Chapter Text
“And remember, your letters are due by next Tuesday’s class. Have a good rest of your day and I’ll see you all on Thursday,” the professor explained before ending the lecture.
Yuuri exhaled, content that he was done with his classes for the day. He collected his belongings off of the desk, shoving his textbooks and notebooks into his blue backpack and not caring if the edges of the papers became crumpled by his hasty motions.
“You ready?” Phichit asked, causing Yuuri to turn around.
Phichit Chulanont was Yuuri’s roommate, rink mate, and self proclaimed best-friend-for-ever.He was a fair bit younger than Yuuri and his features definitely emphasized his young appearance. He was shorter than Yuuri - which didn’t say much given that Yuuri was nearly six feet tall - but it didn’t help make him appear much older. His face was rounded with the slightest bits of baby fat which created dimples when he smiled. Not to mention his rather large round hooded eyes that could easily belong to any model in the industry.
Unlike Yuuri, Phichit was rather outgoing and often flaunted about his hundreds of thousands of social media followers. Yuuri, on the other hand, was rather introverted, tending not to bring attention to himself in any sort of way. However, as different at they were, Yuuri couldn’t imagine University without Phichit.
“Ah, yeah,” he agreed with a smile.
He stood from the small plastic chair, tucking the makeshift desk back under the seat. He wasn’t exactly fond of the poorly made desks at the University, but he supposed he should be thankful he had a working desk after all.
Phichit groaned and ran a hand through his dark hair.
“We shouldn’t get assignments on the first day of classes,” he complained.
Yuuri followed his friend out of the small lecture room, skipping down one flight of stairs until the two reached the exit.
“I know,” Yuuri agreed, lamenting over his lost free time.
The beginning of the semester was often the time where Yuuri was free to skate the most, not worrying about countless assignments and exams that bogged him down towards the end of the semester. He was supposed to spend this extra time learning his quadruple salchow and add it to his free program for a larger base score. However, these early assignments only hindered his ability to perfect such a technically difficult move. Not to mention that the season was only two short months away and he was nowhere near performance ready on either of his two routines.
He supposed he would have to compromise and cut his practice short today in order to complete this assignment. After all, his studies did come first.
“It’s not fair! I want to skate!”
He pushed the door open, revealing the main campus.
Students were enjoying the warmth and freedom that accompanied the beginning of the academic year. Many students sat, leaned against tree trunks with their notes splayed out trying to start being productive. Others settled for throwing plastic frisbee a at each other, laughing as they desperately tried to catch the object as it propelled through the air.
Yuuri, however, was not enjoying this weather.
He trudged behind Phichit, his feet dragging on the ground with each step.
It was a bit ironic if he were being honest since he came from a town in the south of Japan. He should be used to, or even comforted by, the high and humid temperatures of Detroit.
However, Yuuri wished the summer heat would dissipate into a winter breeze, calming him with its familiar chill. The cold had brought him a sense of wonder the warmth could never attain. As ridiculous as it sounded, he wished it would be winter already.
“This assignment is stupid,” Phichit continued.
“Aren’t all assignments stupid?” Yuuri quipped.
He fanned himself to create any extra sense of relief from the climbing temperatures. It was just after one o’clock and the temperatures were already unbearable. He couldn’t wait to return to his dorm room and sit in front of his fan for hours on end.
“Yeah but this one is extra dumb! No one even writes letters anymore!”
“I think it’s sweet,” Yuuri confessed.
He thought the idea of sending pen pal letters could be sentimental. He had never received mail from his family, often complaining how expensive it was when video calling was free and money was so tight.
He was secretly jealous when Phichit would receive countless care packages in the mail from his doting family back home.
“I think it’s a waste of time!”
Yuuri rolled his eyes. Phichit thought anything that wasn’t to help his figure skating career of boost his following on social media was a waste of time.
“Hey, Russian isn’t boring,” Yuuri argued and crossed his arms over his chest defensively.
Truth be told, Yuuri loved the Russian language; the way it sounded, the way it looked on paper, even the way it awkwardly rolled off his foreign tongue; it was all beautiful to Yuuri. He had a fascination for the language ever since he was young so being able to learn it in university was arguably a dream come true.
He had tried to sign up for an intermediate Russian class since he started at the university yet time and time again he had been denied. The first time his schedule did not fit; the second instance, the Russian program lost its funding; the third time, the teacher got arrested for having intimate relationship with an underage student. Now four attempts later, Yuuri would finally learn more Russian than the simple “hello” and “goodbye” he could grasp from a language app or Google Translate.
“You’re just hoping they can teach you enough Russian so you can impress Victor with your skills,” Phichit pointed out nonchalantly.
Yuuri blushed, his face and the tips of his ears flushing to a light red.
He knew Phichit knew everything about him: what he liked to eat when he was sad, how he liked his eggs, why his favourite color was blue.
So surely, he knew about his rather obvious affection - rather, obsession - for Four Time World Champion Victor Nikiforov.
Or, well, no one had to be that close to Yuuri to know. He would often discuss the famous skater, trying to change every subject to focus on Victor
He certainly wasn’t blind to his obsession regarding Victor Nikiforov, after all Yuuri had at least ten posters of the famous skater hanging proudly in their dorm room (not to mention his Victor themed water bottle holder and his replica Team Russia Olympic jacket).
Phichit knew how much he craved to meet Victor, to even just speak one word of praise to the Russian skater would mean everything to Yuuri.
