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At twenty three years old, there were few things Yuuri could say could surprise him anymore. Living his life the way it has been, with a Heartache like Viktor no less, there really was little room at this point to be surprised.
But this.
Yuri Plisetsky, Russian four-time World Champion at a mere twenty two years old, looking so done with the sight before him, was an exception.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
And surprisingly, that -hadn’t- been said in a threatening manner like he’d imagined.
“I doubt we- uh, Viktor is. He’s just good at skating.” The glasses wearing skater professed.
Yuri let out a laugh that bordered a bit on hysterical. He turned to the stoic looking man beside him and said, “Hey Beka. Good, he says. You believe that shit?”
Before ‘Beka’ could reply though, Yuri was already turning his attention back to Yuuri. “Fuck that modesty, katsudon! I’m the uncontested World Champion here so don’t you dare take my judgment lightly.” Yuri barked and pointed a finger at the Heartache skating around on the ice as if jumping triples and the occasional quad were as simple as breathing.
“If that fucking overgrown pixie weren’t a Heartache, he’d be contesting me for my title every single time!” The blonde exclaimed. Beside him, Otabek reached out and patted his back slowly.
“Yura, your blood pressure.” The man said stoically, expression unchanging.
“Beka, no. I need this.” Yuri mumbled his protest, but took a deep breathe all the same then resumed glaring at Viktor.
Yuuri on the other hand, spared the Russian Skater a confused glance. “I still don’t see why you’re worked up over Viktor skating around. I mean, okay. He’s probably Olympic level, but that doesn’t mean he’s someone you should be jealous about. You’re really something else, Yuri.”
The glare sent his way told him the blonde young man smelled his sarcasm a mile away. The Japanese skater laughed, albeit a little nervous.
Yuuri spared the taller skater another glance. He still can’t believe how they’d ever managed to get along this past week, much less how they actually came together like this in the first place.
The events of the Sochi banquet was a blur, he didn’t know whether to be thankful or not. Viktor had been oddly tight-lipped about it, but he did spend an inordinate amount of words describing how Yuuri was so flexible and a downright beast.
Yuuri had wondered if it were possible to turn redder than a tomato. Yuuri had wondered if something really happened in Sochi.
The year after, he’d failed to get a place in the US Nationals- thus another blown chance at the big tournaments, and after the spectacular bomb in the Sochi Grand Prix Finals, this failure had been the last straw.
He’d despondently withdrew himself from Celestino’s tutelage, telling the man that he wanted time off from the ice to reflect and get his bearings. Celestino had been at first hesitant but in the end, was understanding and genuinely sad to have such a bright man like Yuuri to find himself in such a slump. Phichit swore he’d continue training and if Yuuri didn’t return to competing, he’d win the gold at the Grand Prix for the two of them.
“Though I’d still prefer competing with you any time!” Phichit had professed with the power of a hundred hyperactive suns that day. With guilty thoughts, Yuuri realized he’d barely been listening that day too and dismissed Phichit’s encouraging words like it was nothing. That was no way to treat a friend, ever.
And in all that time, Viktor had been without complaint, hadn’t disappeared once over the course of a year. He was still Viktor, still supporting Yuuri in his cheerfully eccentric ways, but he’d been somewhat subdued since their argument over Yuuri’s decision to leave the rink before the skater had gone and told Celestino.
Yuuri continued his studies, graduated, and they’d gone home to Hasetsu. Yuuri spent a few quiet moments in front of Vicchan’s altar, then proceeded to brood everywhere for the next couple of days.
And then Yuri arrived not long after.
Suffice to say, having the World Champion show up at their resort, and then kicking Yuuri into the hotspring was not a memory he’ll be forgetting any time soon.
He recalled seeing Viktor off to the side looking somewhere between relieved and smug and it bugged Yuuri a lot. Like Viktor knew something and wasn’t telling.
But back to the present.
Yuri shook his head, a few wisps of hair coming loose from his ponytail. “Put it this way, katsudon. I feel both disappointed and relieved, which is confusing me just so you know.” He remarked. “It’s great to see talent like that for once, but for it to come from a Heartache? It’s such a fucking waste.”
Yuuri wouldn’t call such talent a waste, never when it comes to Viktor. The man looked like he belonged on the ice. But Yuri did have a point, had seen it on a perspective that society took too often and too seriously.
Heartaches, much as they are beneficial to their respective human partners, were considered as an amalgamated form of a pet, accessory, and a happy slave in many modern circles. The exact words weren’t used, of course. But those would aptly translate the thoughts behind the looks Viktor often gets when people find out that he’s not like them.
Too human. Why is he acting too human?
Someone’s polite query had become an underlying insult, and one Yuuri found he hated the most. Viktor wasn’t a thing.
He fought to keep from clenching his fists. Yuri didn’t mean the words with malice, he could say as much. The young man had brought his own Heartache with him, conversed and wrestled with Otabek as if he were the very best and only friend for him. Yuuri wasn’t blind to the incredibly deep friendship they possibly have.
Eventually he’d calmed down, glanced at Viktor in time to see him complete a flying camel spin. Yuuri’s heart fluttered at the look of happiness on Viktor’s face.
“Are you sure you aren’t being jealous?” He asked the blonde.
Yuri scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. “The hell would I be jealous of your sentient lifesized pillow?”
“Does your own sentient lifesized pillow skate as well?” Yuuri casually shot back. The Russian skater must be rubbing off on him.
Yuri flashed him a shit-eating grin. “Beka’s awesome, and not a pillow. He’d win a fight any day.” He stated proudly.
