Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

lukewarm_mess: one of my roommate’s hamsters is pregnant

lukewarm_mess: and i want to see the babies

KingElsa: Wait… that’s a reason?

Deltatangofoxtrot: DANGER!!!  ABORT!!!

iamworthy: *starts making popcorn*

KingElsa: ???

KingElsa: I just…

KingElsa: Shouldn’t your reason to stay alive be something super meaningful?

mercyslovechild: now uv done it

iamworthy: NEW KID INITIATION TIME GATHER ROUND CHILDREN

iamworthy: *dusts off mess’s soapbox*

mercyslovechild: gathers

lukewarm_mess: hush you

suicideflirtsback: *gathers*

Deltattangofoxtrot: Sorry but were you not going to give THE SPEECH??  Also *gathers*

Yuuri chuckled, smothering a silly urge to bury his face in his hands.  It would only smudge his glasses, and he was already safely hidden behind a screen and a username, anyway.

“Share the funny,” Phichit demanded.  True to form, while they’d started the movie on opposite ends of the couch, he had somehow managed to migrate across two and a half cushions and into his favorite cuddle position in the crook of Yuuri’s arm, all without ever visibly moving.  As far as mutant powers went, Yuuri supposed that it was fairly benign.  No self-respecting supervillain was going to go out of their way to form an archnemesisship with someone like Snuggle Ninja, after all.

lukewarm_mess: well.  i mean, yes but

“Apparently I’ve become known for Reason Theory enough to get teased about it,” Yuuri replied.  He kept typing.

lukewarm_mess: it’s not like i own it or anything

lukewarm_mess: i didn’t even come up with it, i think i first read it on tumblr

Phichit squeezed his knee affectionately.  “I can see why,” he said.  “It’s become a really important coping strategy for you.”

iamworthy: You brought it into this chat first and are super passionate about it, it’s yours

mercyslovechild: just like if u liked it

mercyslovechild: *licked

KingElsa: Am I going to get schooled now?

KingElsa: Teach me, O wise master!

KingElsa: m(_ _)m

“That’s your newbie?”  Phichit was peering at the laptop screen.  “Bowing before your magnificence already; I approve.  You have my blessing to marry this man.”

Yuuri snorted.  “Along with half the track team, Micah and Darius from gender studies, and the waitress at Grand Trunk.”

“She never charges us for sodas, Yuuri!”

lukewarm_mess: okay if we’re doing this let’s do this

lukewarm_mess: *climbs on soap box and grabs a

lukewarm_mess: um.  english word for thing that makes your voice louder when you talk into it?

iamworthy: microphone?

suicideflirtsback: bullhorn

lukewarm_mess: that’s it thx

lukewarm_mess: *climbs on soapbox and grabs a bullhorn*

KingElsa: *awaits enlightenment*

As far as Yuuri knew, Reason Theory wasn’t officially a part of any formal course of therapy.  It was reliant on the notion that, since suicide was a fundamentally selfish act, the motivation behind not killing oneself needed to be equally selfish.  It also needed to be concrete and easily attainable.  The tumblr poster had argued that not only was wanting to know how Game of Thrones ended just as valid as staying alive for the sake of a loved one or child, but it could be far more effective because it was easier to commit to and wasn't in itself a stressor.  The TV show couldn’t care who watched it, after all, and would never be let down by a viewer’s failure to view. 

lukewarm_mess: my brain makes me think that my friends and family would be better off without me all the time

lukewarm_mess: but baby hamsters are value neutral.  i want to be here to see them because *i* want to see them.  not because i have to or should. there’s no responsibility there so i don’t have guilt on top of everything else. i can’t speak for everyone but shoulds are really destructive for me

Deltatangofoxtrot: me to

KingElsa: That… makes a lot of sense, actually…

lukewarm_mess: you can have a different reason every day because one is all you need

lukewarm_mess: just to get to next month. or next week.  or tomorrow

KingElsa: It’s supposed to be nice this weekend.  I’m thinking about taking my dog to the beach.

iamworthy: There you go, something to look forward to

lukewarm_mess: and it’s not just for bad days either

lukewarm_mess: like i’ve been pretty good lately btween meds and therapy but

lukewarm_mess: if i already have a reason in my mind i don’t have to try to think of one when things get hard and my brain is fighting me

lukewarm_mess: so try to get in the habit of always having one if you can

lukewarm_mess: okay, lesson over

KingElsa: That was amazing!  Thank you!

KingElsa: *applauds and throws roses*

lukewarm_mess: (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄)

suicideflirtsback: speaking of reasons, I tried this green tea & lemon candy ice cream the other day

suicideflirtsback: no joke it made me whole

mercyslovechild: that sounds gross tbh

lukewarm_mess: green tea ice cream is so good! i don’t know about lemon candy in it though?? like, lemon drops??

KingElsa: Seriously, though.  I really appreciate this.  You’ve given me a lot to think about.

suicideflirtsback: no, more like… you know the filling in those lemon girl scout cookies?  like that, only the consistency is more like white chocolate

lukewarm_mess: any time, king.   ( ´ ▽ ` )

KingElsa has left the chat.

Chapter Text

Makkachin was panting with happiness and exertion, although she waited patiently for Victor to remove the leash and towel the remaining snow off her legs before bounding into the flat and making a beeline for the water bowl.  Victor smiled fondly as the poodle attacked the water, lapping at it with the same enthusiasm she had for everything else in her world.

He wasted no time in hanging up his coat and kicking off his boots into the drying tray by the door, knowing that he had a bare few minutes before Makka started whining for dinner.  Victor’s own meals during the competition season tended to be pre-packaged, perfectly balanced things that went from the freezer to the microwave to his stomach without concerning themselves with such trifles as flavor or texture along the way, but princesses were never meant to live like that.

“Tonight’s supper is rabbit florentine,” he informed her with the air of a maître d’ reciting the day’s specials.  Makka wagged her tail and looked fascinated.  The spinach wasn’t actually fresh, but had been run through a juicer, along with a few other vegetables that provided necessary vitamins for an older dog’s digestive health.  It looked like swamp muck, but then so did Victor’s protein shakes, so he supposed he couldn’t judge the stuff too harshly.  He spooned two large dollops into her bowl, noting that he’d need to make another batch soon. 

The rabbit was just that; half a rabbit, raw, cut into chunks with the bones intact.  Then came a series of supplement powders, some from the vitamin cupboard and some from the fridge, containing live cultures of healthy bacteria that needed the cold to keep them alive.  A raw egg was next, and then the entire thing was crowned with a generous drizzle of fish oil for omega-3s and coat shine.

After a quick toss to ensure that everything was evenly coated with egg, oil, and vitamin powder, Victor set the bowl on the floor.  Makkachin pounced on it almost before he could get his hands out of the way, and the kitchen was filled with the sounds of happy whines and crunching.

Ten minutes later, the bowl was licked clean of even the tiniest scrap of oil, and Victor’s own dinner had been nuked and consumed.  He assumed it had been chicken, being far too rubbery for fish.

Cleanup was quick, and Makka knew Victor’s routine well.  She was already on the couch by the time the plastic meal tray had been disposed of, and dog dish and flatware filed away into the dishwasher.  Victor curled up next to her on the sofa, burying his fingers in the warmth of her fur, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to just be for the first time that day.

Several long moments later, he reached for his laptop.

* Joined channel #therapycouchfort

* Topic is ‘Remember to get secret santa gifts in the mail no later than FRIDAY for domestic shipping’

* Set by SockPuppet on Dec 10 7:27:41 2012      

mercyslovechild: and emmett knew which is y he left evrything to jerrica

lukewarm_mess: okay, but what about shana and aja?

mercyslovechild: dude hated one kid for not being his so much he didnt evn mention her in his will u think he cares abt fosters

KingElsa: Evening, everyone!

Small_Monster: hey king

iamworthy: *wave*

lukewarm_mess: king, tell mercy that kimber benton did not kill her own father

mercyslovechild: eric raymond is kimbers father hate to break it to u like dis luke

mercyslovechild: also hi king

KingElsa: … I’m sorry.  What are we talking about?

mercyslovechild: jem

KingElsa: ?

lukewarm_mess: and the holograms?

KingElsa: ???

lukewarm_mess: gasp.gif

lukewarm_mess: go

lukewarm_mess: netflix it

lukewarm_mess: right now we’ll wait

mercyslovechild: not the movie tho the cartoon

lukewarm_mess: oh, right.  good call that movie was garbage

Small_Monster: It was good when it was called Josie and the Pussycats

He tabbed over to Google and did a quick search.  The resulting wiki page was… very pink.  Secret identity pop stars who traveled the world and had unlikely adventures?  It looked ridiculous, but in a fun way.

KingElsa: Maybe later.  Thanks for the tip, though!

KingElsa: More importantly, what are you doing here, Mess?  You’re never on at this time of day during the week.

lukewarm_mess: grr

lukewarm_mess: i sprained my ankle

lukewarm_mess: so i’m not allowed to work for at least a week, longer if the PT doesn’t clear me right away

iamworthy: Sounds like your work is physically intensive?

lukewarm_mess: yeah

lukewarm_mess: we’re in the middle of our busy season too

KingElsa: Things should lighten up after the holidays, though, right?

lukewarm_mess: not in my industry

KingElsa: What do you do?

Small_Monster: he works for the CIA

KingElsa: What, really?!  O.O

lukewarm_mess: NO

lukewarm_mess: sorry i

lukewarm_mess: just don’t feel comfortable giving out personal details like that

Small_Monster: you know it’s not like anyone can track you down if you tell us you work in sales or IT or smthing

KingElsa: It’s okay, Mess.  I shouldn’t have asked.

SockPuppet: Yellow card, Monster.  5 yard penalty for unnecessary roughness.  Do it again and get a 1 day temp ban.

lukewarm_mess: nono it’s fine to ask anything, just respect when i can’t answer

Small_Monster: sry my bad

lukewarm_mess: np monster

KingElsa: Of course!

KingElsa: At least it sounds like your boss cares about your welfare, though?

lukewarm_mess: oh yeah

lukewarm_mess: i have the best boss

lukewarm_mess: i just usually dance out stress

lukewarm_mess: and i obvs can’t do that either rn

KingElsa: G A S P

lukewarm_mess: so i’m stuck sitting around feeling sorry for myself

KingElsa: You dance?

KingElsa: Formally? What discipline?

Was it wrong to try to imagine someone when you had no physical reference for them at all?  Victor knew that the other user identified as male and attended college somewhere in the States, but that was pretty much it.  And now he knew that Mess danced.  Maybe he was a redhead, small and lithe, with pale, freckle-dusted shoulders and cornflower eyes.  Or a blond, perhaps; tanned and powerful but with a sweet, sweet smile.  African-American, with long lashes framing shy eyes in a brown face?

I am definitely going to internet chatroom hell, Victor thought, and wondered what color that card was.

mercyslovechild: ths is relevnt to my intrests as well

lukewarm_mess: (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

iamworthy: Please say morris

lukewarm_mess: haha, only the one time

lukewarm_mess: yes we were drunk, no there is no surviving evidence

iamworthy: Well obvs, if you’re not completely pissed you’re doing morris dancing wrong

lukewarm_mess: i stole p’s phone and made sure of it

SockPuppet: Are you okay with this, mess?  Say the word and I’ll hand out more warnings.

lukewarm_mess: its fine i’m fine

lukewarm_mess: ballet since i was three

mercyslovechild: BALLERINA MESS <3 <3 <3

lukewarm_mess: ballroom, jazz, latin, freestyle, swing

iamworthy: It’s danseur for boys

KingElsa: WOW!  AMAZING! *swoon*

iamworthy: *is super impressed*

lukewarm_mess: some other stuff too

lukewarm_mess: dance is one of my majors so

Small_Monster: do u dance professionally

Small_Monster: ?

SockPuppet: Careful.

lukewarm_mess: no, and i really don’t intend to

lukewarm_mess: my dancing is just for me

Small_Monster: so whats your other major then

lukewarm_mess: moving makes me happy

* Small_Monster Quit (Quit: Kicked by SockPuppet)

lukewarm_mess: anyway that’s why i’m so off balance now

lukewarm_mess: i can’t do what i normally do to clear my head

SockPuppet: *points two fingers at her eyes and one finger at y’all*

SockPuppet: *except mess because mess never does anything wrong*

mercyslovechild: mods pet

mercyslovechild: jk ilu

KingElsa: Is there anything I can do to help, Mess?

KingElsa: I mean, you’re home alone, right?  Your roommate is at work?

lukewarm_mess: not really but thx

lukewarm_mess: yeah but it’s not like

lukewarm_mess: i’m not a danger or anything ┐(‘ ～ ` )┌

lukewarm_mess: just crabby and bored

KingElsa: I just wish you didn’t have to be alone ; ;

lukewarm_mess: …

lukewarm_mess: …

lukewarm_mess: watch jem with me?

lukewarm_mess: i mean, if you’re not busy or anything

KingElsa: !!  Mess is a genius! 

