Work Text:
Viktor’s skating felt uninspired.
Sure, he skated all the time, and he skated well, nearly perfectly in fact, but it wasn’t enough. They wasn’t any feeling, any inspiration .
And then the violinist appeared.
He was a street performer, obviously, and he happened to set up shop across the street from the rink. Everyday walking to and from practice, Viktor heard him playing. It was a good pick in terms of location - the boulevard was always busy as it was lined with shops and featured the home rink of Russia’s top skaters. But Viktor felt blessed by the man’s presence (not because he was cute, though that was certainly a plus) because of the way he played.
His fingers danced across the strings and his bow pulled out melodies from the instrument that set Viktor’s heart on fire. The man seemed to be made from pure inspiration, and he quivered with a life Viktor hadn’t felt in years.
Besides that, he was gorgeous. Stunningly, inescapably, gorgeous. He was slim and a bit shorter than Viktor, and held himself with unearthly grace, swaying like a branch in the wind as he played. Blue, sleek glasses balanced on his nose, framing his unspeakably bright brown eyes. But the eyes weren’t just brown - no, they shimmered with maroon accents. His fingers were slim and pale and beyond talented, never allowing a note to go flat, and his hair, oh god, his hair . It was black and looked so, so, soft, curling over his forehead and flopping down in a way that made Viktor swoon. He was perfect. No, actually. Beyond perfect.
This man breathed life back into Viktor’s routines, but he had never been able to pluck up the courage to speak to the man across the street. Viktor just admired him from afar.
Yuri Plisetsky, his young rinkmate, thought he was disgusting for it.
“God, Viktor, the looks you throw him are disgusting. You just stand outside before and after every practice and stare at him. How on earth has he not changed location yet? I’d be horrified if I saw an ugly old man like you ogling me everyday for months on end.” Yuri’s face contorted in a way that Viktor found hilarious. As if Viktor’s fascination with the man across the street was something abhorrent. Viktor laughed.
“Come on Yuri, I just like his music!” He said with a heart shaped smile. “Besides, I just want to be friends! Slash, put my face on his face…” Viktor trailed off dreamily. At that Yuri visibly gagged.
“Goodbye.” He skated away swiftly, angrily performing a quad salchow just to annoy Viktor.
Time continued to pass, and Viktor continued to admire the violinist from afar. Before he knew it, it was time to choreograph his programs for the rapidly approaching season, and face Yakov’s wrath.
“What do you mean you haven’t considered music!” Yakov’s face was horrified and an angry
shade of red. “Vitya! You should have hired a composer weeks ago!” Viktor shifted awkwardly in his chair.
“I… forgot?” Yakov sat back, at a loss.
“You forgot. You forgot. ” He threw up his hands. “Dammit Viktor. You had better have a composer by the end of the week or I’ll drop you as a skater faster than you can blink.”
Viktor smiled. “Thanks Yakov! I’ll get on it.” Yakov showed him out of the office, mumbling angrily about irresponsibility and blaming Viktor for his lack of hair.
Later that day, as Viktor skated, he contemplated where he would find a composer on such short notice. As he packed up and showered, he considered the same question. He left the rink, his bag over his shoulders, mind muddled with contacts and musical conservatories, thinking who could possibly -
Viktor’s thought’s were interrupted by the strains of clear, high, violin music. Viktor stopped dead in his tracks.
Of course.
He rushed across the boulevard, making cars stop and honk at him. “Sorry!” He yelled, and kept going. Finally, he reached the other pavement, and stopped in front of the violinist, who had stopped playing in shock. His hands were on his knees and he was panting, but he forced himself to raise his head.
“Hello! I’m Viktor Nikiforov, Russia’s top skater. What’s your name?” The violinist frowned, bewildered.
“I - I’m Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri, of Japan.” Viktor nearly swooned. Yuuri with that long u sound was a beautiful name for a beautiful man. Viktor told him as much, and a soft blush dusted Yuuri’s cheeks.
“But that’s not the point right now!” Viktor yelped, remembering why he’d dashed across the street and risked life and limb to speak to Katsuki Yuuri of Japan. “I had the best idea. Like, literally, the best. Ever. Don’t fight me on this.”
Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “W-What’s your idea?” He asked, stumbling a bit over the words, and flushing a little pink in his embarrassment.
