Chapter Text
The first time Victor skated he was 5.
His parents were away on a science conference and had left him with a friend’s family.
The family went to the skating rink on the weekend and took him along for the experience.
He fell in love with it immediately. He didn’t succeed at skating right away, but as soon as he was able to stand on the ice without falling, he knew this was something he wanted to continue doing. He watched other, more experienced skaters gliding around the ice and found it mesmerizing. He didn’t know what it was he was feeling exactly, but it was exciting. Hard, sharp blades and cold, unyielding ice – so much of it was hostile and terrifying, and yet people made such beauty out of it all. He wanted to do that too.
His babysitters cheered him on as he made awkward circles around the rink, smiling and applauding his fast progress. It was exciting and exhilarating, and over all too quickly.
On Monday, his parents returned home, and Victor was deposited back in his apartment. His parents’ friend said joyfully that they’d taken Victor skating and that he was really good. His parents smiled politely, but didn’t pay the comment much attention.
It was the next day that Victor first breached the topic, asking his parents to allow him to skate. They smiled dismissively and said that it was too expensive to skate often, and besides, they had no time to take him to the rink.
It wasn’t true. Victor knew it wasn’t true. His parents had plenty of time. His father especially. He spent most of his evenings on the couch, watching TV, while Victor’s mother cooked and cleaned. There was no reason he couldn’t take Victor to the rink.
He said so too, but his father said he was tired after work and needed his rest, and Victor should appreciate that he had a home and food and clothing that came from money his father made at work.
Victor didn’t argue.
It wasn’t until he was 9 that he skated again. This time with his aunt who lived in another town and only came to visit occasionally. She took him skating, and he remembered that same feeling from when he was a child, and how much he liked it.
He brought it up with his parents again, but was met with the same answer.
This time, however, he didn’t just give up. He kept asking, and asking, and asking.
He researched, talked to people at the nearest rink. He told his parents it wouldn’t really cost all that much if they just got him a pair of skates. And there were free outside rinks in the winter.
They pointed out that he was still young and growing, and would soon grow out of his skates, and then they’d have to buy him new ones, and that would amount to more and more money over the years to come.
He kept asking. And he kept asking. And he kept asking.
Until his parents threatened to put him on house arrest until he stopped asking and take away his toys and forbid him to watch television. And so he stopped asking.
He didn’t have an allowance, and there weren’t any viable ways for a child in Russia to make money. Certainly not on any kind of long-term basis. Victor’s parents were right about one thing – skating would require a constant inflow of money. Even if he made the best out of a pair of skates, they still needed to be regularly sharpened, there were still rink fees, especially if he wanted to skate in the warmer seasons, and then, of course, if he wanted to learn, he needed a coach, and that meant more money. That wasn’t something a child could finance on their own.
So eventually, Victor had to let this dream go.
Victor tried many other creative outlets over the years, but many were met with the same reaction from his parents. They wouldn’t buy him an instrument he could play, they didn’t want to take him to art school or dance class or karate practice, and they didn't want to pay for any of the classes either.
He eventually found a hobby he could pursue, if only because it required neither effort no money from his parents. He joined a drama club at his school. It was free, it didn’t require any equipment, and it took place in the same building as his regular classes, so his parents didn’t need to do anything, especially after they’ve deemed him old enough to return from school on his own.
It was in drama class that his singing voice was discovered. His teacher immediately told him that he should attend music school in order to develop his talent, but, of course, his parents rejected the idea, even after the teacher called them at home to try and persuade them. Even when the nearest music school offered them a discount after hearing Victor’s voice. It would still cost money, it would still require effort. So it was still not something they had any interest in doing.
Years later, Victor would look back on that time and be torn between overwhelming anger and crippling sadness, but back then all he could do was succumb to his parents’ decision and accept his fate once more.
Victor was the star of his drama club. His acting was decent, if a little lacking in genuine emotion, but his voice and charisma were enchanting, and his drama teacher utilized his talents as well as she could.
The idea of him going to college to study theater came up eventually, and was, unsurprisingly, dismissed by his parents without much thought. Victor was told that theater wasn’t a real profession, and neither was singing. He was told to find a profession that would guarantee him a steady income, and do his acting thing as a hobby, if he absolutely had to.
When one night Victor dared to say that he didn’t want to be a scientist or a teacher or a linguist, his father told him that no son of his would be without a higher education or waste his life on singing and acting.