KingElsa: Wait, how would that work?

iamworthy: Probably go set up your own temporary channel, lock it with a password if you don’t want trolls bots or randos, and coordinate netflix so you start at the same time

mercyslovechild: can i join

mercyslovechild: or is it like a date thing

KingElsa: Of course!  The more the merrier o~

lukewarm_mess: if you behave

lukewarm_mess: no crackpot conspiracy theories interrupting my musical adventuromance

mercyslovechild: how about I keep it to the credits

lukewarm_mess: …fine

KingElsa: Great!  I’ll go set things up.  And make some popcorn!  Meet back in 15?

mercyslovechild: k

lukewarm_mess: sounds good

lukewarm_mess: king?

KingElsa: Mess?

lukewarm_mess: thanks

KingElsa: Any time, Mess.  <3

Chapter Text

Celestino insisted on carrying the majority of Yuuri and Phichit’s luggage up the stairs to their apartment.  “You’ve earned it, boys,” he told them.  “I’m so proud of you both.”

Yuuri frowned.  He didn’t want to directly contradict his coach, and it was always awkward feeling bad about his own performance when Phichit hadn’t even made it past the short program, but fifteenth place was not what he’d worked so hard for all season.

Celestino was having none of it.  “Did you skate your best?” he demanded.  Yuuri muttered a grudging affirmative.

“What was that, Yuuri?  I didn’t quite catch what you said.”  Yuuri had hoped that Phichit would be fully engrossed with his hamsters by now, having made a beeline for their habitat the instant the door was unlocked.  Apparently the universe wasn’t about to let him get that lucky.

He sighed heavily.  “Yeah.  I skated my best.”  Maybe if he played along, they’d drop the subject.  There was nothing else to do if they were determined to gang up on him, anyway.

“And did you improve on last year’s performance?”

“Yes.”  Last year it had been Yuuri who had missed being in the top twenty-five.  Phichit hadn’t even qualified for Worlds in 2012, ending his own season after a disappointing 4CC.

Celestino beamed as though that made it all better.  “And that is why I am proud of you, and why you should be proud of yourself.  Keep training as hard as you have been, and next season you’ll be in the top ten for sure.”

“And in the meantime,” Phichit added, “It’s time to start the post-season off right with the ritual Eating of the Carbs.  I’m thinking Pizza Papalis?”

Yuuri shot him a halfhearted glare.  “Your Nationals are still coming up,” he pointed out, but there was little actual heat in his voice.  It wasn’t Phichit’s fault that his ‘freshman fifteen’ had been the opposite of most students’, resulting in a good third of his class plying their ‘precious hamster son’ with varying foodstuffs to ‘keep his strength up’.

“I’ll be good after tonight!”

“You could at least blush when you lie through your teeth like that.”  Yuuri rolled his eyes.  “Fine.  Spinach and mushroom, extra garlic, you’re paying, and you’re handling all of the human interaction.”

Celestino laughed.  “I am not hearing any of this.  Celebrate well, boys.  Ciao ciao!”  He let himself out amid Phichit’s whoop of joy and subsequent call to the pizza place.

Yuuri curled up on the couch and opened his laptop.  For once he wasn’t jetlagged after a competition, this year’s championship having been held a bare two hours’ drive away, in Ontario.  He was still tired – a week’s worth of too little sleep while dealing with far too many strangers was stressful enough even without the pressure of competition – but he wasn’t sleepy.  It was an odd, but not unwelcome, feeling.

*Bad channel key for #therapycouchfort

He blinked.  He’d opened the chat client on autopilot, not really intending to socialize even to the extent of text on a screen, but this was an error message he’d never seen before.

/msg SockPuppet what’s a channel key and why is it bad?

*SockPuppet: no such nick/channel

/msg KingElsa hey do you know what’s going on with the chat

KingElsa>> Mess! <3 <3 <3

KingElsa>> They had to password-lock the channel.  I guess there was an invasion of trolls?

KingElsa>> Password is “nuclearoption” with no quotes.

/join #therapycouchfort nuclearoption

* Joined channel #therapycouchfort

* Topic is ‘If you haven’t gotten the new channel password from one of the mods, msg us asap.  Lockdown goes into effect Thursday night.  Thanks for your patience in the meantime.’

* Set by StevenMultiverse on Mar 12 12:04:17 2013

lukewarm_mess: i can’t leave you guys for five minutes, can i

lukewarm_mess: thanks for the pw king

KingElsa: ♡ ＼ ( ￣▽￣ ) ／ ♡

mercyslovechild: nope u go away and evrything goes to shit

suicideflirtsback: wait does that mean mess is the reason we can’t have nice things?

mercyslovechild: pls dont abandon us again

StandardDeviation: you wish flirt

StandardDeviation: wb mess how was the business conf

lukewarm_mess: very business much industry so productivity wow

suicideflirtsback: have you leveled up your synergy or whatever?

lukewarm_mess: my boss seems to think so but..

KingElsa: Your boss is obviously full of wisdom and good judgment and you should listen to them.

lukewarm_mess: my boss let Peaches eat himself sick on maple candy that we can totally get at home but apparently it’s different because it’s travel candy, whatever that means

mercyslovechild: i thouht peaches was a babby

mercyslovechild: babbies get to travel for work?

lukewarm_mess: he’s an intern so i guess?  idk

“I’m a what?” Phichit shrieked from directly behind Yuuri, who winced at the sound.

“Quit reading over my shoulder; that’s why I made you get your own account.  Oh, there’s a password to get in now.  Nuclear option, one word, all lower case.”

“Thailand’s Prince, the Jewel of Bangkok, an intern?  Yuuri, how could you?”  He flopped dramatically over the back of the couch.

“Shut up, I panicked.”

lukewarm_mess: anyway why the lockdown?

lukewarm_mess: king you said something about trolls?

*Peaches_and_Dream has joined #therapycouchfort

KingElsa: I wasn’t here either, actually, but that’s what I heard.  Hi Mess’ roommate.

suicideflirtsback: we were invaded by scientologists

Peaches_and_Dream: Hello mess’ self-friendzoning internet boyfriend

mercyslovechild: woa sickburn.gif

StandardDeviation: or at least people claiming to be scientologists

lukewarm_mess: PEACH

KingElsa: GASP

StandardDeviation: like two dozen of them flooding the channel at once

Peaches_and_Dream: I notice you’re not denying it ☆⌒ ヽ (*' ､ ^*)chu

“Shut it, Intern Boy.”

StandardDeviation: all telling us to stop taking our brainwashing pills and read dianetics

suicideflirtsback: p sure they were on vpns because even with the mods ip banning them they just kept coming back

“Still waiting for a denial, Yuu-chan!  Other than the one you’re in, I mean.”

Peaches_and_Dream: Sounds more like bored channers to me

mercyslovechild: whatevs it was annoying

suicideflirtsback: you mean EPIC

suicideflirtsback: socks just about developed superpowers out of sheer rage

StandardDeviation: after two days the mods decided to make the channel private, and we’ve been lockedin our fallout shelter eating k-rations ever since

KingElsa: Wow, it seems it was an exciting week!

StevenMultiverse: It’s not a perfect solution because it means new people who might actually want to join the chat can’t, but there’s not much else we can do at the moment.

mercyslovechild: where where you king?

StevenMultiverse: In a month or two we’ll try and reopen the channel.  Hopefully they’ll have gone away by then.

lukewarm_mess: works for me, glad you found a solution

KingElsa: I went to a family reunion.

suicideflirtsback: good times?

KingElsa: I suppose.  It was… typical.

lukewarm_mess: how so

KingElsa: I don’t know.  The same faces, the same stories, never any surprises.  Lousy food at the big dinner party.

mercyslovechild: potluck  >:P

KingElsa: Catered.  But still not good.

suicideflirtsback: did you have to be nice to Racist Uncle Tony?

KingElsa: (° ロ °) !  How did you know?!  I mean, he was neither a Tony nor my uncle, but….

suicideflirtsback: EVERYONE has a Racist Uncle Tony

*Deltatangofoxtrot has joined #therapycouchfort

KingElsa: “I’m just concerned about the way your *lifestyle*” – he actually made air quotes with his fingers! – “reflects on us…”

Peaches_and_Dream: Ugh, sorry King.

lukewarm_mess: (( ╬ ◣ ﹏ ◢ ))

mercyslovechild: homophobic uncle tony ><

suicideflirtsback: always the highlight of fam functions

suicideflirtsback: hey fox

StevenMultiverse: hi fox

Peaches_and_Dream: Hi Tango

KingElsa: Hello, DTF.

StandardDeviation: Did you just

StandardDeviation: *facepalms*

Deltatangofoxtrot: RDY ANYTIME BAE ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

mercyslovechild: passes out protection

Peaches_and_Dream: Why sir, I hardly know you! *flutters fan*

KingElsa: …

suicideflirtsback: *is ace*

StevenMultiverse: *is married*

KingElsa: …………

lukewarm_mess: at least take me out to dinner first

KingElsa: !

KingElsa: Et tu, Mess???

lukewarm_mess: you’ve been here how long and you still walked into that??

lukewarm_mess: sorry no sympathy, you deserved it

KingElsa: 。゜゜(´Ｏ`) ゜゜。

KingElsa: I’m ESL?

lukewarm_mess: no excuse, so am i

lukewarm_mess: it has to be somewhere nice, too.  i don’t put out for qdoba

StandardDeviation: Besides, that’s not english, it’s internet 

StandardDeviation: *is helping*

KingElsa: Don’t help.  >.>

Headlights flashed through the window as a car pulled into the parking lot.  Yuuri glanced outside and saw the glowing pizza sign on the roof.  His shoulders hunched involuntarily.

“Go hide,” Phichit told him.  “I’ll bribe them to go away, that usually works.”

Yuuri smiled sheepishly before heading for their shared bedroom.  “Sorry,” he called through the closing door.  “It’s just—”

“—No more strangers for a while.  I know.  I’ll say our goodbyes in chat, too.  It’s BFF bonding time.”

Chapter Text

The boy on the ice was new to the Grand Prix series, and it was clear that he wouldn’t be advancing to the final.  His triples were shaky and he wasn’t even attempting a quad.  Not that quads were required, Victor reminded himself.  Just last year he’d taken them out of his programs at Euros on a dare and had still won by a comfortable margin, purely on the strength of a clean skate and high PCS marks.  Yakov had been apoplectic, of course, and had forbidden him from pulling such a stunt at Worlds, but it had honestly been the most fun Victor had had at a competition in years.

The boy – Chulanont, from Thailand – was fun to watch, though.  He danced his program with a cheerfulness that was infectious, and he had the audience clapping along to the music within moments.  A popped triple axel and a two-footed landing on a triple-double combination didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest, though Victor knew he had to be disappointed.  But Chulanont’s spins were solid, and his steps…

Who does that step sequence remind me of, he wondered.  A flash of blue and silver teased at Victor’s memory, crowned with a mop of dark hair.  Oh yes, that Japanese skater.  Yuuki something?  Yoshi?  I wonder if Chulanont is his fan.  It bothered him, a little, not to be able to remember the man’s name.  Victor had it written down somewhere in one of his notebooks – he still researched all of the skaters that he shared ice with, Yakov having drilled respect for his competitors into him at an early age – but he didn’t used to need the physical notes the way he did now.  When had the names and faces all started to blur?  I really must be getting old, Victor thought gloomily.

Chulanont ended on a slide, his arms outstretched.  He was beaming as he took his bows, but his eyes gleamed in a way that almost made Victor smile.  He’s determined.  Good.  He’ll take this experience and grow from it.

Victor zoned out during the scoring, already knowing how he’d be judged.  Chulanont had been the last to skate the short program, and he wasn’t close to challenging Georgi’s first place standing.  Georgi’s own skate had been the cleanest Victor had ever seen that program, and if he was able to carry that energy over into the free skate they’d be in the Final together for sure, Victor already having secured his own place with a pair of easy golds in Skate Canada and NHK.

Yakov found Victor still sitting in the stands as the crowd was thinning.  “You’re joining us for dinner?” the old coach rumbled.  It was barely a question.  Victor shook his head, and Yakov frowned.

“Tonight is Gosha’s, and if I go I’ll just draw attention away from him.”  He sighed with just the right amount of rueful, “what can you do?” disappointment in it.  “I’ll hide in my room and let him enjoy his well-earned spotlight.  Think of me when I’m scrounging scraps from vending machines?”