He just didn’t think he would ever say it out loud. It sounded so immature out loud: Yuuri taking a class to impress Victor with his Russian skills?
He could easily have brushed off Phichit’s claim. He could easily lie and say Russian was a common language, an easy A, a hot professor, anything but the truth.
Instead, it seemed his body betrayed him.
“Um…” was the only thing Yuuri could muster as an explanation. He averted his eyes to the ground, watching his long steps as he walked on the sidewalk. He silently wished their dorm was closer so he could lie in his bed and forget this entire conversation.
“Come on, Yuuri. Just admit it. Don’t be embarrassed!”
Yuuri exhaled. He didn’t want to lie to Phichit; he could always tell when he was lying, not that he made it that hard to detect at all. He would often chew on his bottom lip and advert his eyes to the ground, just as he was doing now.
Besides, Phichit deserved to know the truth, as embarrassing as it was. He did take Russian just to communicate with Victor, if he were to ever meet him in person.
It was silly, almost childish, to take a university level course just to speak to his childhood idol.
“I guess that’s part of it,” he muttered, his eyes not meeting Phichit’s.
He kicked a stray rock onto the grass, watching as it tumbled for a bit before settling in the green blades.
“I knew it!” Phichit exclaimed.
Yuuri shushed him, hoping no one on campus heard Phichit’s loud announcement.
“Just don’t tell anyone,” he muttered under his breath.
Yuuri would be mortified if anyone or godforbid Victor himself ever found out he had taken a class just to get close to the famous Russian skater.
He would probably drop out of university, change his name, and move to an isolated island in the Caribbean where no one would be able to find him. He would enjoy the rest of his days hiding from his embarrassment, living in perfect solitude. Yes, it was decided; he would look up flights when he got back to the dorm.
“I bet they can figure out for themselves that Yuuri Katsuki took Russian so he can marry Victor Nikforov!”
Yuuri’s blush deepened, bringing a red flush to the tips of his ears. It was embarrassing to hear someone else say it outloud.
Yuuri thought Victor was absolutely perfect and he could probably kill a man and Yuuri wouldn’t think anything less of him.
Victor was the current Four Time Men’s Singles Figure Skating World Champion and it was certainly well deserved. Victor was technically perfect: his quadruple jumps never wobbling and his step sequences never seemed to falter. Not to mention his performance elements which could easily mesmerize everyone who had the privilege of watching one of his routines.
And as absolutely breathtaking he was on the ice, he was equally as wonderful in real life. Victor was effortlessly beautiful. He had platinum hair that could only be described as angelic with blue eyes that matched the depths of the ocean. He walked and talked with a grace and elegance that no one else could match.
But it was childish, wasn’t it? To have a crush on someone so unattainable. He wasn’t ten anymore and he shouldn’t feel this way about Victor Nikiforov.
“It’s pronounced Nikiforov not Nikforov,” Yuuri corrected, in an effort to change the subject. Hopefully correcting Phichit’s pitiful Russian would be enough to change the focus from the Russian skater to something that didn’t make his entire face turn a deep shade of red.
“My point exactly. You love him,” Phichit said, drawling out the ‘o’ in love for emphasis.
Yuuri rolled his eyes knowing Phichit was just trying to get him to react to such a statement. He had been trying for years to get Yuuri to confess his infatuation for the Russian skater to be a product of love.
It wasn’t love, it most certainly wasn’t love no matter how much Phichit claimed it was. Love wasn’t some word Yuuri would throw around in everyday vernacular like Phichit did. Yuuri wouldn’t profess his love for a Instagram filter or his hamster pets. Love was special, reserved to only the most special situations.
So he certainly didn’t love a man he had yet to meet face to face.
“I don’t love Victor Nikiforov,” he claimed.
“Yes you do.”
Yuuri rolled his eyes. Phichit was just being excessive now. He certainly didn’t love Victor Nikiforov. And if he were to, as Phichit put it, love Victor, it would need to be much deeper than his current infatuation.
He barely knew anything personal about him - aside from a few tidbits of information from interviews. He knew he had a standard sized poodle named Makkachin, he liked the colour pink, and he took his tea with a spoonful of grape jam, but any true fan of Victor knew those facts.
He didn’t know the important details about him that a lover would come to recognize. He didn’t know if he was a morning person, or if he liked chocolates, or even if he liked men at all.
For all knew, Victor wasn’t attracted to Yuuri after all.
“You love him enough to write self insert fanfiction,” Phichit pointed out with a smirk.
Yuuri’s entire face turned red. He accidentally confessed to Phichit when they were drunk in his room that he wrote fanfiction of him marrying and possibly having sex with Victor Nikiforov when he was thirteen. Phichit immediately looked up said fanfiction and began to read - or rather slur - the poorly written and rather dirty words he had wrote so many years ago.
He thought he would forget by now, his sobriety leaving that night’s memories lost forever. Unfortunately, he still remembered.
He supposed it was better than Phichit finding the body pillow he had tucked away at the bottom of his closet. Or the signed poster of Victor posing for an underwear company that he kept inside his sock drawer.
“I was thirteen!” he defended.
“Doesn’t change the fact that you still want his dick in your-”
“That’s enough of that!” Yuuri interrupted before Phichit could embarrass him further. He didn’t think everyone at the university needed to know how he felt about Victor Nikiforov.
“I’m not in love with Victor Nikiforov,” he concluded, hoping that would end the conversation. He wasn’t sure how much more embarrassment he could endure.