Both of his parents had come from families of scientists, their own parents and grandparents had all gone to university and acquired degrees and academic titles. For Victor to not do the same had simply never been an option. Victor would go to university and would dedicate his life to something his parents deemed to be worthy of their name. They had decided this long before Victor was born. His own wishes, talents, and hopes were never taken into consideration.
When Victor was 17, he participated in a play that his drama teacher organized in collaboration with one of the city’s major theaters. It was a slightly simplified production of Chicago, and Victor was Billy Flynn.
Since it required no effort from his parents, Victor was allowed to do this.
It was bittersweet. Victor enjoyed being in the play immensely, but he also knew that this would likely be the last play he would participate in for a long time, if not ever. He was graduating from school and entering university, which had no drama club, and a brutal curriculum. Acquiring a pointless degree to make his parents happy would consume his life for the next 5 years, and then he would probably get a job he hated and spend the rest of his life dragging himself down a path he didn’t choose. This play was his last hurrah.
The one and only performance was a smashing success. Victor charmed the audience.
Including a music producer out on a scouting mission for new talent.
When Yakov Feltsman approached Victor and his parents about making Victor into a pop star, they rejected him politely, their smiles laced with condescension and disdain.
This was not the first time Feltsman had dealt with parents of such persuasion, and he knew exactly what to do. He invited them to his studio, razzle-dazzled them with his wealth, his equipment, his history of making kids into stars. And soon enough, the Nikiforovs weren’t quite so dismissive anymore.
When they realized just how much money their son could be making if Feltsman delivered upon his promises, it suddenly didn’t matter that their son wouldn’t have a higher education, would end the line of scientists and professors in both their families, and waste his life on singing and acting. Suddenly, it was quite alright for him to pursue his artistic dreams, just so long as it made them a lot of money.
Victor didn’t question his luck, didn’t point out the hypocrisy, didn’t gloat. He signed a contract, and prepared to work.
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The first time Yuuri skated he was 5 and a half.
Well, ‘skated’ is hardly the right word. He mostly collected ice shavings with the front of his shirt. And the back of his shirt. And his pants.
But he got back up and tried again, and again, and again. Because there was something so enchanting about gliding on ice. When he watched other people do it, there was a strange feeling in his stomach. He felt that if he didn’t do this, didn’t learn how to do it properly, he would forever regret it. So he got back up, and fell again, and got back up, again, and again, until he wasn’t falling anymore. Until he was gliding, on shaky legs and with little certainty. But he was doing it. And he would surely be doing it again.
When he asked his parents if he could pursue skating, they gladly agreed. He spent his first few months of practice in rental skates, but as his birthday came around, he was taken to a store where he selected a brand new pair of size-adjustable skates. They weren’t the best skates in the world, but they served him well for several years, and he held on to them as a keepsake even when he finally outgrew them both in size and in skill.
The more Yuuri skated, the more serious he got about the sport, the more he felt that he wanted to do better, become better, learn more than simple elements, do more than a few local competitions for kids. But while he did his best, both practicing for long hours at the rink and spending many more hours in a ballet studio, he lacked something. He was improving technically, and he enjoyed the process of skating, but there was more to it than just spins and jumps. A truly worthy performance required art, inspiration. And Yuuri still struggled to find that.
And then one night, his muse came suddenly and unexpectedly as he was watching Eurovision with Yuuko. She liked that strange contest for some reason and often watched it livestreamed online. Yuuri didn’t quite understand the appeal, but he humored his friend in the same way she humored him about his own hobbies and passing interests.
Yuuri was barely paying attention to the screen, until the young man representing Russia took the stage and began to sing.
It was an unusually melodic song, not common for the contest where many favored upbeat numbers that got the audience cheering and dancing. But the young man’s voice and charm turned the ballad into a musical masterpiece. Yuuri couldn’t take his eyes off him.
It wasn’t long before Yuuri was skating to that very song, finally feeling like his routine was more than just a combination of technical elements, but a story.
As he stepped off the ice, Yuuko embraced him, recognizing the importance of the moment in a way only a true friend could.
From that day forward, Yuuri set all of his routines to Victor Nikiforov songs, climbing the figure skating ranks from local, to national, to international. And though the stress of performing in a competition often took away from the pleasure and magic of skating, when Yuuri was on his own, in his home rink, skating to Victor’s songs was the most wonderful thing in the world.