“Running up the room service bill outrageously, you mean.”  But Yakov’s face had softened into something like fondness.  “It’s true that the fans and the press tend to focus on you whether you skate or not,” he said finally, and Victor knew that he’d won.

 It wasn’t that Victor didn’t want to give Georgi the opportunity to shine on his own – of course he did, Gosha had more than earned it – but the real truth was far more selfish.  If he went to dinner and someone recognized him — and in Moscow, during Rostelecom, the chances of that happening were pretty damn high — they weren’t just going to ignore Georgi.  They would want, no, insist that he be Living Legend Victor Nikiforov for them, Russia’s Golden God, St. Petersburg’s Hope—

—Victor the Oft Photoshopped, He Whose Shit Is Not Allowed to Stink, Whose Hair Is Discussed More Than His Skating, Subject of Seven Hundred RPF Smut Fics and Supposedly Beloved by All but Actually Having Only a Single (Admittedly Really Great) Dog to Love—

—and he just didn’t want to be that mask.  Not tonight.  Not when he didn’t have to be.  Victor the dancing monkey thinks that Victor the Living Legend is an asshole, and just for tonight the dancing monkey is on strike.

Yakov was probably right about the room service bill.

* Joined channel #therapycouchfort

* Topic is ‘Tomb Raider: Best portrayal of PTSD in a video game ever, or ONLY portrayal of PTSD in a video game ever?  Discuss.’

* Set by StevenMultiverse on Nov 21 19:11:58 2013

suicideflirtsback: holy shit mercy are you okay

iamworthy: *hugs*

mercyslovechild: im ok

mercyslovechild: i guess

KingElsa: What happened?

mercyslovechild: its just

lukewarm_mess: mercy’s parents got CPS called on them

KingElsa: ?

mercyslovechild: i tried to tell them once bfore and they blew me off

iamworthy: Child Protective Services, King.

mercyslovechild: they asked if i cut an it was like they stoppd listenning after i said no

/msg lukewarm_mess I don’t understand.

/msg lukewarm_mess Did Mercy’s parents hurt her?

mercyslovechild: now there all sad and ilu and what can we do to help

*lukewarm_mess>> no but she hurts herself and a teacher noticed she was hiding bruises

mercyslovechild: i hate it

iamworthy: At least you’re into therapy now though, right?

/msg lukewarm_mess !!!

mercyslovechild: like, u cant be bothered to give a rats ass until someone else thinks your a bad parent

mercyslovechild: yea but

mercyslovechild: they keep asking if im bullied at school or have bad relationshisp and i dont

mercyslovechild: theres no reason for me to feel this way

mercyslovechild: im just fuckn broken

KingElsa: Mercy.  You are not broken.

suicideflirtsback: ^^^^^^^^

iamworthy: *hugs mercy tight* What King said.

mercyslovechild: yes i am

KingElsa: Am I broken?  Is Iam?  Is Mess?  Is Socks?

mercyslovechild: no

lukewarm_mess: so what if you are?

mercyslovechild: but

suicideflirtsback: holy shit mess that’s cold

mercyslovechild: u all have real problems and real illnesses w like diagnoces n stuff that u need help for

lukewarm_mess: broken DOESN’T mean garbage

KingElsa: I don’t.

mercyslovechild: im just some stupid kid crying over nothing

lukewarm_mess: https://www.google.com/search?q=kintsugi&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjz6PXqzJvWAhVj3IMKHbLMBhsQ_AUICigB&biw=1094&bih=626

lukewarm_mess: we fix broken things

lukewarm_mess: we glue them together with gold so everyone can see the scars

KingElsa: I don’t have a diagnosis.

lukewarm_mess: they’re stronger and more beautiful after

lukewarm_mess: more valuable

lukewarm_mess: and more worthy of love

iamworthy: King?

KingElsa: I’ve… never seen anyone.

KingElsa: You’re the only people I’ve ever talked to about this kind of thing.

*lukewarm_mess>> !

mercyslovechild: why

KingElsa: I don’t know, lots of reasons?

*lukewarm_mess>> you havent talked to anyone irl??

KingElsa: But they all kind of boil down to I’m scared.

 /msg lukewarm_mess I can’t… I’m under a ton of scrutiny at work…

/msg lukewarm_mess Lots of people hoping for the guy on the top to fall.  If I show weakness…

KingElsa: So if you’re broken what does that make me?  You’re at least trying to reach out for help.

mercyslovechild: …

*lukewarm_mess>> family?  someone else you’re close to?

/msg lukewarm_mess Why Mess, trying to find out if I’m single?

*lukewarm_mess>> not funny

mercyslovechild: i

mercyslovechild: i think i like that pottery thing mess

mercyslovechild: i think i like it alot

/msg lukewarm_mess I am not on speaking terms with my family.

lukewarm_mess: i’m glad, mercy <3

/msg lukewarm_mess For the rest…. I’m kind of married to my work.

lukewarm_mess: we broken people have to stick together

*lukewarm_mess>> +1 313-XXX-XXXX

/msg lukewarm_mess ?!?

*lukewarm_mess>> okay i HATE talking on the phone

*lukewarm_mess>> it’s one of my anxiety triggers

*lukewarm_mess>> but

*lukewarm_mess>> you could text me sometime?  if you want to?

*lukewarm_mess>> and maybe if it’s an emergency you could call

*lukewarm_mess>> if there’s really nobody else

/msg lukewarm_mess I

/msg lukewarm_mess Wow

/msg lukewarm_mess You trust me that much?

* lukewarm_mess>> i just want to know you have someone to reach out to

/msg lukewarm_mess ( •̩̩̩́ ᴗ •̩̩̩̀ )

/msg lukewarm_mess Thank you.  I don’t know what else to say.

*lukewarm_mess>> say you’ll use it if you need to

/msg lukewarm_mess I will.  I promise.

mercyslovechild: yea i guess we do ^^

Chapter Text

“He’s not really my friend, you know,” Yuuri informed the Uber driver.  He had no idea how long they had been on the road, or how much longer they’d be on the road, and the silence had finally gotten to him.  “This is actually a kidnapping.  Did you not notice the blindfold?”  It was actually a sleep mask, but the effect was the same.  Yuuri couldn’t see a thing.

“Lies!” Phichit gasped, swatting Yuuri on the shoulder.  “I am your best friend.  Best possible friend.  There are no better friends than me in the entire world and you know it.”

“Did you see that?” he demanded.  “Now he’s using physical violence to subdue me.”

There was a dry laugh from the front seat.  “Yeah, dude.  I can tell you’re terrified.”

“I’m resigned to my fate,” Yuuri corrected primly.  “You notice he’s not even denying the kidnapping part.”

“I’m kidnapping you out of love, Yuuri.  It’s a love abduction.” 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what serial killers say right before they—”  The car turned abruptly, and Yuuri fumbled for the oh-shit handle to keep himself upright.  Pavement gave way to gravel, and a moment later he felt the engine quiet as they slowed to a stop.

“We’re here!”

Having been forbidden to remove the blindfold until Phichit gave him permission to do so, Yuuri unbuckled his seat belt and opened the car door, but stayed where he was.  “I forgive you for not saving me,” he told the driver as Phichit paid for their ride.  “Please don’t blame yourself for my impending demise.”  Then there were hands on his, pulling him to his feet.

“Good luck with your… whatever,” the voice laughed, and the car started to pull away.

“My unquiet spirit totally won’t haunt you for eternity or anything, so don’t worry about it!” Yuuri shouted after the retreating vehicle.  Gripping Phichit’s hand tightly, he allowed himself to be led off the gravel and onto grass.  The sun was warm on his face, and the air was heady with spring flowers.

“You’re in a better mood today,” Phichit observed as they walked.

Yuuri shrugged.  “I guess,” he said.  “I mean, I’m still incredibly homesick, Victor Nikiforov still doesn’t know that I exist, I’m still going to have to take at least an extra semester of classes thanks to Professor Just-Because-You’re-An-Olympian-Doesn’t-Mean-You’re-Exempt-From-My-Attendance-Policy-You-Entitled-Millennial Goddamn Flint, and King probably still hates me.  But I had the spoons for basic hygiene this morning, so go me?”

The floral scent was getting stronger now.  Much stronger.  “You bantered with Uber Mike.  Having non-essential spoons to spend is good, right?”  Yuuri made a noncommittal noise, and Phichit sighed.  “Look, you were eighth at Worlds this year and tenth in the Olympics so the Victor thing is in progress, you’re going to camp out in front of the dean’s office until she agrees to review Flint’s bullshit decision, which she will since she isn’t an ageist old goat, and King absolutely does not hate you.  In fact, he’s been PMing me so much that I can’t keep up with his messages, and coming from me you know that’s saying something.  He’s worried, and more than a little afraid that you hate him.”

Yuuri opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped by a finger on his lips.  “Later,” Phichit’s tone brooked no argument.  “First things first.”  Without further warning, the sleep mask was yanked from his face, and Yuuri found himself blinking against sudden brightness.

The world was a green and purple blur.  One of the blankets from their apartment was spread out on the grass, and on top of it sat a red and white plastic cooler.  Phichit handed him his glasses, and as he slid them into place, the fuzzy shapes around them resolved into an intimate little grove of lilac bushes.  The plants were in full bloom, branches nearly bowing under the weight of the flowers.  Yuuri gasped.  “Phichit.”  His voice was an awed murmur.  “Is this...” he trailed off.

“It’s Michigan hanami!”  Phichit was beaming at Yuuri, delighted by his reaction.  “I couldn’t find any cherry blossoms, except for some little ornamental trees in people’s yards, but lilacs are basically everywhere.  Mackinac Island even has a lilac festival, but the hotels have been booked up for months and they’re really expensive and anyway, I didn’t think I could get you to put up with the blindfold for that long.”

“No, this is perfect.”   And it was.  If sakura blossoms were Japan – subtly sweet and graceful, with beauty in their very uniformity – then surely the bold lilac, with its powerful fragrance and infinite variations in size and color, had to be America. 

And best of all, they were completely alone.  Even in a small town like Hasetsu, hanami would have them fighting for space, everyone’s blankets nearly overlapping in the struggle to fit everyone in for the sakura viewing.  It was fun, but loud and stressful as well.  Here, there was nothing to distract from the flowers, just the rustling of trees in the breeze interrupted by occasional birdsong.

No sooner had they slipped their shoes off and made themselves comfortable on the blanket than Phichit had the cooler open, pulling out treat after treat.  Mochi, onigiri, milk pudding, dango; each colored a delicate purple instead of the traditional cherry blossom pink.  “So this is what you’ve been doing with Ketty all week after practice.”  Yuuri admired a butter cookie and its decoration of sugared lilac blooms before taking a bite.  “It’s good,” he grinned.  “Different, but really good!”

“It was her idea to adapt the traditional recipes,” Phichit admitted.  “But we had to make sure I wasn’t going to poison us first.  Gods bless the internet.”

“I’ll drink to that.” The violet stuff in the clear plastic carafe turned out to be lemonade.  The lilac flavor worked oddly well against the sour citrus.

They made quick work of the festival sweets, and Phichit produced his Dominion cards with a flourish.  Yuuri pulled up his favorite “quiet time” playlist on his phone, and they listened to soft music as they played.  The two roommates were evenly matched and knew each other’s preferred strategies intimately, but managed to keep themselves from getting too competitive.  By the time the sun had turned golden and was starting to hang lower in the sky, Yuuri found himself lying on his back with his head in his friend’s lap, idly watching the clouds.

“Feeling better?”  Phichit was running his fingers through Yuuri’s hair.

He considered the question.  “Yeah,” he sighed finally.  “I think this is exactly what I needed.  Thanks, Phich.”

“Pay me back by helping me drill my triple axel.” 

“I’d do that anyway.”  Yuuri was warm and comfortable.  He was pleasantly full of wonderful food, he’d won their little Dominion tournament by a single match – and now didn’t have to do the dishes for three weeks – and Phichit’s fingernails on his scalp were halfway to lulling him to sleep.  There was only one thing keeping the day from being utterly perfect.

“Do you mind if I text King?”  Then he winced.  Way to go, Katsuki.  Phichit plans an entire afternoon to cheer you up, and all you can think about is someone else.

But Phichit only nodded.  “I was hoping you would,” he said.  “Guilt/avoidance spirals aren’t a good look on anyone.”

*            *            *

Three days ago.

Deltatangofoxtrot: then she dragged us out to applebee’s

StandardDeviation: Ew.

Deltatangofoxtrot: ikr?  we’re in nola where like three different cuisines were fuckin invented and she wants to eat some crappy chain food we can get back home

KingElsa: That’s a crime against travel.  What’s the point in going places if you’re not going to sample the local specialties?