“That’s because you just haven’t met him yet. Promise me this Grand Prix you’ll at least talk to him.”
Yuuri bit the inside of his cheek. Phichit made it sound so easy: qualify for the final, go up to Victor and profess his love for him
Yuuri was not even sure he would personally make it to the final. His performances were getting better as he was just about to add a quadruple salchow to his routine, but they was probably not good enough to make it to the final.
There would countless of better skaters than him.
“No promises,” he assured Phichit.
“Ugh,” he groaned.
Yuuri ignored him in favour of fishing for his wallet and keys from his front pocket. He unfolded his black wallet and pulled out his campus ID. It wasn’t the most flattering of ID card pictures - Yuuri still sported an unfashionable bowl cut and an equally unflattering frown - but it worked all the same.
He tapped the ID against the card reader, unlocking the doors to the residence hall.
It wasn’t the nicest of residence halls on his campus - the two certainly couldn’t afford one of the nicer ones on skater’s salary - but it wasn’t awful either.
It was rectangular brick building that was built to resemble a bomb shelter, although Yuuri argued the crumbling walls could hardly withstand a snow storm, let alone a bomb threat. The main room was coloured in a dated forest green with grey carpeting that had questionable stains. There were pictures of the Resident Assistants and other “Welcome to Detroit” posters were stuck to the wall in an attempt to make the place appear more homely. It did nothing but make Yuuri want to throw up.
“You’re so boring,” Phichit complained and stuck his tongue out.
“You’re right,” he replied sarcastically. He flashed Yuuri a smirk before adding, “and boring old me should get started on his Russian assignment.”
“It’s the first day! You really are boring.”
“You know it,” Yuuri said, flashing a wink at Phichit.
Phichit rolled his eyes but didn’t press further. He knew how important studies were to Yuuri so he didn’t press further.
“See you at the rink?”
“Yeah, see you there,” Yuuri agreed with a smile.
He bid him a goodbye before walking off towards the rink. Yuuri on the other hand walked down the main corridor towards his room. He strolled up one flight of stairs to the second floor.
He walked up to the eighth door on the right. It was decorated by his RA in bright green posters that read Yuuri and Phichit in bubble letters. He turned his key in the door, opening the door to his room. Yuuri immediately collapsed in his chair settling - or rather plummeting - his books onto his desk.
He had been exhausted from lugging around his books in the end of summer heat and didn’t particularly care if they got ruined; his priority was getting cool.
He flipped on his desk fan to the maximum heat and enjoyed the relief it provided. He relaxed in that position in hopes that he could stay in front of the fan forever and not have to leave.
After a full minute basking in the artificial breeze, Yuuri decided he should work on his assignment. He took out the paper from his folder, reading over the basic instructions.
Assignment #1: Pen Pal Letter.
Yuuri snorted at the comic sans font.
Write a one page letter to a new friend in Russian. All letters must be in Cyrillic.
- Include your name, hometown, hobbies and other
- Do not include any personal information including address, surname, or financial information
- Postage will be provided
- All additional letters will not be graded
- Have fun!
Due September 3rd. Late assignments will not be accepted.
He looked around his room hoping to get some inspiration on how to start the letter.
His room was rather sparse for a university room. The room was a little larger than a broom closet with a single window that streamed natural light into the room. The furniture was rather bare with only two wooden desks, two beds, and a lamp. Aside from his posters of Victor Nikiforov, no one could conclude that anyone lived here.
His eyes naturally landed on one of his favourite posters of Victor, the one hanging above his bed. It was from his junior performance, back when he still had long platinum hair that extended to his waist. He was wearing a blue waistcoat and brown tights that resembled a royal outfit. On his shoulders were custom made golden epaulette designed to resemble the ones worn by the late Russian tsars.
He remember the day he had watched that particular performance. It was a cool spring morning when Yuuko invited him to her home to watch the Junior World Championship on her television. He had uninterestedly watched the other skaters, not particularly fond of their rather lackluster performances. It wasn’t until the announcer called Victor Nikiforov’s name that he began to pay close attention. He watched as Victor skated to the centre, smiling as the crowd roared his name. The familiar sounds of Once Upon A December filling the stadium as he began his routine.
It was the first performance which he choreographed by himself. Albeit, it was less technical than his usual caliber but still impressive for a fifteen year old.
He looked to the poster for some sort of inspiration, as if an inanimate picture of the current World Champion could provide him with answers. He stared at his slender legs posed in a layback Ina Bauer position, mesmerized by the handsome man.
He sighed hopelessly, resigning himself that he wouldn’t be able to write an interesting letter in Russian, even if he did somehow miraculously have a young Victor Nikiforov’s help.
He began to write, deciding he wasted enough time reminiscing about Victor’s old performance.
“Дорогой,” he started the letter formally. He curved the Д, trying to write in the neatest handwriting he could muster.
He wasn’t exactly sure why he was making so much effort for a school assignment, and for an elective class no less. He could easily scribble a few Russian words, promptly getting a good grade on the assignment without spending so much time.
However, some part of his brain told him to it was important to make an effort because regardless of who was on the other side, he would be practicing for Victor, and that’s all what mattered.
He looked down at his assignment, quick to see the name of his pen pal.
Yuuri paused, his heart rate speeding up as he glanced over the band. Yuuri didn’t need to consult a dictionary to know exactly how to translate that. He had seen those string letters before, countless times if he were being honest. It was the name that hung on his wall, that was plastered in silver letters and autographed on his posters.
