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Celestino Cialdini had seen many things in his short—no, long—no, make that medium-sized—life. When he was 6, his Papa eloped with a goat, reportedly screaming that it was the “Only True Love of My Life™”. When he was 13, he and his best friend lost their virginity to a tap at the ice rink (long story short: alcohol was involved). When he started coaching, the pole-dancing antics of his “quiet and obedient” students from “conservative countries” didn’t really faze him much…until now.
For here stood Katsuki Yuri, his sweet, fragile student, drunk on champagne and dancing like a fool to a classical Bach piece. It wouldn’t have warranted notice—the poor boy deserved a break after the emotional rollercoaster of the Grand Prix Final—except he was also dancing and stripping and spinning on a steel pole. In front of everyone who was anyone in the skating world. Including sponsors. And other coaches. And little children.
Celestino almost whimpered in embarrassment and covered his mouth, wishing he could vanish. He watched, horrified, as Yuri yelled “Catch!” to a group of screaming Junior Ladies skaters while he threw something at them. They caught it and started up their high-pitched screaming again.
One of the girls squealed, “More, please, more!” She was quickly joined by her brethren.
“Sure!” Yuri nodded happily in agreement and did some more dancing, this time unbuttoning his shirt even further. And now some of the girls let out suspicious moans in addition to their screaming.
One of them moan-screamed "DADDY!" and Celestino retreated far, far away. This was too much for an old man like him.
A crowd of people, mostly other skaters, gathered in a circle around Yuri to enjoy the show. The sponsors and coaches looked on from afar, some bewildered and others scandalized. Celestino wanted to bury himself further inside the curtains. He knew he should go put a stop to this—should have done it long ago, in fact—but he just couldn’t. Whenever he decided he would finally walk up to Yuri, Yuri would coincidentally start doing something even crazier than before and Celistino’s courage would falter. Plus, he felt guilty for pressuring his anxiety-ridden student so much during this competition. So he just stared into his third glass of wine and tried to drown in his sorrow.
“Sacre bleu!”
The ill-tempered old French lady nearby started making the cross repeatedly and turned away, muttering Latin words. Celistino looked up to see that Christophe Giacometti and Yuri were performing some kind of two-in-one duet and striptease together on the pole. Making a cross himself, he took that as his sign to put a stop to Yuri’s dancing ASAP.
Celestino quickly made his way across the giant ballroom. Why, oh why, did he seclude himself at the back like some delinquent student? Yuri was the real delinquent but he was all the way in the front like some kind of genius. And the closer he went to the front, the more crowded it became, until he could barely move.
“Excuse me,” he grunted over an Italian duet playing over the speakers, “Coming through, emergency here.”
The crowd gave way easily—skaters were a remarkably civilized people—and Celestino could only stare at the scene before him.
Dishevelled, but thankfully decently clothed, Yuri tenderly wrapped his arms around Victor Nikiforov’s neck as they swayed through the ending piano notes. It looked like these two were in a world all their own. The pole and Giacometti were mysteriously nowhere in sight.
Another song started, fierce and lively, and Yuri perked up, noticing he had an audience. His eyes scanned the crowd and landed on Celestino.
“You’re hereeee!” Yuri slurred his words and tried to walk towards him, but fell. Except Victor Nikiforov caught him and the two of them walked together to Celestino instead.
“Look who I met! It’s Victor! Hehe.” Yuri giggled again and shamelessly wrapped himself around Nikiforov’s side.
Nikiforov didn’t seem to mind, but rather smiled warmly at Celestino. “Hello, sir,” he greeted with the utmost princely politeness.
"Victor," Celestino greeted with what he hoped was a welcoming smile, "Congratulations on your win."
"Thank you," Victor replied with a princely smile, eye sparkling, "Congratulations on leading your first student to the GPF."
They shook hands and suddenly Celestino was hit with a rush of affection and admiration for this normal, well-behaved, mature skater. Why couldn’t his own students be like that? Phichit had an unhealthy obsession for selfies and gossip, Samantha was obsessed with her boyfriend, Adrian wanted to focus on nothing but jumps even though his steps were atrocious, and innocent Yuri willingly got dragged into whatever shenanigans they decided on. These children ought to learn from their idol, who had good manners and always looked so earnest yet joyful. A true role model.
“So will you?”
“Ciao-ciao?”
Celestino blinked. “Er-what?” He must have spaced out. Bad Celestino. You had too much to drink.
Nikiforov was holding out his phone expectantly. “Since Yuri’s battery’s low, I thought we could use mine instead.”
Yuri handed Celestino Nikiforov’s phone. “Take good pictures,” he instructed cheerfully, before he was swept into a tango.
It was already past 1:00 am and they should leave and pack for their flight tomorrow. But Celestino looked at the way Yuri and the Russian champion looked at each other, and his eyes softened. He knew that look, and he hoped Yuri would know that look too, for the rest of his life.
So Celestino angled the camera and started snapping away, making sure to move and adjust for lighting. If one sleepless night was all it took for Yuri to find love, this old man would gladly sacrifice it!