Deltatangofoxtrot: i mean i still proposed

lukewarm_mess: wait, what

Deltatangofoxtrot: we were already there and all

Deltatangofoxtrot: i figure i have our entire lives to teach her the right way to food and also tourist

KingElsa: !!!

StandardDeviation: Woah, grats man

lukewarm_mess: congratulations!

KingElsa:   ♡ ＼ ( ￣ ▽ ￣ ) ／ ♡

Deltatangofoxtrot: ty ty XD

KingElsa:  ( ﾉ ´ ヮ `) ﾉ *: ･ﾟ

KingElsa: °˖ ✧◝ (^ ♡ ^) ◜✧ ˖°

lukewarm_mess: have you set a date yet?

Deltatangofoxtrot: nothing firm but we’re hoping for autumn

Deltatangofoxtrot: we met on halloween

StandardDeviation: You want to get on that right away then

lukewarm_mess: yeah definitely, reserve your venue at the very least

Deltatangofoxtrot: …

lukewarm_mess: my family is in the hospitality business and even in a small town we have scheduling conflicts

lukewarm_mess: because people wait til the last minute

Deltatangofoxtrot: is it too late to elope

lukewarm_mess: waiting drives the price of food and stuff up too because they have to make the suppliers scramble

StandardDeviation: It’s never too late to elope but

KingElsa: GASP

StandardDeviation: That has to be what you both want

KingElsa: NO ELOPING!!!

StandardDeviation: My wedding was just a courthouse thing with four people there

StandardDeviation: Then we went out to lunch at a nice cafe

StandardDeviation: It was what we wanted and it was the best day of my life

KingElsa: There should be dancing and cake and laughter

KingElsa And champagne!  And wonderful food

StandardDeviation: But not everyone is okay with that

KingElsa: And everyone should be there to celebrate.  EVERYONE!

StandardDeviation: *cough* Exhibit A *cough*

Deltatangofoxtrot: i don’t mind having a big thing, i just have no idea how to plan one

KingElsa: And my groom had better ransom me properly!

lukewarm_mess: whose wedding is this anyway  ( ￢ _ ￢ )

StandardDeviation: Nobody does fox, if the gods wanted us to know how to plan weddings they wouldn’t have given us the internet

Deltatangofoxtrot: i spent like two minutes googling and then had to eat a whole pint of cherry garcia

KingElsa: !  Is that a proposal, Mess???

StandardDeviation: My cousin just had a big event-style wedding, do you want me to ask her for links

Deltatangofoxtrot: omg i will be your best friend

Deltatangofoxtrot: i will fight ninjas for you

Deltatangofoxtrot: and nazis

Deltatangofoxtrot: and spiders

lukewarm_mess: not if you’re going to be all groomzilla at me, king

Deltatangofoxtrot: i will name my firstborn after you

StandardDeviation: Stan?  >.>

lukewarm_mess: what if I want something small

Deltatangofoxtrot: or devi if its a girl

StandardDeviation: Devi is pretty.  Okay, I approve

lukewarm_mess: family only, maybe on the beach

KingElsa: A hundred people?

StandardDeviation: I’ll PM you when she gets back to me

lukewarm_mess: twenty.  MAYBE.

Deltatangofoxtrot: srsly you are my hero

KingElsa: …Per side?

lukewarm_mess: in total

KingElsa: ( ｡ •́ ︿ •̀ ｡ )

KingElsa: You’re breaking my heart.

Deltatangofoxtrot: STICK TO YOUR GUNS MESS

KingElsa: Stay out of this, you… you elopement advocate!  My tender soul lies in pieces at Mess’ feet.  I can’t go on.

StandardDeviation: Oh lord

KingElsa: Bury me in silk and seed pearls!

KingElsa: Scatter rose petals and string quartets on my grave!

StandardDeviation: *facepalms at the sheer extra*

lukewarm_mess: we can have our dogs be ring bearers though

KingElsa: G A S P

KingElsa: *clasps hands together*

KingElsa: You do love me! 

Deltatangofoxtrot: those two deserve eachother

lukewarm_mess: (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ω ⁄<⁄ ⁄)

StandardDeviation: *nod nod*

lukewarm_mess: anyway, back to the travel food thing…

lukewarm_mess: does anyone have any suggestions for good places to eat in chicago?

StandardDeviation: Summer trip?  Nice

lukewarm_mess: autumn trip, actually.  peach and i are making plans to drive out for a weekend

Deltatangofoxtrot: superdawg for hot dogs

Deltatangofoxtrot: giordanos or pequods for pizza

StandardDeviation: I’ve never been, sorry

KingElsa: I always make it a point to go to Alinea.

Deltatangofoxtrot: O.o

KingElsa: The chef there is a mad genius.

Deltatangofoxtrot: damn king how much do you think a poor college student can afford

lukewarm_mess: oh, is it pricey?

Deltatangofoxtrot: does the pope shit in the woods?

lukewarm_mess: ?????

StandardDeviation: He means yes, mess

lukewarm_mess: um.  ok?

Deltatangofoxtrot: like really yes

KingElsa: Maybe a bit.  It’s worth every penny, though.

lukewarm_mess: wait

lukewarm_mess: does that mean he does though?

KingElsa: I… also don’t understand that phrase.

lukewarm_mess: i mean why would he go outside when he lives in a palace or something

lukewarm_mess: doesn’t make any sense

StandardDeviation: It’s just a stupid saying, guys

StandardDeviation: A mixup of two other stupid sayings.  It was in a movie

KingElsa: English is weird.

lukewarm_mess: *nods* ESL SOLIDARITY

iamworthy: Excuse you, AMERICAN English is weird.  PROPER English is normal

iamworthy: *goes back to lurking*

KingElsa: *fistbumps Mess*

lukewarm_mess: AESL SOLIDARITY?

iamworthy: Also cheers, fox

Deltatangofoxtrot: ty ^^

KingElsa: Actually, I’ll be in Illinois myself in October.  I need to make reservations before they get booked up – thanks for reminding me!

Yuuri blinked at the chat window.  What were the chances that he’d be in the same state as King, at the same time?  Not that his Skate America schedule would leave much room for socializing, but… maybe?  If the timing worked out?  If they were close enough to drive?  If he and Phichit left a day or so early, or stayed a bit late?

He tapped out a private message before he could second-guess himself.

/msg KingElsa what dates, if you don’t mind me asking

*KingElsa>> 20-27 Oct.  Why?

He sucked in a breath.  The competition was scheduled for the weekend of the twenty-fifth.  Their visits would absolutely overlap.  And if KingElsa was talking about making reservations at a Chicago restaurant, he must surely be staying in the general area of the city, right?

/msg KingElsa that’s when we’re planning on being there

Do you want to meet up somewhere, Yuuri didn’t type.  Wow what a crazy coincidence, was keyed and deleted.  Do you like me, because I think I might like you and Phichit even agrees because he stopped giving me a hard time about you and he only stops teasing when he doesn’t want to scare me off of something… yeah, no.  All the no.  Nope, even.  Hell nope.

Yuuri realized that he had been staring into space for over a minute.  It was too long a pause.  Whatever he said was going to be weird and awkward now.  Just like Yuuri was weird and awkward.  The little blinking cursor was mocking him.  King hadn’t replied yet, either.  He must be waiting for Yuuri to finish his thought.  Which was a problem because Yuuri was waiting for Yuuri to finish his thought.  His ears were burning, his breaths starting to come shallow and quick.  Say something! he commanded himself in desperation.  Anything!

Yuuri closed his eyes, held his breath, and keyboard mashed.

/msg KingElsa do you think you want ot meet for coffe emaybe

And he waited.

KingElsa didn’t reply.

Of course he doesn’t want to see you in real life, the cruel little voice of his anxiety whispered.  He’s rich and successful, the top of his field he said.  The restaurants he goes to have actual chefs and menus with no prices listed.  He even manages his depression without help.  And who are you?  You’re just a mediocre skater with three prescriptions and a therapist, whose college professor is flunking you for missing too much class.  You’re too jittery, too awkward, too shy, too boring, too everything.  Too Yuuri.

His hands were shaking as he typed, his vision starting to blur around the edges as he hit the enter key, but he wasn’t so far into his head yet that he didn’t notice the two new lines displayed on the screen.

*KingElsa>> I’m sorry but I really don’t think I’ll be able to

*lukewarm_mess>> KingElsa:  you know hwat never mind so rry it was a dumb idea im sorry i’pp just go now

Well.  There was really nothing more to be said, was there?

Yuuri slammed the laptop lid closed just as the panic crashed over him like a wave.

*            *            *

“Don’t look,” Yuuri cautioned Phichit before taking a deep breath and opening his SMS app.  There were a lot of messages from KingElsa.  He’d known that King was texting him; it was why he had shut off his notifications.

“Of course not,” Phichit huffed in mock offense.  He had already stuffed his earbuds into his ears and pulled up something to watch on YouTube, but he continued his slow petting of Yuuri’s hair.  He really was the best friend ever.

Yuuri deliberately didn’t read the flood of texts that he’d received over the last few days.  At best they’d be super nice and he’d feel even worse about ignoring them.  At worst…

Even Yuuri’s broken brain had a hard time believing that KingElsa needed seventy six individual text messages just to tell him to go fuck himself.

But what to write?  Sorry I’m a human trash fire but you knew that when you met me, unless you didn’t actually believe me at the time, in which case: surprise!?  No.  That sounded like he was fishing for reassurance, and Yuuri wanted things with King to go back to what they had been before, not force the man to be kind to him out of obligation.  It was best to just keep things short and honest.

hi

I know it’s super late in Europe so you’re probably asleep

but I wanted to say I’m sorry for freaking out at you

It was odd how tapping out three little sentences could make him feel so much better.  Yuuri had built the situation up in his head until it was a towering monster of guilt and fear and then he hid from it, even though he knew from long experience that running away could only feed that particular type of beast and make it stronger.  It wasn’t slain yet – wouldn’t be until after King saw his messages and they were able to talk, probably tomorrow – but just facing it was the hard part.

“It’s getting late,” he told Phichit, raising his voice slightly to be heard over whatever his friend was watching.  “We should probably call Uber Mike to come get us, maybe get some dinner?”

“Dinner with Uber Mike?” Phichit was back to teasing him, and all was right with the world.  “I didn’t realize you two had hit it off so well!”

“Funny.  You know what I—”  A new word bubble appeared on the screen.

Mess!!

<3 <3 <3

I missed you!

Phichit rolled his eyes fondly at Yuuri’s expression and went back to his video.

I’m so sorry

I missed you too

You don’t need to apologize.

I just got really nervous

about asking you to meet irl

it’s totally okay if you don’t want to

I did!

I mean, I do.

It’s just… complicated?

I understand complicated

My time is pretty booked while I’m in the US

Even when I’m free I’m already going out with a bunch of people

and I know you don’t do crowds.

well I feel dumb

If/when we do meet I want you to feel comfortable!

Don’t feel dumb.

I just can’t help thinking that there’s no way someone like you could be interested

in someone like me

You are many things, but you have never been dumb!

many things like…

a mess?

The lukewarmest of messes! <3

I had to look that word up when we met, you know.

Your English is better than mine.

And I never went to university at all, much less had a double major!

So you’re super smart and hardworking.

And you can dance better than me.

you’ve never seen me dance

Whose fault is that, I wonder. 

it’s embarrassing

I don’t want you to think badly of me

Solnyshko.  That is NEVER going to happen.

I know. I do

I just

wait what does that word mean

It means sunshine.  Because that’s what you are.

if you say so

I do say so!

But…

but?

Ah, and there it was.  The ‘but’.  The pet name was so sweet – and Yuuri had never been given a nickname before – but King was just using it to cushion a blow.  He had always been so kind and thoughtful that way.

The dreaded ellipsis kept appearing and disappearing below Yuuri’s last comment.  King must be struggling for words.

To tell the honest truth, I’m also kind of scared to meet face-to-face.

Yuuri let out the breath he’d been holding.  Was that all? 

that makes total sense

I could be an axe murderer

No!  I trust you.

I trust you and I do want to meet you one day.

And see you dance!

I just…

More ellipses.  A longer pause.

I don’t want things to change between us.

And I’m terrified that they will.

Even if you don’t see me any differently other people will want a piece of you

And I’m selfish, Mess

I want to keep you to myself for as long as I can

Yuuri blinked.  Who was this man?

Are you an idol?

A movie star?

