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Three weeks before the Sochi GPF, Victor burst into the rink and headed—possibly for the first time ever—directly to Georgi.
Yuri had to stare, because Victor looked...different. By Nikiforov standards, he was a complete wreck: his hair hadn't been brushed, his shirt was on inside-out, and he was absolutely wild-eyed. This went way beyond his rare forays into 'artfully disheveled' (a look that took for-fucking-ever to achieve—Yuri has seen some shit, okay).
Georgi flinched in alarm, and Yakov and Mila both gaped.
“Georgi,” Victor said, leaning over the barrier to get a bit closer to his self-declared rival. Georgi stared back like he thought Victor might attack if he looked away for even a second. “Georgi, please, I need your advice.”
What. Wait. What?
“What,” Georgi rasped, almost swaying in place from pure shock. Victor, unsurprisingly, took that as an encouragement to keep talking.
“If you were to wake up back in a time before you'd ever even spoken to the love of your life, what would you do?” Victor demanded. “Would you stay away, to honor the love you lost? Or move to America immediately to be with them every day and night and get married as soon as possible and maybe coach them, too, because their coach is a perfectly fine person but not at all right for them?”
What the actual fuck.
Georgi's relentlessly Harlequin heart overtook all his higher brain functions, and he immediately answered, “You said they were the love of my life, right? If I still felt that way about them, I'd do anything it took to get them back. Even if they weren't quite the same—then I'd just fall in love with them all over again.”
“The hell,” Mila muttered, backing away like insanity might somehow be catching. Yuri considered the evidence at hand and then quickly followed her lead. “Has he actually thought about this before?”
Victor lit up, somehow looking even more deranged than before, and threw his hands in the air. Like an actual lunatic. “Great! Fantastic! Exactly what I wanted to hear!”
Did this have to do with a new routine? Yuri knew Victor hadn't decided on next season's music yet—maybe he was getting weird in his old age. Well, weirder. And it was obvious to Yuri, at least, that Victor would take any inspiration he could find.
That had to be it. Victor was going to skate the Time Warp next season, and Yuri would have to survive it without turning to homicide. His senior debut was already looking grim.
“Yakov,” Victor called, running a hand through his messy hair and smiling his most charming, photogenic smile. “I'll be in Detroit until Sochi!”
...What.
“THE HELL YOU WILL,” Yakov roared.
Two days later, Victor posted a selfie to his Instagram. The caption read: “Back from the future and looking for love!” It was tagged #katsukiyuuri. It was also tagged #futurehusband, #relationshipgoals, and, to Yuri's momentary confusion and then deep disgust, #victuuri. And it was taken at—and posted from—the Detroit Metropolitan Airport.
“Are you fucking kidding me.”
Yuri forwarded the link to Yakov and began planning what he'd say at Victor's funeral. “He had it coming,” seemed almost too obvious.