Viktor.
Виктор .
The name Phichit constantly teased looked like ‘Binktop’.
His mind flashed, for the briefest of seconds, to Victor Nikiforov. That thousands of miles away, Victor Nikiforov was reading his handwritten letters.
He shook his head, desperate to erase the thought that Victor Nikiforov was his pen pal. Plenty of people were named Victor. The odds that Victor Nikiforov would read this letter and the reply on his busy schedule would be zero to none. He probably had other important things to do like choreograph his performance for this year or talk at another interview. Besides, he had no reason to help a university student with his poor Russian.
As pervasive as those thoughts were, Yuuri knew he was being ridiculous.
He erased his previous words, thinking that ‘Dear Viktor’ came off too strong, too formal, too I-was-forced-to-write-this-for-school. He needed to make a good impression on his pen pal. One that showed that he cared about writing these letters but didn’t care too much.
Hi Viktor, he settled for.
Yuuri stuck to the basics. He supposed his name and age would be sufficient enough.
My name is Yuuri. I am 23 years old.
Yuuri took the pen into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth. He enjoyed the familiar taste of plastic on his tongue as he chewed on the backside of the pen. He found it relaxed his nerves, especially when writing his exams.
I live in the United States right now but I was born in Japan.
He looked down at his letter, wondering what else he could possibly write about himself. He wasn’t all that interesting and couldn’t exactly discuss any crucial details about his life without giving away his identity.
Besides, Yuuri didn’t know what else to say other than his name and his home. He wasn’t the most interesting of people to begin with. His most interesting trait was his ice skating but he doubted anyone would want to gawk about ice skating with him.
So he settled for broad topics.
I like dogs he added, hoping to find a common interest they could discuss.
Dogs were often an easy topic to discuss with strangers. Yuuri had yet to meet a person who despised dogs, and he doubted he ever wanted to meet someone who did.
He stared at the the page, reading over for any mistakes. He supposed this was enough for the assignment, seeing as his poor excuse for Cyrillic covered the entirety of the lined page.
Yours truly, Yuuri he wrote, promptly ending the letter.
It was a simple, albeit boring letter. He didn’t believe he needed much more than the simple requirements. He doubted that the Victor on the other side would want much to read about someone as boring as Yuuri anyways. That was, if he even read the letter.
He doubted that he would be receive more than the initial required letter before they would never speak again. He supposed that was how these programs were, anyways.
Yuuri looked at his watch.
“Shit!” he exclaimed, pushing himself up from his chair.
Had he really just spent forty five minutes writing a letter?
“Yuuri, are you okay? It’s not like you to be late,” Celestino asked.
Celestino Cialdini - or Ciao Ciao as Phichit jokingly referred to him as - was Yuuri’s current coach. He had been the one to recruit him after his Junior Grand Prix final years ago. He encouraged Yuuri to join the team in Detroit and provided him with a scholarship to fund his studies and skating career. Yuuri couldn’t deny such a generous request so he packed up his life in Japan and moved to Detroit.
He tried not to fidget under the scrutiny of his coach, but he found himself grabbing for the sleeves of his sweater, twisting them in his hands.
It seems almost childish to be so intimidated by his coach, he had known him for five years after all. He was sometimes stern and overly passionate with his large hand gestures, but he had a kind heart that Yuuri admired. He knew Celestino wouldn’t hurt him, especially for being late, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious.
He was rather tall - at least a head taller than Yuuri - with broad shoulders and muscular arms. He had a square face with a strong jawline and a prominent cleft in his chin. His luscious brown tresses that were typically tied back or pulled back by a headband. He spoke with a rather thick Italian accent which often made communicating with his coach extremely difficult in some situations, this being one of them.
“I’m sorry coach! I had to finish an assignment,” he apologized bowing lowly.
He hoped Celestino would understand that work came before ice skating. He usually was one to support studying so his excuse would be sufficient enough.
He raised one eyebrow, skeptical of Yuuri’s lame explanation.
“On the first day?”
Yuuri gave a small nod.
It must have been a terrible explanation after all. Most professors didn’t assign work until the second class, after all.
“It’s for Russian,” he continued, his voice low.
“Mm, I see,” he hummed, accepting Yuuri’s explanation.
He clapped Yuuri on the back, resting his large palm on Yuuri’s shoulder.
“It’s good to see you’re taking your studies seriously unlike some students.”
He eyed Phichit, obviously targeting his sentence towards the younger skater. It was a well known fact to all the skaters that Phichit often slacked off on his studies, leaving work to the last possible minute before starting.
“Hey, it’s still the first day!” Phichit defended with a huff. “Yuu-chan’s just crazy.”
“I can’t help that I’m planning for a future that’s not ice skating.”
Phichit raised his middle finger at Yuuri in an obscene gesture.
“Enough, boys,” Celestino decided, his voice echoing around the rink.
The two boys huffed, crossing their arms over their chests to signal that they were done bickering but still a bit annoyed at the other.
“Now, I want to introduce you two to the newest member of our rink.”
Yuuri turned his attention to the student in question.
He was tall, much taller than Phichit or Yuuri with long legs and broad shoulders. His body resembled more of a hockey player than a figure skater, if he were being honest.
His skin was a warm tawny tone that was darker than Yuuri’s own skin but far lighter than Phichit’s.
