screen, “It’s recently come to light that you have some sort of relationship with the debuting junior skater Yuri Plisetsky. Can we get a comment about that? Are you mentoring him? Showing a more inexperienced skater the ropes, as it were?”
Yuri snarls, because the way he’s asking, the tone – he’s not some charity case!
Katsudon’s eyes narrow and his lips go into a tight, hard line. “No,” he says, “Yuri Plisetsky is an absolutely incredible skater, and any form of mentoring or teaching I may do is returned tenfold. I learn more from him every day, and couldn’t be more grateful for the opportunities and growth his friendship has afforded me.”
There’s a moment of heavy silence, and the reporter recovers, “Well, that’s, I mean, do you –”
“I have a class to get to, if you’ll excuse me,” Yuuri cuts him off before turning and moving out of frame. The screen cuts to black.
Yuri’s grin is so wide it hurts, and his heart beats too fast in his chest. It’s the nicest thing anyone has said about him. Ever. And Katsudon said it, his friend, he called him his friend! Which, Yuri knew on some level of course, you didn’t skype someone three times a week and work on their routines and fly to Mexico for someone if they weren’t your friend. Still – it was nice to hear.
But he can’t just say nothing about it, and he can’t post a video in kind because Katsudon will think he’s crazy and he’ll feel crazy. So instead he retweets the video and just adds: I feel exactly the same way.
~
“Holy shit,” Mila says, watching the video with Viktor and Georgi looking over her shoulders, “he must be dying right now. He hates confrontation.”
Two pairs of suspicious eyes land on her. “How do you know anything more than we do?” Viktor demands. There’s something almost manic in his expression, and even Georgi gives him an odd look.
The answer is Sara Crispino, who’s one of the handful of people in the skating community who’s actually friends with the reclusive Japanese skater. For someone who’s by all accounts polite and good-natured, he doesn’t seem to have that many.
But that answer would open up questions on her relationship with Sara, and that’s not a conversation she’s interested in having at all. So instead she snaps, “None of your business,” and flounces off away from her rinkmates.
~
Yuuri sits on the couch with his head in his hands. Phichit’s got an arm around his shoulder attempting to comfort him. It’s not nearly as effective as he probably hopes, considering Yuuri can feel him shaking from surprised laughter. “Why did I do that,” he moans, “Phichit I’m trending.”
“It’s great!” he says, then winces when Yuuri glares at him. “It’s not that bad! If you want something bad I can post literally any of the photos from when I’ve gone out with you and Chris. I’m astounded there aren’t any photos of you two honestly.”
“Nobody recognizes us with glasses,” he grumbles, “What I don’t understand is how you keep getting away with following us. You’re eighteen. Stop stalking and following us into clubs! One day we’ll get caught and Celestino will kill me.”
His phone rings. He just hopes it’s not Celestino.
It’s worse.
“Yurochka,” he answers, “Look I – I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean to blow this all up, I know I should have just walked away –”
“Katsudon!” Yura snaps, waiting for Yuuri to take a breath. “Thanks.”
Oh. Oh. “You’re welcome,” he says, and the tight pit of anxiety loosens in his chest just the slightest bit. “Are you ready for Belarus? Just because you won silver in Mexico isn’t any reason to get arrogant.”
Yura scoffs, “It’s only arrogance if I’m not as good as I think I am. I’m exactly as good as I think I am, because I have self-awareness. Unlike you.”
Yuuri rolls his eyes, and they fall into the easy sniping back and forth.
~
Chris seriously considers letting the call go to voicemail, but he supposes he did this to himself.
“Hello Viktor,” he sighs, “You saw the video?”
He holds he phone away from him as Viktor wails in his ear.
~
Phichit is twisted on the armchair doing homework, half-listening to Yuuri’s conversation with his favorite Russian skater. And he’s including his roommate’s obsession with Viktor Nikiforov in that.
Yuuri’s laptop is in the middle of the coffee table, and he’s got his physics homework spread out across every surface of the couch and the rest of the table, and he’s not focusing on any of it. Instead he’s leaning with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands listening to Yurio enthuse about his latest competition in Estonia, the one where he’d finally qualified for the junior division of the Grand Prix Final.
Phichit wants to be mad, because he’s still competing as a junior and he hadn’t qualified, but he can’t. Yurio is actually that good, and the bubbly, innocent way he’s describing everything to Yuuri is kind of endearing.
Yuuri’s first competition of the Grand Prix series is coming up – in two weeks he’ll be heading to Canada. Phichit is sure once Yurio stops vibrating for long enough the conversation will circle around to it.
He’s recently come to the uncomfortable realization that Yurio is more invested in Yuuri’s success than Celestino. He still isn’t sure what to do about it.
“Chris will be there,” Yuuri says, and Phichit was right, they must be talking about Canada now, “So that will be fun at least. And it’s a short flight.”
“Giocometti?” Yurio asks, “I didn’t know you knew each other.”