Haha no, nothing like that

But I do model, among other things

It’s a rather public lifestyle

I understand

Of course he did.  Even a dime-a-dozen skater had to deal with publicity when competing on the international stage.  Public interviews and sponsorships were all part of the package.  Yuuri had even featured in a few magazine ads of his own, including one very embarrassing Calvin Klein ad in which he’d worn a pair of jeans so tight they might as well have been painted on.  Nothing else; just jeans and a smile.  The thought of what King – or anyone! – might think of him if that was their reference…

He shuddered in sympathy.

let’s make a deal then

you be king and I’ll be mess

no expectations

no judgment

just us

No dance videos??

no

well

:/

maybe someday

Nobody’s ever asked me to just be me before, you know

I’ll probably be awful at it

you seem to be doing just fine to me

^^

“Whoops, our ride’s here!”  Phichit was apologetic, but Yuuri smiled at him as he rolled off the blanket so that it could be folded and stowed in the now-empty cooler.

I have to go, uber is here.  ttyl?

Of course.  I'll be here!

Sparing a last fond glance at his phone, Yuuri blacked the screen with his thumb and slid the device into his pocket.  He and Phichit kept a companionable silence as they walked back through the empty park to go meet their driver – Uber Christina this time – and head home.

If Yuuri had remembered to turn his notifications back on, he would have seen King’s final two texts well before dinner, before Mario Kart, before toothpaste and pajamas and goodnight hugs.  It was just as well.  The sharp intake of breath, the hands covering his mouth, the tears prickling his eyes; these were private things, and not to be shared with strangers or even beloved friends.

You’re one of my reasons, you know.

Good night, solnyshko.

Chapter Text

“My love for you could move mountains and the hearts of ISU judges,” Phichit murmured.  His tone was saccharine, his accent thick and atrocious to the point of being borderline offensive.

“Ah, but I have loved you since the moment that I saw you, when I was but a child,” he replied passionately.  The ridiculous accent was gone, his tone higher and breathy, but the words were no less coated in syrup.  “I’m a man now.”

“I will prove my adoration by shouting it from the rooftops!”  He clasped his hands together over his heart.

“I’ll make you super-cute bentos every day with rice balls in the shape of figure skates and poodles!”  He pressed the back of one hand against his forehead and cast his eyes dramatically skyward.

“What are you doing, mon petit?”  That was all the warning Phichit was afforded before two hundred pounds of weaponized flirtation draped itself over his shoulders.

Phichit craned his head back to meet Christophe Giacometti’s amused, upside-down features.  “I’m spectating the pairs short program, in a spirit of solidarity and good sportsmanship?” he offered guilelessly.  Christophe quirked an eyebrow at him, and he grinned back.  “And I may also be shipping our respective besties for my own personal amusement.”

Christophe shifted his gaze down to where Phichit had been looking a moment ago.  “Ah,” he said after a moment.  The French representatives on the ice were skating a solid but unremarkable program to something from Carmen.  Yuuri Katsuki was ostensibly watching from a seat in the front row, but was far more engrossed in his phone than in synchronized double axels or footwork.  Half curled up in his chair, comfortable as only someone who was intimately familiar with stadium seating could manage, Yuuri’s posture was all college student with no classically trained dancer to be found.  And two rows directly behind the oblivious Yuuri, Victor Nikiforov sat like a king observing his kingdom.  Which, to be fair, he pretty much was.  His spine was straight, his head tilted just enough to display a thoughtful, television-ready smile.  And although his own phone was resting in his lap, out of sight to the casual observer or rogue audience-cam, his fingers were flying over the virtual keyboard.  “They do rather look as though they’re conversing, don’t they?”

They really did.  Yuuri would type, and a text balloon would appear on Victor’s screen shortly after.  A mischievous expression ghosted across the champion’s face, and suddenly Yuuri was cramming a fist in his mouth to stifle giggles.  It was endearing.  It was perfect.

It was a total coincidence, of course.

“Sadly for your no doubt extensive imaginary wedding plans, I know all too well the identity of Victor’s current amour.”

Phichit shrugged.  “And I know Yuuri’s.  That’s not going to stop me from having fun with a situation.  Besides, you can’t tell me those two wouldn’t look stunning in black and white.”

“Perhaps.”  Christophe’s tone turned teasing.  “But what of you, mon petit?  This is your second year of seniors, and we’ve barely spoken.  Are you as bashful as our darling pain au cannelle, or must I take offense?”

“I’m not shy.”  Anyone who so much as glanced at Phichit’s Insta feed would be well aware of that.  “But I was underage until recently, and my coach had me on a tight leash.  I hate to be the one who has to break this to you, but you, sir, have a bit of a reputation.”

A velvet chuckle tickled his ear.  “Nothing good, I hope?”

Now it was Phichit’s turn to laugh quietly.  “I’m sure that Miss Manners wouldn’t approve, but I hear you’re easy, fun, and honest.  You respect a hard ‘no’ and listen carefully for soft ones.  Your list of rumored partners is as long as a certain living legend’s, but backed by more evidence, and yet you don’t seem to have left a string of broken hearts in your wake.  In short, Monsieur Giacometti,” he softened his voice until it matched Christophe’s purr, “you seem like a gentleman who I would very much like to get to know.”

Christophe looked surprised and pleased.  “You should work in intelligence, mon petit.”

Without missing a beat, Phichit shot back, “And who’s to say that I don’t?”

Christophe was grinning in open delight now.  “Now we simply must get better acquainted,” he said.

“Yuuri and I haven’t decided on dinner yet.”  He hoped that Yuuri wouldn’t be too upset that Phichit was making plans without consulting him, but one additional person shouldn’t be too stressful after the short program skate.  And Yuuri did like Chris.

“Alas,” and Christophe really did seem disappointed, “I have reservations with Victor tonight.  I’d love to invite you along, but our seating is for two and I’m told that the waiting list is really rather extensive.”

“Plus we’d be scraping bits of Japan’s Ace off the ceiling after he spontaneously combusted.”  Phichit knew that Christophe had offered to introduce Yuuri to Victor in the past.  Such attempts had gone over... poorly.

“That, too.”  He shook his head.  “It really is a pity you can’t join us.  In Victor’s words, the chef de cuisine is a ‘mad genius’.  I’m quite looking forward to tasting his art.”

Phichit went still.  No.  Yes?  That phrasing.  The coincidence in timing.  The refusal of a certain chatroom dweller to let slip so much as a picture of his dog when talking – evasively – about his personal life.  The frequent travel, so much of it coinciding with skating events.  The so-interactive-seeming dual text messaging that was still going on not fifty feet below where he and Chris were standing.  “Oh?” he kept his tone playful, interested.  “What’s it called?  I’m always up for new experiences, and Chicago’s not too far for an off-season road trip.”

Chris pursed his lips, apparently detecting something different in Phichit’s manner, but not sure what to make of the change.  “Alinea, I believe.”

Holy fuck.

It wasn’t certain.  Hell, it wasn’t probable.  That this was a complicated series of misunderstandings and coincidences orchestrated by a universe that was deliberately, maliciously, out to break Thailand’s Sweetheart Phichit Chulanont’s brain made a whole lot more sense than… what?  Yuuri Katsuki somehow spending every waking non-skating moment unknowingly flirting with his own personal lord and savior, the god of ice skating himself, Victor Fucking Nikiforov?  Who he’d met in a random IRC channel for mental health support?  And wait, did that mean that Victor Nikiforov was suffering from depression?  How?  Since when?

On autopilot while his entire worldview was rebooting, Phichit thanked Christophe pleasantly for the information and wished him and Victor an enjoyable evening.  They swapped numbers, and he followed Chris' Instagram.  He floated the idea of getting together Monday morning for brunch.  He even engaged in a bit of good-natured trash talking for the upcoming men’s short program.  And all the while, the same two thoughts were circling endlessly in his head.

How can I tell him?

How can I not tell him?

If Phichit informed Yuuri that his best non-amazing-hamster-dad friend KingElsa was actually Victor Nikiforov – after doing an actual metric fuckton of sleuthing beforehand, because he’d be damned if he would even hint at such a thing without being at least a hundred and twenty percent sure – Yuuri would…

Assuming that Yuuri even believed him in the first place?  He’d run.  He’d swear Phichit to secrecy, delete his chat client, and vanish completely from the internet without another word or thought.  Which, Victor (!!!) aside, would be terrible for him.  The #TCF regulars had stopped being merely an anonymous support group for Yuuri years ago, and not only would it be impossible for him to replace them, he wouldn’t even try.  He’d be throwing away part of the backbone of his emotional stability.

Or would he?  Yuuri had come so far in the four years since he and Phichit had met.  He was so much stronger.  Maybe he’d be able to get past the shock when he realized that the pun-loving goofball that he livetweeted terrible American television with was so much more and less than the legend on his posters.  Maybe it could be the beginning of something magical.  Maybe—

“Hey, Yuu-chan!  Smiiiiile!” Holding his phone up as though taking a picture, Phichit watched Yuuri straighten in his seat and turn to face him.  He saw the instant when his best friend took note of the man just two rows behind him, turned instantly scarlet, and practically teleported himself under his seat in his effort to hide himself from Victor’s sight.

Maybe someday, but not today.  Oh, Yuuri.

“That was cruel, mon petit.”  Christophe was equal parts amused and chiding.

“Our love is strong and pure and he’ll forgive me with the application of enough chocolate,” Phichit chirped, unrepentant.

Because what I’m about to do is going to be so much crueler.

But I honestly can’t think of another way to be kind.

Chapter Text

“Hair of the dog, mon ange?”  Lounging on the bed nude, relaxed, and disgustingly unhungover, Christophe tipped an open bottle of Grey Goose toward Victor.  The store name on the price sticker was written in Cyrillic, and was quite familiar.

“You went through my luggage?”  Mock outrage would not have been possible before the painkillers, water, and hot shower.  It would probably have been more convincing after two or three cups of tea.  “I brought that for your birthday.”

Chris smiled sweetly, showing off his dimples.  “And today it is my birthday.  What a wonderful surprise; I’m touched by your thoughtfulness.”

Victor shook his head, unable to contain a fond chuckle at his friend’s antics.  “This is why I don’t wrap your gifts,” he said.  “It would be a pointless gesture.”

“If you did, the customs officials would only make you unwrap them again at the airport,” Chris pointed out. 

“True enough.  What time is it?”

Christophe checked his phone.  “We’ve more than enough time for breakfast before the men’s free.”

“Wonderful.” Hopefully a full stomach would chase away the remaining aftereffects of the prior evening.  Chris had insisted on dragging Victor out on an impromptu club crawl of every gay hotspot in Bern.  It was fun for as long as they were together, but the crowd on the dance floor invariably separated them, and whether he was recognized or not, Victor was never left unpartnered for long.  Dancing led to grinding, and then to drink offers that were far less awkward to accept than to turn down.  Next was more dancing if he was lucky, and shouted pick-up lines and attempts at small talk if he wasn’t.  Chris eventually appeared to rescue him, but not before the Sharpies materialized.  By the end of the night, Victor had been covered in scribbled names and phone numbers, not one of which he could match with a face if he cared enough to try.  The marker had scrubbed away in the shower with the aid of some hand sanitizer.  The three different colors of glitter turning his skin into a teenage vampire fantasy were more stubborn.  “Shall I make you some birthday blini?”

Chris appeared to consider the idea.  “Why not?” he decided finally.  “I’ve been wanting to remodel my kitchen, and you burning it down will give me the excuse that I need.”

Victor gasped as Christophe’s lips twisted into a smirk.  “That happened once!” he protested hotly.  “More than three years ago!  I’ll have you know that I’ve improved since then.”

“Like a fine wine, darling, but whatever does that have to do with your cooking?”

In the end, Chris was the one to make the pancakes, preferring the texture of true crepes to the egginess of blini.  His honor on the line, Victor produced both a cream cheese sauce and a berry reduction for toppings.  The mimosas were a joint effort, Christophe declaring that they paired far better with sweet crepes than Bloody Marys did, the latter made with natal day vodka or no.  Settling into the comfort of Chris’ leather sofa, the two men solemnly clinked their champagne flutes together in a silent toast.

“Mon dieu, you have improved.”  Having dipped the tip of a spoon into one of the serving bowls for a taste, Chris was now enthusiastically dolloping both red and white sauces onto his plate.  “To what do we owe this miracle?”  His face turned thoughtful.  “Or, should I say, to whom?”

Victor flushed.  “You know I’ve been watching a lot of American television lately,” he began evasively.

“Entirely on your own initiative, of course.” Chris wasn’t having any of it.  He’d been teasing Victor about Lukewarm Mess a lot over the past year, ever since noticing that Victor suddenly seemed to be glued to his phone whenever they met at competitions.  He had jumped to entirely the wrong conclusion, labeling Mess and Victor’s correspondence a long-distance romance instead of the comfortable friendship that it actually was.  Of course, if Victor had told Chris the nature of the chat channel, rather than letting him form his own assumptions…

No.  There were things that Victor couldn’t say out loud, not even to his closest friend.  He didn’t think that he could face the disappointment in Christophe’s eyes – or, worse, the sympathy.