“I have to commission a piece of music for my skating programs this season,” Viktor said breathlessly. And I know the perfect person. Would you…” He found himself to be nervous for no reason. “Would you be willing to write a couple pieces?” Yuuri looked shocked. “Not a whole bunch, just two! And I would pay you for it. I’m really sorry for such short notice, and you absolutely don’t have to do it, gosh I must sound super demanding, I’m sor -”
“How soon?” Yuuri’s voice quietly interrupted his ramblings. Viktor shut up quickly. “How soon would you need the recordings?”
“By the end of the month,” Viktor said breathlessly. Yuuri smiled at him.
“Done, no problem. They’ll be violin solos, though, you must realize. I can’t play anything else well enough to include it.”
“That’s fine,” Viktor squeaked out. “Perfect, in fact. No, beyond perfect.” Yuuri smiled again, and pulled out a card.
“Here’s my number, for reference.” Viktor was ecstatic. He had not only pretty-street-performer boy’s name, but also his number, even if it was for just business. Then, in a spurt of bravery Viktor didn’t know he possessed, he blurted
“Can I take you to dinner?” Yuuri’s eyebrows shot up and he blushed, but Viktor thought he looked pleased.
“Right now?”
“Right now,” Viktor confirmed.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you -” Yuuri’s voice was hesitant, but full of longing, like he couldn’t believe Viktor was asking him out.
“No inconvenience!” Viktor promised, a bit too loudly, as his words brought glances from passersby.
“Well, in that case, I guess I can go on a date with you.” VIktor brightened up at Yuuri’s words.
“A date?”
“I! I meant out to dinner! I’m sorry that was awfully forward of me -”
“No! No! A date is good! A date is great .” Viktor smiled, extremely pleased. Yuuri blushed deeper, his face becoming even redder, somehow.
“A date, then.” Viktor smiled at him.
“Yep, a date.”
__________________________
Cheers echoed through the stadium. The season’s debut performances were beginning, starting with living legend Viktor Nikiforov.
“You know, Nikiforov’s seemed uninspired the last couple seasons, but that could be just me. What do you think, Morooka?”
“No, I absolutely agree. That’s not to say he hasn’t been skating in technical top form, but I’ve felt disconnect from him, so it’s interesting to see where his theme of Life and Love will take us this season.”
“Nikiforov will be skating his short program to Theme of Life, composed by Katsuki Yuuri, and his free to Theme of Love , also composed by Katsuki Yuuri. Katsuki is rather unknown, and speculation as to how Nikiforov discovered his music and chose him as a composer has run rampant after the announcement of his music picks.
“Ah, the performance is beginning! Spectacular start, really very strong. We can already see Nikiforov starting off strong here, just look at that Ina Bauer. Very impressive!”
“I’ll say! Not to mention, Nikiforov looks much more invested in this music than previous seasons, I’m already sensing much stronger emotion from him than we’ve seen recently.”
“True. Nikiforov’s first planned jump is a quad loop, let’s see - Yes! He lands it cleanly! Not a surprise, considering his track record on the ice, but still lovely to see, considering his age.”
“A spread eagle, into a quad salchow combination - Nailed, just lovely.”
“An approaching step sequence, just look at that feeling! This is a NIkiforov none of us have seen before. I know this isn’t ice dance, but right now Nikiforov’s sure making it seem that way. Just lovely.”
“We’ve passed the halfway point in the program, and Nikiforov’s final jump is planned right after this step sequence is complete. Lovely. Now into the jump, he signature quad flip -!”
“Clean landing! Viktor Nikiforov has landed all his jumps in this program! Astounding.”
“A camel spin, beautiful. Morphing into a sit spin. The music’s climaxing! What does he have planned?”
“He’s moving into his final pose, arms outstretched towards someone standing beside the rink. His coach perhaps -? No! It’s Katsuki Yuuri, the composer of Nikiforov’s music. People are whispering in the stands as to the meaning here, but Nikiforov clearly has eyes only for Katsuki. Wait, what’s happening? Katsuki's on the ice!”
“My god, he’s slipping on the ice trying to get to Nikiforov! Nikiforov’s skating towards him! A hug, perhaps? Surely seeing his music performed to like this on the international stage is a quite emotional experience for Katsuki, it may be -”
Silence fell over the arena as Viktor Nikiforov launched himself into Katsuki Yuuri’s arms and locked lips with him as they fell back onto the ice. Yuuri’s back hit the ground first, the cold instantly seeping through his jacket, but he didn’t care.
It was only them and the ice, Viktor’s dancing to his music. And it was perfect.
No, beyond perfect.