“We don’t advertise it,” Yuuri grumbles, and Phichit does his best not to laugh. “He’s great! Really nice under all the – everything. But he’s that friend that always talks you into bad decisions, you know? Then photographs it.”
Phichit calls out, “Actually, I’m usually the one photographing it!”
Yuuri rolls his eyes, “Whatever, the point is I like Chris and it will be nice to see him. But also he encourages my drinking problem in really horrible ways and it’s exhausting.”
There’s a long silence, long enough that Phichit looks up from his homework and Yuuri’s eyebrows are dipped together. “Drinking problem?” Yurio asks, small and hesitant.
Phichit cracks up laughing and Yuuri starts waving his arms in front of the monitor, “No! Not like – like anything like crazy, or a problem-problem, just you know, I get it from my dad, you know?”
“Alcoholism runs in your family?” Yurio says, and actually sounds a little panicked so it’s totally wrong of him to keep laughing but he does anyway.
“No!” Yuuri yelps, “No, if anything that’s Minako-sensei – not that she is either! I mean,” he looks to Phichit, “Help?”
He drags himself from the chair and shoves Yuuri down so he’s in the camera’s view as well. Yurio’s eyes are wide. “Chris is great! I love when he’s around because our dear Yuuri doesn’t have a drinking problem, he has a drinking solution.”
“Oh my god,” his roommate says, head in his hands.
“He doesn’t drink often but when he does – whoo boy! Clothes come off, dance moves come out. He and Chris have a great stripper pole routine!”
“Oh my god,” Yurio says, but at least he doesn’t look worried anymore.
Phichit grabs his phone, “Do you want to see pictures?”
Yurio says “Yes!” the same time Yuuri yells “NO!” and tackles him to the ground.
They can hear Yurio laughing as they wrestle on the floor for his phone, and it’s then that Phichit realizes he’s actually grown kind of fond of the brat.
~
Mila shoves over a plate of fries to share with Yuri, who’s grudgingly seated beside her in the rec room of the skating rink. The footage for the second day of Skate Canada is playing on both screens. Georgi is sitting at the table besides him, and Viktor left practice early so he could watch it at home. Yuri doesn’t usually bother to watch the competitions live, but Mila knows that this change of behavior is due to one particular Japanese skater. “What’s his line up?” she asks.
He throws her an irritated glance, but doesn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “Third,” he admits, “At least it’s not first or last. I guess.”
“I’m sure he’ll do great,” she says with a confidence she doesn’t feel. He did okay on the first day, his score not breaking a hundred but getting close to it. She’s heard he’s nice, and his routines are good, and his step sequences can definitely be called amazing. But she doesn’t really get the hero worship.
He crosses his arms. “Whatever.”
She’s about to try again, to say something that will get the scowl off his face, but his phone rings. He grabs it and is about to hit ‘ignore’ when he freezes, going pale. “Yuri?” she asks, “Everything okay?”
He doesn’t answer her, standing up so suddenly that his chair clatters to the floor and striding out of the room with the phone pressed to his ear.
She looks to Georgi, who shrugs. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
~
Yuuri gets on the podium, trying not to look stunned at his own success. He’s got silver – barely – and Chris looks down at him from his place at gold and winks. “You’ve changed,” he says, speaking through a smile as the cameras flash. “I like it.”
“Thanks,” he says, giving a little wave to the cameras. He can see Celestino beaming behind them. “I’m not going out drinking with you.”
“You say that every time,” Chris sing-songs. “I’m going to be up at your hotel room in an hour, so you might as well just agree so I don’t have to drag you kicking and screaming like last year in Shanghai.”
Yuuri sighs. It’s true. Celestino has been no help at all, just telling him to have fun as Chris literally dragged him to the elevators. Sara had caught them in the hotel lobby coming back at four in the morning, and had deposited both of them into her room when they couldn’t remember what their own room numbers were. Yuuri had woken up with a splitting headache to her brother yelling at him and Chris for deflowering his sister, something they absolutely hadn’t done.
Chris had flipped him off, rolled on top of Yuuri, and gone back to sleep.
Michele still got twitchy whenever he saw either of them.
“Okay,” he says, “but only if we don’t go nearly as hard as we did in Shanghai.”
“But of course,” Chris all but purrs, and Yuuri feels like he’s lying to him.
He’s back in his room, getting ready to shower, when his phone rings. He answers it immediately. “Yurochka! Were you watching? I did the third jump just like you said, and it went great!” There’s wet, heavy breathing at the other end, and his smile slides off his face. “Yurochka, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“I wasn’t watching, sorry,” his voice is high and chocked, like he’s trying to keep from crying. “It went well though?”
“That doesn’t matter, forget about it,” he says, sitting on the edge of his bed, “Take a deep breath for me, okay? In,” he waits until he hears Yura’s shaky inhale, “then out. Again. In. And out.” He continues until Yura’s breathing doesn’t sound so perilous. “Okay. Now, what’s going on? You’re not hurt, right?”
“No,” he says, “No, I – I’m at the hospital, but I’m not hurt. It’s Grandpa.”