He sighed in defeat.  “All right.  My friend Mess and I,” he emphasized the word, “have been watching an instructional cooking show called Good Eats together.  His parents run a bed-and-breakfast,” or something like one; Mess had always been rather vague on the subject of his family business.  And his family in general.  Having no taste for hypocrisy, and holding personal secrets of his own, Victor never pressed,  “and he started helping in the kitchen when he was five.”

“Ah.  So when he learned that you actually eat those revolting nutri-meals the sports dietitians try to inflict on us…”

“He was shocked and appalled and took immediate responsibility for remedying the situation, yes.”  Victor smiled at the memory.  There had been exclamation points.  The phrase ‘Purina Human Chow’, accompanied by a slew of kaomojis.  And descriptions of various meals that Mess and his roommate liked to cook, so loving that they had verged on pornographic.

“And the result?”

He shrugged.  “I’ve started making real food for myself on rest days, sometimes.  I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy cooking enough to want to do it after a full day of practice, and I’m not exactly creative in the kitchen, but I can follow a recipe just fine.  Yuri says that my stroganoff isn’t completely disgusting, which is high praise coming from him.”

Christophe’s eyes were comically wide.  “Marry that man,” he breathed.  “Marry him quickly, before he escapes.”

“We live on opposite sides of the world.  We’ve never even met.”  The opportunity had been there a few months ago, and not only had Victor well and truly blown it, he’d nearly destroyed his and Mess’ friendship in the process.  But Chris didn’t need to know any of that, either. 

“All the better.  Ensnare him before he knows what he’s getting into.”

Victor was saved from further prodding into his nonexistent love life by his phone alarm, alerting them to the beginning of the men’s singles coverage.  Chris turned on the TV, and the familiar sight of Mokdong Ice Rink illuminated the screen.  A pair of commentators preened for the camera as they discussed the history of the Four Continents Championship and the year’s host city, Seoul.  In the background, the first group of skaters was warming up.

The woman promised a ‘hot time on the ice’, which prompted her male counterpart to chuckle as though she’d said something both witty and original.  Victor winced.  “Isn’t there a raw feed we could watch instead?” he asked plaintively.

“Not for a competition that Switzerland isn’t invited to,” Chris said.  “Besides, Florian and Sarah really are quite knowledgeable once the actual skating starts.”  Now the announcers were trading cold weather puns back and forth.  Victor had first heard every single one of them while he was still in Novices.  “They’re national treasures, really.”

“Then by all means, lock them away in a secret vault under armed guard.”

Chris tsked at him.  “Someone’s ready for more alcohol.”

By the time the drinks were poured – and, in Victor’s case, immediately slammed back and poured again – the warmups had finished and the skating begun.

Watching others perform was never easy for Victor.  It was impossible to lose himself in another’s program when some part of him was always watching with a champion’s eye, analyzing every edge and gesture.  If he were the one dancing, he’d change the jump composition so, and the choreography thusly.  Victor tended to think of that critical little voice as his Inner Yakov, and it had only grown louder and less forgiving over the years.

If he’d hoped that he could manage to silence it given enough vodka, it turned out that he was very much mistaken.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped at the screen.  The current skater was part of the second group, or was it the third?  The half-empty glass in front of Victor was definitely his fifth.  “That idiot needs to go home and skate nothing but figures until he learns his left from his right.”

At first Chris had been delighted with his friend’s scathing remarks, but as time went on and Victor’s tongue stayed sharp enough to cut, glee faded into something between horror and awe. 

“A fitting tribute to the bombast of Wagner,” Victor declared of another performance.  “Pity he’s actually trying to dance the Sugarplum Fairy.”

Not even the medal contenders were spared.  Hometown favorite Seung-gil Lee’s program earned wondering amazement that technology had advanced far enough to allow robots to compete against humans.  JJ Leroy was branded a little lost hockey player whose goalie probably missed him.

“Unless he is the goalie,” Victor continued, warming to his subject.  “He certainly skates like he’s used to being stuck in a ten-foot box for hours on end.”

A dark-haired figure in blue took position.  “Disney called; they want Prince Charming’s wardrobe back,” Victor sneered.  But then the music started, melancholy synthed-harpsichord and violin, joined by the breathy velvet of Freddie Mercury’s vocals.  The man – Yuuri Katsuki -- started to dance.  And Victor found his mouth snapping shut.

It was far from perfect.  The jump composition was unambitious – safe, Inner Yakov whispered snidely – and even then Katsuki was struggling with his landings.  But his spins and transitions were solid, and his footwork was… exquisite.  Better than mine, Victor thought, and for once Inner Yakov didn’t disagree.  But all of that was background noise.  Katsuki’s musicality had always been his greatest strength; when he moved, he appeared to shape the music rather than allowing it to direct his body.   This skate was no different.  Or rather, it was different, because Victor couldn’t recall ever seeing him dance a conversation before.

Who wants to live forever, the music asked.  Do I?  Katsuki’s body wondered in return.  Should I?  Why should I? 

Give me a reason to want to.

Neither Freddie nor Katsuki seemed to have an answer to that.

His eyes were stinging.  When was the last time that Victor had thought, really thought about his own reasons?  He’d made it a daily habit, just as Mess had suggested so long ago, until the process was as automatic as the rest of his morning routine.  Wake up, brush teeth, apply face mask, walk Makkachin, come up with some sort of motivation to keep putting one foot in front of the other for another day, go home and get ready to skate.  What had his reason even been that morning?  Oh.  Right.  Watching Four Continents with Chris.  And how’s that working out for me?  Drunk, in a foul mood, and getting looks from Chris like he’s worried I’m about to go for his throat.

What a way to celebrate his best friend’s birthday.

Despairing.  Lost.  On the edge of surrender, the song had one final, hesitant, suggestion.  Love.  What about loving forever?

A heart-wrenching pause, the words either too late or not enough to reach the despondent skater.  But then Katsuki’s head snapped up, and he exploded into motion.  Twizzles, spins, a three-jump combo that nobody had any business attempting so late in a program, but nailed with textbook precision and a resolve so fierce that it burned.  Suddenly, after all of his searching, Katsuki had his answer.  His reason.  His forever.  The music – and performance -- ended in triumph, two hands clutched against a heaving chest, newfound love held fast to his heart.

I wish someone would skate like that for me. 

And wasn’t that thought just the most surprising thing?

“Nothing to say, mon coeur?” Chris was looking at him curiously.  On the screen, Katsuki took his bows, a broad grin splitting his face.  Someone tossed a plush dog on the ice that looked rather similar to the toy Makkachins that Victor was usually showered with.  The skater collected it on his way to the kiss and cry, where he crushed it against his chest while waiting for his scores.

What was there to say?  That Victor had been struggling to answer that very same question since the moment he’d realized that sleepwalking through life wasn’t normal?  That he’d somehow managed to trade all of his human emotions for gold medals, but couldn’t remember making the bargain?  That the one person he wanted so badly to trust, the one he came closest to unburdening himself completely with, didn’t know Makkachin’s name, or even that she was a poodle?  Because when Lukewarm Mess had asked to see pictures of KingElsa’s baby, as both a friend and fellow dog-lover inevitably would, Victor had panicked?  What kind of pathetic person needed to use their elderly neighbor’s Samoyed as a catfish?  Did it even count as catfishing if he wasn’t actually misrepresenting himself… except, oh wait, he was doing that, too.

When exactly did Victor become as big of a dick as his public persona?

He muttered something in response to Chris, and was immediately asked to repeat it.  “I said his jumps could use some work,” Victor said again, barely louder the second time.  “And I should send his coach my costume designer’s card.  That generic getup didn’t support Katsuki’s performance at all.”

Chris blinked at him, his eyes taking on a contemplative gleam that Victor wasn’t sure he liked.  “Really?  How interesting.”

There were only a handful of skaters left after that.  Once the dust had settled, Cao Bin topped the podium, his famous stoicism giving way to tears when China’s anthem began to play.  To Bin’s right, a young powerhouse from Kazakhstan stood straight and proud, a hero who had been granted his just reward.  And to Bin’s left…

Yuuri Katsuki looked composed at first glance, but his gaze was unfocused and there was color riding high in his cheeks.  A soft, almost disbelieving smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and one hand kept creeping up to brush his medal with reverent fingers.  And at one point, although the camera was panning away to focus on Bin, Victor could have sworn that he saw the bronze medalist surreptitiously pinch his own forearm.

Adorable.

“See something you like?” Chris purred, and Victor flushed.  Had he honestly just said that out loud?  “I’ve been trying to get you and my darling Yuuri in the same room for simply ages, but the dearest pain au cannelle always refuses me.”

“Really?”  A senior skater who wasn’t frothing at the mouth at the chance to be introduced to Victor Nikiforov?  Now that was interesting.  “Do you know why?”  The likeliest explanation was that Katsuki was uncomfortable with Chris and wanted to limit contact with him.  It was a shame, but very few skaters looked past the over-the-top flirting to see the genuinely good man behind it.  Although, wouldn’t they have to be on at least friendly terms for Chris to extend the offer in the first place?  Chris would never abuse Victor’s trust by acting as a go-between to strangers, and a friendship would certainly explain the English pet names.  Christophe might shower a room full of strangers with French endearments until the words lost all meaning, but he had very few dearests or darlings.  So why, then?

Something of Victor’s interest must have shown on his face, because Chris had gone from mischievous to downright predatory.  “Alas, but my sweet Yuuri is shy,” he murmured sadly.  “Do you know how long it took to get him to stop calling me ‘Giacometti-san’?  Most of Juniors, and he never looked up to me the way he does you.”

Oh.  It was like being doused in cold water.  Of course there was nothing different about Katsuki; of course he was a fan.  He was simply too timid to act when given an opportunity.  Victor had always known he’d been an influence on the Japanese skater; there had been echoes of his own skating in Katsuki’s performances for as far back as Victor had watched them.  Nothing overt, probably nothing that was ever deliberately inserted, but always present.  Victor should have realized what that would mean before…

Before what?  Before I fell for a pair of sad eyes and a routine that I thought was speaking to me?  He’s a performer, no more genuine than I am.  He couldn’t understand how I feel, and if he did he wouldn’t care.  Because he’s my fan, and at best I’m nothing more than a goalpost to him.  At worst?  Victor had read the fanfiction.  He knew what sort of person read it.  Wrote it.

“Well, don’t push the poor boy’s boundaries on my account,” he said with a careless shrug.  “I only thought it was cute to see someone so excited to finish in third.”

Chris blinked at him, nonplussed.  He obviously hadn’t expected such a non-reaction, but when Victor just smiled blandly at him he sighed, and dropped the suggestion.  “Ah well, you know what they say; silver is bitter, wishing it were gold, but bronze is simply happy for a place to stand.”

“Is that how you feel?”  Victor was off-balance.  Off-balance and drunk, that was the only explanation for the too-honest question that spilled from his lips, too soft and raw to be taken as anything other than the plea that it was.  Already rattled, Christophe stared at him in shock, his mouth falling open.  Victor knew with a sinking feeling that it was probably a futile effort, but he forced his mouth to twist into an amused smirk anyway.  “Because I’m afraid I can’t go easy on you simply to spare your feelings.”

Chris clearly didn’t believe a word of it.  “Victor—“  Whatever he was planning on saying next was interrupted by his phone, which loudly declared that it was too sexy for various articles of clothing as it started vibrating across the table.  Chris glanced at the display.  “It’s Josef,” he said, frowning.  “I can—“

“Take it,” Victor was still grinning, not knowing what else to do.  “It’s probably important.”

Another hesitation coupled with a long, searching glance, and Chris thumbed the green icon to accept the call.  Victor looked away, ostensibly to give his friend some privacy.  The fake smile slid off his face like the lie that it was, leaving something blank and empty in its place.  Victor’s French was good, and Josef tended to shout into phones; the coach was calling about a last minute interview request, a magazine article with a photo spread.

Something that might get Victor off the hook, at least for a little while.

“Non,” Christophe was shaking his head.  “Pas aujourd'hui. Nous fêtons mon anniversaire, et—“

“Il va le faire!” Victor called out, loud enough for Josef to hear.   “Il va le faire!  Je l'aurai prêt dans vingt minutes!”

Chris glared at him.  “Un moment, Josef,” he said into the phone, then slapped his finger over the microphone.  “Victor—“

“It’s a good opportunity,” he said, cutting Chris short.  “You shouldn’t pass up a chance at exposure just because I drank a little too much and got maudlin.”

“You need to brush up on your English.”  His voice was low, upset.  “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘honest.”

Victor winced.  “Look,” he tried again, “just go—“

“Absolutely n—“

“Please?  I don’t want to wreck this for you.  Besides, I need some time to…“  Sober up.  Muster some defenses.  Run for the consulate.  Or, better yet, the airport.  “…get my head back in order.”

“And we’ll talk when I get back.”  Chris still looked worried, but he’d started considering the idea.  Good.

“Of course.”

Green-gold eyes measured him for a moment longer.  Victor did his best not to shrink from the concern in them.  “Answer me one thing first.”

Was he being too eager?  Not eager enough?  Damn it, Victor couldn’t think.  “Anything,” he said.

“When was the last time you were happy?”

His mouth opened.  Closed again.  “I…” he began.  Stopped. 

“Oh, Vitya.”  And then Chris was hugging him.  Warm, strong arms wrapped around him, one hand still holding the muted mobile.  Chris smelled like spiced amber, and maybe it was weak, but Victor’s self-control had drowned itself hours ago.  His pride put up a feeble protest, but the worst had already happened, hadn’t it?  His mask had finally slipped, and someone had seen inside.  He hugged Chris back, burying his face in his shoulder.

“You really want me to leave you like this?” Chris murmured.  Victor nodded without pulling away.  “You’re sure?”

“Please.”  Victor’s voice cracked on the word.  “I just need some space.  Some time.  I just need…”

Christophe’s arms tightened around his shoulders.  “All right, darling,” he said finally, his voice thick.  “All right.”  One last squeeze, and he released Victor to hold the phone against his ear. 

“Josef?  Pardon.”  Chris hurried into his bedroom, the door closing behind him.  Victor sank back into the couch and closed his eyes, tucking his knees up under his chin.  He could hear the faint sounds of rushed dressing and Chris’ replies to his coach, and did his best to tune them out.  He felt sick to his stomach.  Exhausted.  Empty.  So very empty.  Was this a panic attack?  It wasn’t anything like Mess’ descriptions, but then Mess always seemed to feel everything, so an excess of emotion made sense for him.  For a hollow person like Victor, maybe this numb sort of dread was as close as he could get. 

What did Mess say that he did when he got lost in his own head?  Victor couldn’t remember.  Counting breaths, maybe?   

Can’t hurt, I suppose.  All right.  One… two… 

Long moments passed, and then there were gentle fingers in his hair.  He opened his eyes. 

“Here.”  Chris was pressing an object into Victor’s hands.  He blinked at it for a second before recognizing it as his laptop.  “I know you want to be by yourself for a while, but don’t be alone.  Talk to your friends.” 

“Chris…”  Victor knew that he should be feeling something.  Gratitude.  Affection.  Shame, even.  And maybe there was a tiny glow of emotion stirring beneath the haze of alcohol and numbness.  It wasn’t enough.  “I… I will.  Thank you.” 

“I am not happy about this.”  Chris was still moving, now clattering around in his kitchen.  He emerged carrying a glass of water and a plate piled high with cheese, fruit, and crackers.  He set them down on the coffee table in front of Victor.  “Eat something while I’m gone.  And drink.” 

Victor eyed the platter.  The cheeses were supposed to be for later, for what should have been a happy evening.  Reminding himself that he was ruining Chris’ birthday hurt, but the pain was better than nothingness.  “I won’t be able to properly appreciate the Bregaglia.”  It was a feeble joke, and neither of them smiled at it. 

“Eat it anyway.” 

“Oui, maman.” 

Chris was fussing over him now, delaying his departure.  “And call if you need me.  For anything.” 

“I will.” 

Christophe shook his head.  His smile was sad, and all too knowing.  “No, you won’t,” he said softly. 

“Probably not,” Victor agreed. 

Then there was a brief press of lips against Victor’s forehead, and Chris left. 

The bottles were gone, put away while Victor was lost in his fog.  He didn’t think Chris would go so far as to hide them from him, but it would be humiliating to be proven wrong, so he decided not to check.  The snacks in front of him looked revolting, and the glass full of nothing but water was mocking him. 

I should go out, he thought.  Get some air.  Get away…  He could walk along the Aare, feed the ducks some of those crackers.  Maybe take some selfies under the Child-Eater fountain or do some other touristy thing that he and Chris always joked about but never actually did. 

Or he could go farther.  It wouldn’t be the first time Victor changed flight arrangements on a whim, and it would hardly be the last.  Chris might be upset – don’t lie to yourself, Vitya.  Chris will be furious  – but he was responsible.  Responsible, and nowhere near as impulsive as Victor.  He wouldn’t hop on a plane this close to Worlds, and Victor would have time to get his shit together, come up with an excuse— 

His phone chirped an incoming text alert.  It had barely been five minutes since Chris had left; he couldn’t have arrived at the venue yet.  Sure enough, when Victor tapped the notification bar more out of habit than actual curiosity, the photo Christophe had sent him showed an empty leather bucket seat.  Or almost empty.  A very familiar red leather booklet emblazoned with Russia’s double-headed eagle was prominent in the image, resting proudly on top of… 

That devious Swiss bastard. 

There were no emojis that could possibly express the level of outrage that Victor needed for his reply.    

MY SHOES??!?!?!?  

Bonjour, mon coeur!  How is your online sweetheart?  

YOU STOLE.  MY SHOES.  

And your passport.  I *have* met you before, darling.  

Now be a good boy and stay put, and I’ll see you when I get home.  

I could stretch out your Ferragamos for you…  

And risk blisters this close to Worlds?  Be my guest.

I’ll buy a new pair or three with my gold medal winnings.     

…Damn it.  Outmaneuvered by an overgrown Alpine moppet.  If word got out, he would never hear the end of it. Well.  Never let it be said that Victor Nikiforov didn’t know how to cope with defeat.    

I hope the camera adds thirty pounds to your ass.    

He sighed, and reached for his laptop.    

* Joined channel #therapycouchfort

* Topic is ‘Happy Half-Off-Chocolate Day Eve!’

* Set by SockPuppet on Feb 14 10:39:02 2015

StandardDeviation: hey king

KingElsa: Hello.

KingElsa: Where is everyone?

SockPuppet: Mess is conferencing for business again

StandardDeviation: i haven’t seen mess today

KingElsa: I don’t just come her e to talk to Lukewarm Mess you know.

StandardDeviation: of course not

SockPuppet: You just keep telling yourself that

StandardDeviation: you also come here to talk ABOUT mess.

KingElsa: …

StandardDeviation: it only stings because its true  <3

* Peaches_and_Dream has joined #therapycouchfort

Peaches_and_Dream: Hello, boy and girls!  Isn’t it a lovely day to be alive?

StandardDeviation: hey peaches

Peaches_and_Dream: ( ❁ ´ ▽ ` ❁ )* ✲ ﾟ *

SockPuppet: Someone’s getting laid…

* lukewarm_mess has joined #therapycouchfort

Peaches_and_Dream: Close, only even better!

SockPuppet: What could be better than getting laid?

Peaches_and_Dream: Mess

Peaches_and_Dream: And

Peaches_and_Dream: I

lukewarm_mess: peach no

Peaches_and_Dream: Received some very prestigious awards tonight!

lukewarm_mess: it’s not necessary to tell everyone

StandardDeviation: congrats you two

SockPuppet: !!! Wtg!

lukewarm_mess: nobody even cares outside of our industry

lukewarm_mess: pls don’t make a fuss

Peaches_and_Dream: Says the man whose numbers were THIRD

Peaches_and_Dream: In almost the entire world

StandardDeviation: that’s really impressive mess

lukewarm_mess: hardly the entire world

Peaches_and_Dream: 6/7 of it

lukewarm_mess: you’re counting antarctica??

SockPuppet: Don’t downplay your achievements, mess

SockPuppet: If you were recognized, it was for a reason

Peaches_and_Dream: ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  *fistbumps Socks*

StandardDeviation: what did you win peach

Peaches_and_Dream: I came in fifth!  Which isn’t actually an award category or anything but still.  Top five!

Peaches_and_Dream: The high scorers had better watch their backs.  I’m coming for them next!

StandardDeviation: you sound so competitive lol

Peaches_and_Dream:  It’s a competitive field

Peaches_and_Dream: Practically an olympic sport, really

lukewarm_mess: PEACH

lukewarm_mess: can we change the subject now

StandardDeviation: *pokes king to see if he’s dead*

StandardDeviation: *poke*

StandardDeviation: *poke*

StandardDevation: *poooooooooooooooooooke*

SockPuppet: That’s enough

KingElsa: I’m not dead.

lukewarm_mess: hi king

SockPuppet: We were teasing him a little bit and he’s been quiet since.  Sorry if we overstepped, King

KingElsa: Hi Mess.

KingElsa: It’s not you guys.

lukewarm_mess: bad day?

KingElsa: You could say that

KingElsa: I accidentally let slip to a friend that I’m…

Peaches_and_Dream: …gay?  (͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ °)

KingElsa: :P

KingElsa: Not always as happy as I act

StandardDeviation: accidentally or “accidentally”

*lukewarm_mess>> {{{hugs}}}

KingElsa: Definitely unintentional

SockPuppet: How did they take it

/msg lukewarm_mess: Thanks <3

Peaches_and_Dream: I’m sure if it’s a good friend he’s concerned about you

KingElsa: he had to go out for a work thing, but he wants to talk when he gets back.

*lukewarm_mess>> i know you’re upset but i can’t help but think this is a good thing

KingElsa: I’d rather run away than face him.

*lukewarm_mess>> you know how i feel about you not having a rl support base

SockPuppet: Running away is a bad idea

lukewarm_mess: don’t run away

/msg lukewarm_mess: The way he looked at me hurt.

/msg lukewarm_mess: I don’t want to be pitoeid

/msg lukewarm_mess: pitied*

*lukewarm_mess>> now i know you’re upset

KingElsa:  I…. um.  can’t.

*lukewarm_mess>> if you’re making typos

StandardDeviation: ???

/msg lukewarm_mess: Hush, you.  Do you even know what the shift key is for??

lukewarm_mess: sure, symbols and emojis  :P

KingElsa: He kind of took my shoes and passport with him when he left.

Peaches_and_Dream: OMFG my kind of friend!

StandardDeviation: :O

lukewarm_mess: did you have to tell everyone that

lukewarm_mess: you’ll give peach ideas

SockPuppet: I’m glad you have a friend who cares about you, King

Peaches_and_Dream: Because keeping you inside the apartment is always such a problem, Mess  ( ￢ _ ￢ )

Peaches_and_Dream: King ask your dude if he has any solutions for getting people to come out of their room

KingElsa: I wish he cared a little less, to be honest.

StandardDeviation: really? harsh

*lukewarm_mess>> you don’t mean that

KingElsa: No… I guess I don’t mean it.  I’m glad he cares.  Mostly.

KingElsa: I just wish he didn’t have to?

StandardDeviation: are you wishing for neurotypicality or not to need other people

StandardDeviation: because while we’re at it i wiould like a pony

KingElsa: …I’m being an ass, aren’t I

lukewarm_mess: no

Peaches_and_Dream: A bit

KingElsa: …

Peaches_and_Dream: Okay, serious talk now so pay attention

SockPuppet: This should be good.

Peaches_and_Dream: You seem to me like one of those people who needs to act untouchable in public.  It’s even in your screen name.  And you’ve mentioned being in a position of high visibility before

KingElsa: Yes…

Peaches_and_Dream: Where does the line between the public you and private you begin?  And which side of that line does your friend stand on?  Or any of the other people in your life?

KingElsa: That’s the problem.  I’m not sure there *is* a line anymore.

KingElsa: If ther eever was.

Peaches_and_Dream: So there’s no one in the world you can turn to?  Nobody who can call you out on your bullshit?

KingElsa: You seem to be doing a pretty good job of that right now >.>

Peaches_and_Dream: I’m on the internet, I don’t count.  Even if I knew who you were irl, we’re not friends.  We’re certainly not close.

KingElsa: True.

Peaches_and_Dream: So my question stands. 

KingElsa: My co

KingElsa: boss*

KingElsa: I guess

Peaches_and_Dream: But he’s work, so he’s part of your public life

KingElsa: So is Chris.

KingElsa: My friend, I mean.  I met him through work.

Peaches_and_Dream: And did the relationship stay there?

KingElsa:  No.

KingElsa: Well.  It’s complicated.

KingElsa: We’re rivals as well as friends, so…

Peaches_and_Dream: Do you think he’d take advantage of you professionally if he thought you were vulnerable?

KingElsa: No.

KingElsa: He’s not like that.  He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.

Peaches_and_Dream: So he’s someone you feel you can trust?

KingElsa: I don’t want to be a bother to him.

Peaches_and_Dream: That’s not what I asked.

*lukewarm_mess>> Are you okay with this?

KingElsa: …Yes.  I can trust Chris.