His dark hair was shaved on the sides creating an undercut hairstyle that made him a bit intimidating to Yuuri, if he were being honest.
“This is Jean-Jacques Leroy. He’ll be joining us this season.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed at Phichit and Yuuri. His stormy blue eyes glared at the two skaters as if he were forming his own opinion about the their appearances.
“Just call me JJ. Jean-Jacques Leroy is kind of a mouthful,” he said, his tone light.
“Wait? Leroy, like Alain and Nathalie Leroy? The ice dancers?” Phichit asked, his eyes wide.
Yuuri gaped, his mouth hanging open slightly. He couldn’t believe he didn’t recognize him before: the thick eyebrows of Natalie, the blue eyes of Alain, there was no doubt he was the son of the famous ice dancing duo.
The two had won countless medals back before Yuuri was even born. His father had even made history for being the first Métis person to win an Olympic gold medal. They were arguably as famous as Victor Nikiforov in the ice skating world. He couldn’t believe their son was standing before him.
“Yeah, that’s my parents,” he said with a nervous laugh. He flashed Phichit a wide smile, but Yuuri could tell it was a bit forced.
He knew it must be hard for JJ to be in his parent’s shadow with such high expectations on him for his debut. No wonder he ran from the pressure and escaped to America.
“You’ll have to get me an autograph! Your parents are great.”
“Will do,” he agreed with a wide smile.
“Cool!”
“And who should they make it out to? Dumb and dumber?” he asked playfully.
Yuuri tensed at that comment, his body becoming slightly rigid. He knew JJ was just being playful, teasing the two with absolutely no malice yet something in his mind told him there was something wary about JJ.
He knew it was supposed to be playful, just a joke between acquaintances, but somewhere deep in his mind reminded him that he was telling the truth.
“Nah, I’m Phichit and that’s Yuu-Chan,” Phichit explained. He snaked his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder for emphasis.
“Hey, I recognize you. Loved your season last year,” he praised.
Yuuri opened his mouth to respond, ready to dutifully thank him for his support however, JJ interrupted him before he could reply.
“But you’ll have to be better though cause I’m gonna give you a run for your money.”
Yuuri fidgeted slightly, a bit uncomfortable with Jean-Jacques’s comment.
Jean-Jacques would be a fresh new face to the skating scene. He was confident and bold, not to mention he basically had skating blood in him.
And what was Yuuri? He was just an average figure skater with a small fan base and crippling anxiety. There was nothing particularly interesting about him. He was going to be twenty three at the end of the season, practically a senior citizen in the skating world.
What did he have to show for it? A few medals from smaller competitions and a win at the Junior Grand Prix Finals?
It was a wonder he hadn’t retired yet.
“Thanks,” he muttered, his mood immediately soured.
He dropped his bag on the benches, plopping down beside it.
He took his skates out of the bag, eager to get onto the ice.
He snaked his foot into the boot, staring down at how his foot perfectly molded to the black skate. They weren’t the nicest of pairs - the sole was worn and the laces were a bit frayed - but they were the nicest he could afford.
Jean-Jacques sat beside him, obviously not noticing how tense Yuuri was. Yuuri ignored him and focused on tying up his laces.
“Hey, you said you’re in Russian, right? With Professor Nikolai?” he asked in an effort to make small talk.
And it wasn’t that Yuuri didn’t appreciate his camaraderie -Yuuri knew how hard it must have been to be the new kid - but he just wished JJ was a bit nicer about it.
“Yeah…” Yuuri said, drawling out the word longer than it needed to be. He was unsure what JJ’s intentions truly were. On the one hand, he could be just trying to make conversation in an attempt to befriend Yuuri. On the other, he could be trying to sabotage Yuuri to make sure he would win at the Finals.
Yuuri remained guarded, just to be safe in case JJ had poor intentions.
“Can you help me?” JJ asked, the desperation obvious in his tone.
Yuuri blinked twice. He had never been asked to help someone with their Russian - aside from Phichit who knew Yuuri would help him with anything if he begged enough.
“I’m not really good at Russian,” he noted modestly.
He truly wasn’t very good at Russian - aside from a few basic phrases and some skating terms - and he was far from fluent. If it didn’t have to do with Victor Nikiforov, he had little knowledge of the Russian language. He used Google Translate for his assignments, just like everyone else with basic knowledge. If JJ really wanted help with Russian, he probably should find someone who was actually fluent.
“That’s a lie! Yuu-chan is amazing!” Phichit praised, slinging an arm around Yuuri’s neck.
“Phichit’s exaggerating,” he assured his new rinkmate.
Yuuri was quick to pluck Phichit’s arm from around him. He was never really fond of physical touch.
“That’s fine. Even if you’re not, I need some help with my grammar for the pen pal thing.”
Before Yuuri could protested, he promptly reached into his backpack pulling out a red spiral notebook with two Montreal Canadiens stickers pasted on the front cover. He opened the notebook to a clean sheet, thumbing through a few scribbles about his performances.
“You want to do this now?” Yuuri asked, an eyebrow raised.
The ice rink was hardly a conducive environment for homework, let alone writing homework in Russian.
“What can I say? I’m a busy person. The season’s starting soon! Can’t be slacking on my studies.”
Yuuri supposed he couldn’t deny JJ of his help. Besides, he truly did want to become friends with JJ, even if he was a bit arrogant. Maybe helping his with an assignment could help change JJ’s opinion about him.