“You mean your cat or…?” Yuuri couldn’t help teasing. The glare sent his way could sour a hundred lemons. The Russian Yuri, in spite of his penchant for verbal lashing and an extremely temperamental attitude, had somehow adopted a stray cat on his fourth day in Japan and declared it would be called Beka, because the cat did kind of look like his Heartache with its deadpan face and inability to be surprised with the blonde’s tendency to shout.
Otabek himself hadn’t seemed to mind. Yuuri and Viktor decided not to give an opinion on it either. Though Yuri realized too late about the naming and his attempts to change it wouldn’t stick. The cat only ever answers to Beka now.
“When did you start skating, Otabek-san?” The Japanese skater asked the dark-haired Heartache. Otabek blinked at Yuuri, then looked considerably thoughtful.
“He wouldn’t stop talking unless I got out on the ice with him.” Otabek explained, flicking his gaze to Yuri. “That had been long ago.”
“Barely eleven years old.” Yuri quipped.
“I’d say closer to twelve.” Otabek countered. Yuri rolled his eyes and conceded gingerly to it. The trio lapsed into silence, eyes riveted to Viktor again as he seemed to be entering the second half of his routine. The grey-haired Heartache seemed completely oblivious to the two skaters and the other Heartache leaning across the rails.
A sigh came from the blonde Russian as he leaned back against the rails. “What’re we waiting for again?”
“I think Viktor said to wait for him to finish?” Yuuri replied.
His expression was marginally less sour as he eyed Viktor again. “Fuck, your Heartache is a queen.” He mumbled.
“I’ve been told that… in less direct ways.”
Yuuri’s comment went ignored. “If it weren’t for him, I’d be in St. Petersburg right now working on my new program.”
Huh. That’s the second time the Russian mentioned it. He even sounded like Yuuri should know about it too. This implied something. He honestly didn’t know and Viktor wasn’t talking. The Japanese skater was beginning to think his Heartache had gone and done something that had more or less involved the World Champion and the blonde Russian had fallen for it.
… Yeah, it most likely had something to do with Sochi. Viktor’s occasional underhandedness wasn’t a surprise anymore (he’d had his fair share of falling for it too), but Yuuri was still burning with the need to sate his curiosity.
Yuuri decided it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “Whatever did happen in Sochi, by the way?”
The suspicious look Yuri sent him could dissect him in seconds. He gritted out, “You mean you don’t know? God, you were so wasted and practically dragged everyone within a ten-mile radius to challenge you on the dance floor. Fucking embarrassment.”
“I… I see.” Yuuri stuttered out. So his worst expectations had become true. He really did make a fool of himself. It was probably a god-sent miracle that he didn’t make it to the last competition season. He didn’t think he could stomach seeing everyone’s faces when they lay their eyes on him.
“I’ve got pictures.” Otabek kindly offered, ignoring the screeching protest from the blonde beside him. Yuuri politely declined from the look and gestures the Russian was throwing at him.
“But what happened there that had you coming here?”
His question was met with a beat of silence, a flustered Russian blonde and Otabek looking slightly amused. There was something here, Yuuri could feel it.
“We do not talk about that.” Was all the Russian punk said. Just as well, Viktor returned to them at that moment looking a little winded but with his cheeks flushed red from the skating.
“You’re getting along so very well!” He exclaimed, eyeing the two like a proud father. Yuuri held onto his squeak at the rude gesture Yuri flicked at Viktor.
“Get to the point. I’m wasting precious days in this travesty and the Russian Qualifiers isn’t going to move just because I say so.”
Viktor pouted. It was wholly unfair that he looked good doing it too. The Heartache’s expression shifted to excitement a moment later, and he spoke, “I have two programs to offer both of you. It’s been sitting in my head for a while and I thought that you would benefit from them. I personally can’t skate them, but why let it go? There’s two perfectly capable skaters in this rink who could pull them off.”
Yuuri gaped, his mind trying to process the words as Yuri scoffed disbelievingly. “Have you ever conducted a program?” he sneered.
“No, but I can say that I have a lot of fresh ideas to offer.” Viktor said cheerfully with that same look Yuuri associates with a fox. “A couple that isn’t all aggressive grunge makeup, emo punk and trying to give the audience a seizure. Each and every single time.”
Unbeknownst to the Japanese skater, the Russian punk momentarily looked taken aback. Otabek had narrowed his eyes, but remained steadfast and quiet behind the rails.
“Hey! It’s called art, you wise ass!” Yuri protested. He was ignored as Viktor proceeded to explain the two concepts he had.
Eros and Agape. That was what they were called. The music he played had been original compositions he’d somehow managed to get commissioned prior to Yuuri’s resignation from Celestino’s tutelage, and it had only been a few days ago when he finally received the final products.
Viktor was going all out on this. Yuuri thought as he watched his Heartache demonstrate Agape, and then Eros to the trio. Yuri had quickly insisted on skating to Eros, and it quickly devolved into a one-sided argument with the Heartache. But Yuuri’s mind wasn’t on the discussion before him, it had drifted off to something else during the demonstration.
Viktor cared so much. The skater thought, and the surge of warmth almost made him cry then and there. Viktor, who had not once disappeared for over a year, who spent almost every waking moment like his second shadow.
Viktor, who cared so much for Yuuri in a way that he’d never felt before. He felt that he owed his Heartache so much for the effort he was putting into Yuuri’s dream.
A fire was rekindled in his heart. It was time he stopped moping and started putting the effort into improving himself again. He was going to pay Viktor back, and he was doing it in the way he knew best.
In the end, Viktor made it look all too easy to bait the World Champion into accepting the challenge of skating to Agape. And that left Yuuri to skate to Eros, a concept the skater had never explored before.
It was bound to be an interesting week.