Yuuri’s hand cover’s his mouth, and he swallows before asking, “Is he – is –”
“He’s alive,” he says, and Yuuri’s shoulders drop. “He fell, and messed up his back, and they have him in surgery now. He should be okay. They said he should be okay, so – so yeah.” He sniffs and whispers, “I’m really scared.”
“I know,” he soothes, “But everything’s going to be fine. Is Yakov there? Or anyone?”
“No,” Yura says, which was the answer he was expecting but not the one he wanted, “I didn’t – you’re the first person I’m telling. I don’t – I can’t handle. Other people. Right now.” His breathing hitches again, and he says, “Can you – can you stay on the phone with me? Until, he, until Grandpa’s out of surgery. Please.”
Yuuri nods before remembering Yura can’t see it and says, “Of course Yurochka. Whatever you need.”
He holds his phone between his ear and shoulder, digging around his in his bag for his laptop. “Thank you,” Yura says, “Tell – tell me about the free skate. It went well?”
“Very well,” he confirms, and launches into the story. He opens up his laptop and does two things – messages Chris that there’s been an emergency and he can’t go out, and googles how much a ticket to St. Petersburg will cost.
~
Celestino is still asleep in his room from his own night of drunken debauchery, thank god, but Chris is sitting on his bed watching Yuuri pack with an incredulous look on his face. He’s still covered in body glitter from the night before, and his hair is damp from a shower. “You can’t do this.”
“I can and I am,” he says firmly, “His grandfather will be in recovery for weeks, if there are no complications, and he’s only thirteen. He can’t deal with that alone. He shouldn’t have to deal with that alone.”
“It’s not your job,” Chris insists, “Yuuri, you’re doing so well this season! You can’t just pack up to play nursemaid in the middle of it. You have the Trophee Eric Bompard in two weeks! You can't afford to interrupt your training by gallivanting off to Russia."
“I’ll figure it out,” he zips up his suitcase, “I have everything I need for competitions, and I’ll have Phichit send me some clothes once I figure out where I’m staying.”
“Yuuri!” Chris grabs him by the shoulders, mouth turned down at the corners, “This is crazy! You don’t need to do this.”
He quirks a smile and takes Chris’s hands off his shoulders, giving them a quick squeeze. “Yes, I do. Good luck in Tokyo.”
He leaves Chris alone in his hotel room, and pulls out his phone to make a quick call. “Sara, it’s Yuuri. I need a favor.”
~
It’s been nearly two days since Yuri’s grandfather was rushed to the hospital, and Viktor is worried. They’re all worried, because he hasn’t slept and he’s barely ate but he keeps practicing, forcing himself to stay on the ice and work through his routine again and again long past the point where it’s doing him any good. They’re all taking a break, except Yuri, who’d growled at Yakov when he’d tried to force him.
“Can we sedate him?” Georgi asks.
Viktor snorts, “He’d have to actually eat or drink something for that to work.”
“Good point,” he sighs, “Do you think he’ll pass out from dehydration or low blood sugar first?”
Yakov rubs at the bridge of his nose. “Probably just plain exhaustion at this point.” He glances at his watch, “Where’s Mila? She’s late.”
“She said she had to pick up the friend of a friend at the airport,” Georgi says, “Is he still staying at his place alone? Is that even legal?”
“Oh, yes, excellent idea, let’s call the cops on him, that will help,” Yakov glares, “I asked him to stay with me, but he turned me down.”
“Same,” Viktor says, “Or at least to come by for dinner or – anything. He told me to leave him alone.”
Georgi crosses his arms, “We have to do something. This is untenable. Especially since you two are leaving for the Cup of China tomorrow.”
“Which is already cutting it way too close for my liking,” Yakov says, “I’d originally planned for us to leave yesterday, before everything.”
“We’ll only be gone for a couple of days, then we’ll be right back,” Viktor assures.
He rubs the back of his neck and looks back to Yuri, “I know, it’s okay. Don’t worry. Mila and I will do – something.”
Viktor and Yakov share a concerned glance. The dubious tone of voice does nothing to inspire confidence.
“YUROCHKA!” yells a voice Viktor may or may not have been dreaming about for the last several months. Yuri grinds to a halt, chest heaving.
They all turn to look. Yuuri Katsuki is standing there, Mila at his side. He’s clearly exhausted, bags under his eyes and hair a mess. He looks beautiful, and it would be completely inappropriate, but Viktor feels the urge to march over and kiss him anyway.
“Fuck,” Georgi says, “he must have come here straight from Canada. I can’t believe Yuri told him.”
Yuri goes skating towards him, and Yuuri drops his bags and runs to meet him.
“Shit, is Yuri mad? Should we do something?” Georgi continues.
Yuri skates right to the edge then leaps into Yuuri’s arms, legs around his waist and skates still on. He momentarily buckles under the weight, but then steadies and hugs him back.
“Well,” Viktor says, heart pounding in his ears, “I think we can safely say that he isn’t mad.”