“Alright. I’ll help but only this time.”
“Thanks. Um…Yuu-chan, right?”
“It’s Yuuri,” he corrected coldly.
Yuuri didn’t appreciate a stranger, especially JJ, using that nickname. Only his close friends like Phichit and his sister were allowed to call him Yuu-chan.
“Oh sorry, Yuuri.” He chuckled. “You know, my pen pal’s name is Yuri too. But it’s spelled with one U.”
Yuuri rubbed the hairs on the back of his neck, unsure of how to respond to such a comment.
“What a coincidence,” he settled for saying.
JJ flashed him a smile. “I know, right?”
He flipped to an empty page in his notebook.
“So what should I write?”
“Okay let’s start with the basics. Start with saying hello and your name and age.”
JJ nodded. He diligently scribbled “ Dear Yuri ” in Cyrillic, not caring that the words were slightly tilted and almost illegible.
“Like this?” he asked. He turned his paper so Yuuri could read it without straining.
Yuuri glanced at the page, looking for any minor mistakes to correct JJ on.
“Just correct the first word. It should be a ‘й’ instead of an ‘N’,” he helpfully told his rink mates.
“Wow. You’re pretty good as this,” JJ praised. He quickly erased his mistake before correcting it with Yuuri’s suggestion. It was obvious his Cyrillic still needed some work but he supposed it couldn’t be helped.
“Thanks,” Yuuri muttered. He absentmindedly pushed up his glasses on the bridge of his nose before adding “now go on and say something about yourself.”
JJ blinked twice.
“What should I say?”
Yuuri furrowed his eyebrows together. He had no idea what JJ should include in his letter about himself. He barely knew his rinkmate aside from the fact that he was from Canada and previously in the Junior division and his parents were famous ice dancers.
“Say that you like ice skating,” he blurted, hoping his simple statement would suffice.
“I can’t say that! That’s boring,” he complained.
“Then what do you want to say?” Yuuri asked, the frustration obvious in his tone.
He knew he shouldn’t be frustrated with him, he did nothing wrong other than ask for simple advice on his letter, but Yuuri couldn’t help it. He would much rather be on the ice fixing his program than helping someone he barely knew write a letter for a class.
“How about I’m the best skater in the whole world and I’m gonna prove it at my first ever senior debut?”
Yuuri didn’t mean to roll his eyes at JJ’s snide remark about winning the Grand Prix Final - he really didn’t. It was just too hard not to be a bit frustrated by his new rink mate. In all honesty, Yuuri should have been thrilled that he was making friends with the other skaters in his rink. He often found it hard to connect to the other skaters in his group, choosing to focus on his routines rather than socializing with his peers. It wasn’t that he didn’t want friends, he just found himself not able to relate to everyone else.
So in his third year, he was grateful when Phichit was assigned as his roommate.
When he first met Phichit, Yuuri had thought he would never want to be friends with someone like Yuuri, and he was only being nice to him out of necessity. Phichit was kind and full of smiles, everything Yuuri was not.
He supposed opposites really did attract because Yuuri and Phichit became inseparable, spending hours upon hours. Many of his rink mates jokes that if one wanted to find Yuuri, they should find Phichit, and vice versa.
He wished he could have the same relationship with JJ. However, something undoubtedly made Yuuri weary about JJ. JJ was confident in his abilities - not to say that he wasn’t a great skaters because he was, in fact, one of the best skaters in the rink. He would proudly flaunt his newest quadruple jump while Yuuri could barely land a quadruple salchow.
He didn’t seem like the kind of person Yuuri could see himself being best friends with.
“I think that’s a bit much,” Yuuri admitted in a small voice. “You should just say that you like ice skating. Keep it simple.”
Yuuri hoped JJ wouldn’t get angry at him for suggesting. He wanted to make friends with JJ - he sincerely did - but he was making it difficult to remain friendly.
JJ seemed unpredictable, ready to fight Yuuri at any moment. He could easily reject Yuuri’s suggestions and make Yuuri’s life at the rink a living nightmare.
Instead, he shrugged his shoulders in agreement.
“Mm, whatever gets me an A on this assignment.”
Yuuri exhaled in relief.
“If that’s how you see it,” he found himself saying.
“Why?” he asked, his tone turning cold. “Should I see it anything more? I doubt they’re even gonna read it. No one reads mail anymore.”
“That’s true,” Yuuri agreed. “But it’s nice to put in some effort.”
JJ frowned.
“You told me not to put in effort.”
Yuuri rolled his eyes. That wasn’t what he meant at all.
“I said not to go overboard,” Yuuri pointed out.
JJ huffed, letting a breath of warm air escape from his lips.
“Well what did you write, Mr. Smarty Pants?” he asked snarkily.
“Just the basics,” Yuuri said, ignoring JJ’s rather rude comment. He didn’t want to anger the Canadian further so he focused on the question at hand. “That I’m from Japan. That I like dogs.”
“So should I say I’m from Canada and I like ice skating?”
“If you want,” Yuuri agreed.
JJ opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by his phone ringing. Yuuri recognized the ringtone as an obnoxious rock version of ‘O Canada’ from an outdated Canadian punk rock band.
He pulled his phone out from his pocket, glancing down at the bright screen. There was a picture of a gorgeous girl creating two Js with her hands with the name ‘Isabella’ above the photo.
“Hey, I gotta talk to my girlfriend,” he said apologetically. “See you around?”
“Yeah,” Yuuri said. He watched as JJ sprinted out of the rink, excitedly greeting his girlfriend in rapid French.
“Yuuri!” Celestino shouted from the edge of the rink. “Let’s see your quadruple salchow!”
Yuuri stood up, happy to finally get a chance to ice skate.
“Yes, sir!”
“Hey Yuuri!” Phichit called from the other side of the courtyard. He immediately ran over to Yuuri, weaving through the crowd of students who were trying to cross the campus as well.
“You heading back to the dorm?” he asked once he approached Yuuri.
Yuuri nodded. He was finally done with his lectures for the day and was free to relax before evening practice, or rather start on his multiple assignments that were due the upcoming week.
Phichit on the other hand wasn’t as fortunate.
“You’re so lucky. I don’t want to practice now,” Phichit complained with a groan.
“It’s better than studying,” he pointed out.
“Speaking of studying, did you finish your mathematics assignment? I want to check over my answers.”
Yuuri rolled his brown eyes.
He knew this would happen eventually.
Phichit wasn’t one to do his assignments, especially his required mathematics assignments. He would complain that he wasn’t a math major and didn’t understand why he was required to take it. Yuuri, on the other hand, was a finance major so math was rather easy for him. Therefore, he was doing everyone a favour by asking to see Yuuri’s notes: Yuuri would get more mathematics practice and Phichit would get good grades.
“And by 'check over’ you mean steal,” Yuuri corrected, following Phichit’s quick pace.
Phichit flashed him a knowing grin. He had no intention to do the assignment, especially since he knew Yuuri would surely help him by providing him with answers.
“At least we’re on the same page!”
He smirked a bit, knowing Yuuri would give him the assignment with little resistance.
Yuuri rolled his eyes and focused on the dorm ahead. He just wanted to return to his room and snuggle under his covers before practice. He fished out his wallet and keys from his backpack, scanning his against the card reader robotically.
He pushed open the door, sighing in the relief as he felt the cool air conditioning in the dorm.
“Hey Leo,” Phichit greeted as he rounded the front desk.
“Hey, Phichit! Hey, Yuuri!” he said cheerfully.
Leo de la Iglesia was one of his fellow rink mates. He was only nineteen but his facial features made him look more mature than Yuuri. His reddish brown hair fell in front of his sharp face, emphasizing his sharp jaw. His eyes were crinkled slightly and his pink lips were curled into a friendly smile.
He was known as one of the friendliest people at his rink, even having more friends than Phichit, but for some reason, Yuuri had yet to form a strong bond with the young skater. He knew Leo was often very busy, spending less time at the rink that anyone under Celestino’s guidance. He had to juggle band practice and student government as well as the extra front desk job. It was a surprise that he had time for ice skating at all.
“Yuuri, you got a letter this afternoon!”
“Really?” Yuuri asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
He never really received mail aside from a few advertisements that would just end up in the trash. He just wished Leo would filter out those messages for him so he wouldn’t be bothered with such nonsense.
“Yup! It’s a big package,” Leo confirmed.
Yuuri blinked twice, a bit confused by Leo’s statement. He wasn’t expecting anything of that size. He mentally wondered what the package could be. He wondered if he had bought something while he was drunk, again.
“It must be from back home with that many stamps. Your parents must’ve paid a fortune to deliver this.”
“Oh. I wasn’t expecting a package from home,” he mused to no one in particular.
His parents and sister had yet to inform him that he should be expecting a care package. To be honest, his parents rarely sent him care packages - not because they didn’t care but rather that sending international mail was extremely expensive. He would usually receive about one package a semester from his parents as a sort of care packages for finals but it was still the beginning of the semester.
Something seemed extremely odd about this package.
“Let me grab it from the back,” Leo said. He disappeared into the small mail room behind the front desk.
“Do you think it’s some secret admirer? Or maybe even fan mail?” Phichit suggested.
Yuuri hadn’t even considered that possibility. He hadn’t made his address well known to his fans or so called secret admirers so he doubted that would be the case.
“Probably not,” Yuuri admitted.
He did have a P.O. Box after Minako encouraged - more like forced - him to do back during his junior debut. He had never given the box much thought, scared that it would be empty if he opened it. He wasn’t sure why anyone would send his fan mail. He wasn’t all that popular outside of a few loyal fans in Japan.
So he highly doubted that this package was from a fan.
“Here this one’s yours,” Leo told the pair, holding up a large box.
Yuuri took the box from Leo, weighted slightly down by the heavy contents inside. He hadn’t ever received a package this heavy, not even from his parents. They must have surprised him with something special and he would surely need to thank them for the gift.
“Woah, that’s huge! I hope there’s those Japanese candies in there! I love it when your parents send candy!” Phichit said excitedly.
Yuuri looked at the tag, hoping it provided some explanation about the contents of his package.
“From St. Petersburg Russia?” he said, reading out the return address.
There was only one person he knew from St. Petersburg (well two if he counted Victor Nikiforov). This was his letter from his pen pal.
He had received a letter - or rather a package - back.
He couldn’t believe they had went through such an effort with their letter. It was truly more than Yuuri expected he would ever receive in return. If he were being honest, he would’ve been content with a simple letter or even a postcard.
He turned over the package, hoping that this was some joke. It couldn’t have been from his pen pal. The box must have cost a fortune to ship overseas. The letter was stamped with six different stamps, all pictures of the globe. Not to mention the box was had the word 'priority’ printed on all sides and there were about six different 'fragile’ stickers stuck to the box.
“Is that from your pen pal?” Phichit asked curiously. He followed as Yuuri carefully balanced the box in his hands.
“I guess. I don’t really know anyone else from Russia.”
“Well you’ve got to open it!” Leo announced.
"You’ve got to update me about it after practice!” Phichit decided.
“Me too!” Leo agreed.
“Will do,” Yuuri complied reluctantly. He didn’t particularly want to tell Phichit and Leo what he had reviewed from his pen pal - it was between him and Viktor after all. He supposed the situation couldn’t be helped and he would have to get his next letter without the two knowing.
Yuuri bid the two goodbye before teetering up the stairs to his dorm room, careful not to break the box. He shifted the weight of the box to his left side, truly feeling how heavy the box was as he opened his door. He unceremoniously dropped the box onto his table and was content that he didn’t need to carry it any longer.
Yuuri reached for a scissor at the bottom of his draw, snipping through the packing tape. The package burst open, causing a few pieces of foam protection to fall onto his floor. Yuuri ignored those for now in favour of the neat letter was folded on the top.
Yuuri unfolded the letter, admiring the expensive parchment and intricate details of the letter.
Dear Yuuri the letter began in English. The words were written in looping cursive, taking up a large portion of the thick paper. It put Yuuri’s small handwriting to shame.
It is so great to talk to you! the letter began, the excitement basically leaking from the words on the page.
Yuuri wondered how much effort Viktor put into the letter. Clearly much more than Yuuri had, and much more than was necessary to complete the assignment. He had received the package only a week after it was sent it, meaning the package must have been put through some sort of priority mailing system.
It was entirely possible that he was simply trying to impress his teacher for a better grade by sending such an impressive letter.
On the other hand, he could be genuinely enthusiastic about receiving hand written messages.
I was so happy when I saw handwritten mail addressed to me! No one sends me letters now!
Yuuri smiled at his sincerity. He was grateful of how nice his pen pal was, and how much he cares about receiving letters. It was nice to see that someone else shared the same enthusiasm for handwritten notes.
I am 26 now. That is old for school but I have to work on writing English.
Yuuri chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously. He didn’t think twenty-six was particularly too old (Victor Nikiforov was twenty-six and still winning gold medals so obviously twenty-six wasn’t too old). He was only four years older than Yuuri, after all.
I live in Russia. I added gifts and pictures.
Yuuri reached into the box to look for the aforementioned photographs. The photos were neatly placed in a clear plastic bag which Yuuri easily opened. Inside were high quality photographs of St. Petersburg and other Russian landmarks. Yuuri recognized some of the sights from movies. The Palace Square, the Moyka River, and the Church of the Savior on Blood. It was all so beautiful. He would definitely have to visit if he was fortunate enough to be invited to the Olympics in Sochi this year.
I want to see picture of your home. You live in Detroit now. That is far from home, yes?
That was an understatement. Detroit was about as far and different from his home as possible.
You said you like dog. There is plush of dog too!
Yuuri reached into the box, pulling out the plush toy. His hands grazed over the soft dog toy, petting the fur of the fake poodle. He noted that it was much like his own dog back at home, Vicchan. The dog had the same unruly hair as his own dog although it was a shade lighter than Vicchan’s.
He wondered how Viktor could correctly guess that he had a poodle too. He supposed he just bought a standard plush animal and it was all just a coincidence.
I also got candy. Strawberry Ptichye Moloko is best.
Yuuri was amazed by all of the goods packed into the box. He reached towards the bottom, hoping that this was the last gift Viktor sent him.
He plucked the bag of Ptichye Moloko candies, eyeing it suspiciously. It seemed innocent enough, a chocolate covered candy with a creme filling. He looked at the calorie count: 85 calories per 1 candy.
He sighed. His strict diet couldn’t afford to have something so caloric, even if it was a gift. The season would be starting soon and Yuuri couldn’t afford any fluctuations in his weight, even if it was less than one hundred calories.
He supposed he could give the bag to Phichit or JJ instead. Hopefully that could get JJ to like him.
Do you like candy? What do you like other?
Yuuri chuckled at Viktor’s poor English. It was sweet to see how hard he was trying despite the language barrier. Yuuri silently wished his Russian could be good enough that he could write such well thought out letters in response.
I know writing is for school but I want to receive more letters.
The corners of Yuuri’s lips turned upwards. It was silly and ridiculous how happy he was over receiving a letter in the mail. Deep down he knew Viktor had only responded out of necessity, seeing as it was a mandatory assignment after all.
Why did you choose Russian?
Yuuri didn’t want to tell Victor the real reason that he had chosen Russian; it was embarrassing enough that Phichit knew it was to impress Victor Nikiforov so he most certainly didn’t need his pen pal to laugh at him for such a reason.
Not many people like Russian.
Yuuri inwardly chuckled at that. Most people claimed that Russian sounded harsh and accented like a villain in an action movie. However, Yuuri thought it was a language that could sound rather romantic and smooth, especially if it were Victor Nikiforov speaking.
I teach you Russian and you teach me English or Japanese! I want to learn Japanese! I want to know all about Yuuri!
Yuuri smiled, looking up from the letter, his eyes locking onto his most recent poster of Victor Nikiforov. As unlikely as it was, he still imagined the famous skater’s smooth and accented voice as he read out the end of the letter.
Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat.
“Yours truly, Виктор .”