Peaches_and_Dream: But you don’t want to bother him.  Because he’ll stop being your friend if you’re an annoyance to him?

KingElsa: I toldy ou he’s not like that!

lukewarm_mess: peach, that’s enough

Peaches_and_Dream: I believe you.  So why don’t you want to bother Chris with your feelings, then?

KingElsa: …

KingElsa: Because I don’t’ want him to see me as we3ak

SockPuppet: OK TIME OUT PEOPLE

KingElsa: I have been on top since I was sixteen yoeuars osld and since I was sixteen I have understoond that if others are oging to look up to me I hvae to be someone that is worhty of being looked up to.  I can’t slip I can’t fall I can’t crack because If i do I will let someone donw.  I can’t show weakness becausew i can’t BE weka.

SockPuppet: Peach you are overstepping boundaries like woah

Peaches_and_Dream: You’re allowed to be human, King

SockPuppet: BUT I’m hesitant to bounce you because I think you’re acting out of good intentions

KingElsa: says a SALSEMAN who has NO DIEA what I go throu

Peaches_and_Dream: You’d be surprised.  We have a lot more in common than you might think

SockPuppet: ENOUGH

KingElsa: you don’t eve n blong here you aren’t even depressd

SockPuppet: THE NEXT PERSON WHO TYPES ANYTHING IS GETTING A THREE DAY KICKBAN

The stark line of text brought Victor up short.  What was he doing?  He was flinging insults at a college student, that was what he was doing.  A college student who had never spoken to him with anything other than kindness, even if it often came paired with a healthy dose of mischief.  One who certainly didn’t need to be treated like an enemy or an obstacle.

SockPuppet: Take a deep breath and calm down, both of you

Calm.  He’d been calm.  Or numb, at least.  When did the deadness change into anger?  And why?  Because Mess' roommate was right; Peaches was just a name on a screen, no more real or relevant to Victor Nikiforov than someone he passed on the street while walking Makkachin.  Nothing he said – typed! – should be able to affect Victor in the slightest.  Unless…

*lukewarm_mess>> i’m so sorry

*lukewarm_mess>> i don’t know why he’s pushing you like this

*lukewarm_mess>> are you okay

Those three short private messages pulled something like a smile from Victor’s lips.  Trust Mess to obey the letter of the law while doing what he thought was right behind the scenes. 

He started tapping out a reply PM to reassure his friend that he was okay.  Stopped.  Decided, for once, to tell the truth.

/msg lukewarm_mess: no

/msg lukewarm_mess: I don’t think that I am okay

/msg lukewarm_mess: but I also don’t think that’s entirely Peach’s fault

SockPuppet: Now then. 

SockPuppet: Before our safe space devolved into a school playground, I was trying to say that I thought the ideas that Peaches brought up might be worth discussing

*lukewarm_mess>> hmm.  in that case…

*lukewarm_mess>> i seem to remember telling you about shoving a girl off my lap in a hospital waiting room full of people

SockPuppet:  IF King was open to discussing them.  He did not consent to an intervention.

*lukewarm_mess>> what was it you said to me?

SockPuppet: And now there has been bad behavior on both sides.

/msg lukewarm_mess: …

*lukewarm_mess>> (¬_¬;)

SockPuppet: So here’s what we’re going to do:

/msg lukewarm_mess: okay, okay

SockPuppet: KingElsa will decide whether Peaches_and_Dream crossed a line.

/msg lukewarm_mess: I told you that anxiety is a liar,

/msg lukewarm_mess: and that literally nobody with half a brain thinks that your’e weak

SockPuppet: If he did, then Peach will get a 3-day ban for being invasive

/msg lukewarm_mess: and that it’s okay to accept help when you need it

SockPuppet: and King will get a 1-day ban for ad hominem attacks

*lukewarm_mess>> so… and i ask this with love… can you take the advice that you dish out?

/msg lukewarm_mess: I also distinctly remember telling you that the little cow deserved to be dumped on her ass for tryig to take advangate of a coworker’s injury to put the moves ony ou.

SockPuppet: OR, and guess which option I prefer, King agrees to forgive your transgression, you both shake virtual hands or give internet hugs or whatever, and either decide to continue the conversation in a controlled and CIVIL manner or change the subject.

*lukewarm_mess>> not relevant

*lukewarm_mess> also she was not trying to put the moves on me

SockPuppet: I imagine there are a great number of sportsball games going on that we could be discussing instead

/msg lukewarm_mess: I guess I do have at least one person who can call me out on my shit

lukewarm_mess: BITE ME

SockPuppet: I

StandardDeviation: lolwut

lukewarm_mess: omg that was supposed to be a pm i’m so sorry

/msg lukewarm_mess: To me? D: D: D:

*lukewarm_mess>> nonono omg (/> / ᗣ / </ /)

Peaches_and_Dream:  I only suggested we could discuss the results of the figure skating championships

lukewarm_mess:  ψ (▼ へ ▼ メ) ~ →  PEACH

SockPuppet: I CAN STILL KICKBAN YOU ALL

SockPuppet: A CHANNEL OF SILENT PERFECTION IS WITHIN MY GRASP

SockPuppet: DON’T THINK THAT I WON’T DO IT

/msg lukewarm_mess:  Don’t like figure skating? 

/msg lukewarm_mess:  Or… secret fan??   (͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ °)

*lukewarm_mess>> no changing the subject!

/msg lukewarm_mess: spoilsport

KingElsa: Um.  Can I have the floor?

SockPuppet: You may.

KingElsa: So, um.  I’m not exactly happy about being blindsided by this convo

KingElsa: but but as Socks said I also said some things atha I shouldn’t have

KingElsa: And I probably should hae said somethign earlier but I’m actually pretty drunk right now

*lukewarm_mess>> omg

KingElsa: so it’s an even wo2rse time than usual to try and call me out

*lukewarm_mess>> peach just spit out matcha through his nose

/msg lukewarm_mess: does it make me a horrible person if i find that a little satisfyring?

KingElsa: So if it’s up to me Id’ rather just channel my namesake and let it go

*lukewarm_mess>> haha no, i think that’s a healthy reaction to peach

Peaches_and_Dream: Oh shit, sorry king.  I would never have jumped on you like that if I’d known you weren’t at 100%

SockPuppet: You shouldn’t have “jumped” on him at all.  >.>

Peaches_and_Dream: yeah no, that’s fair.  Fuck though.  Sorry.

KingElsa: I’ll… think about hwat you said.  later.  But I will think about i8t

Peaches_and_Dream: ^^

StandardDeviation: hey socks, would you feel better if you kicked us all?

lukewarm_mess: ??

SockPuppet: You… have my attention.

StandardDeviation: and then we can all come back and start over fresh

Peaches_and_Dream: I… don’t actually hate that idea

KingElsa: I’ve been kicked out of finer establishements than this one *sniffs*

SockPuppet: This pleases me.  Okay, then.  Take five, children.  Eat or go look out a window or something.

*Disconnected from #therapycouchfort (Quit: Kicked by SockPuppet)

Chapter Text

Phichit didn’t, as a general rule, hang out in Yuuri’s chatroom on his own initiative.  It wasn’t that he didn’t like the group, or that anyone there made him feel unwelcome; but as had once been pointed out, Phicht was neurotypical and #tcf wasn’t for him.  He also knew that he had a tendency to be a rather large personality, both online and in real life, cheerfully holding court at the center of attention wherever he chose to grace with his presence.  Which was great for earning him a devoted fanbase, the second-highest follower count in all of figure skating twitter, and far more sponsorship deals than talent and training could ever have gotten him alone.  It was much less great for acting as a guest in someone else’s home, particularly when that home was a safe space for a group of people who tended to find it difficult to speak up, and were very often talked over when they did.

Phichit never wanted to be that guy.  So, he mostly stayed away. Besides, there was still the thing with KingElsa the secret Disney skating gay, who he just couldn’t seem to act normal around anymore.  And people had noticed. Not the two people he was trying to hit with the clue-by-four, of course.  Oh, no. Other people. All the other people.  He’d received concerned PMs from most of the channel regulars.  And it wasn’t as though he could explain anything without running right back into the territory of other people’s secrets.

There was a Youtube video of rinkside Yakov Feltsman reactions, compiled from a decade’s worth of international competitions.  It was forty-six minutes of sighs, glares, head shakes, and silent appeals to the heavens, set to Mozart’s Lacrimosa. The music gave the impression that it was praying for the coach’s soul.  Phichit had never related to anything so much in his life .

Still, Yuuri’s flight had been delayed for hours already, and Phichit had reached the limit of what he could do on his mobile games without having to spend money, which he refused to do as a matter of principle.  He’d played Nethack for a while until he realized he was starting to run on autopilot and closed the game. His knight was too close to ascension to risk a careless mistake now; one ring-of-polymorph-induced starvation incident in Gehennom was plenty for any gaming career, thank you very much.  

All of his usual social media haunts were definitely out.  The parts of the skating fandom that weren’t fawning over Victor Nikiforov and his history-making fifth consecutive GPF gold were gossiping about Yuuri’s self-destruct in the free.  Speculation was rampant, verging on conspiracy theory, and it was rarely kind. Yuuri had started doping. Yuuri had stopped doping.  He was failing university.  He’d gotten someone knocked up.  The yakuza had paid him to throw his performance.  He was dying of some unspecified disease. He was receiving death threats.  Each theory was more outrageous than the last, each new scandalmonger acting more entitled and less deserving of even existing on the same planet as Katsuki Yuuri.  It hadn’t taken much more than a minute of scrolling his feeds for Phichit to realize that he needed to absent himself from the discourse before he found himself jumping in with thumbs blazing.  Engaging in a flame war would only upset Yuuri further, after all, and it wouldn’t shut anyone up anyway.

And nothing could bring back poor Vicchan.

If only Chris would respond to Phichit’s texts.  But he wasn’t, which meant he was either traveling, sleeping, or “sleeping”; in any case, he’d answer when he could and there was no point in continuing to poke him.  The plane wasn’t due to arrive for another forty-five minutes or so. The free airport wifi wasn’t fast enough for streaming. There really was literally nothing else for Phichit to do.

I guess rules are meant to be broken…  

Phichit thumbed over to his IRC client.

* Joined channel #therapycouchfort

* Topic is ‘Krampus Says: Sometimes self-care is beating Racist Uncle Tony about the shoulders with birch sticks.’

* Set by SockPuppet on Nov 21 13:22:19 2015

Deltatangofoxtrot: no, see, you tell them both you’re spending the holidays with the other one

Deltatangofoxtrot: then you can do what you want

iamworthy: Wow.

mercyslovechild: omg

VixenFoxtrot: No.

Deltatangofoxtrot: it’s foolproof

VixenFoxtrot: No.

SockPuppet: Alternately, you could NOT get the police called out on Christmas Eve once you inevitably turn up missing.  Because we do not live in a sitcom and wacky plotting never works in real life.

Deltatangofoxtrot: but

Deltatangofoxtrot: shenanigans

mercyslovechild: i mean its tempting

VixenFoxtrot: My beloved is an idiot and you must never listen to him.

Deltatangofoxtrot: that’s probably fair

Deltatangofoxtrot: except when it comes to restaurant choices because really, applebee’s??

iamworthy: lol

VixenFoxtrot: Am I ever going to be allowed to live that one down?

mercyslovechild: lol no

Deltatangofoxtrot: NEVER

iamworthy: nope

SockPuppet: But seriously Mercy, it’s okay to make your own choices.  That’s what being an adult means.

Peaches_and_Dream: Hey all, what’s going on?  Are we doing Bad Advice Day again? Because I’d like to reiterate that any problem can be solved by throwing Beyonce at it.

iamworthy: Um… metaphorically or literally?

Peaches_and_Dream: Yes!

mercyslovechild: lol

mercyslovechild: hi peach

SockPuppet: Morning, Peaches

mercyslovechild: id love to chuck beyonce at my parents

Peaches_and_Dream: Uh oh, what are they doing now

SockPuppet: Typical post-divorce holiday crap.

Peaches_and_Dream: ???

iamworthy: They both want her to visit them over the holiday.

mercyslovechild: more like they both want to make sure the other one DOESNT get me for the holiday

Peaches_and_Dream: Ah.  Ouch. I’m so sorry

mercyslovechild: and mom wont even let me mention lise and nidhi around her

mercyslovechild: just keeps asking if i’ve met any boys

mercyslovechild: dad likes to act all cool about them to score points off of mom but

mercyslovechild: ive already been told i have to act normal because grandmas going to be there so

Deltatangofoxtrot: *snorts* NORMAL

SockPuppet: GRRR

Peaches_and_Dream: Where do *you* want to go?

mercyslovechild: neither place if theyre gonna keep using me to fight with eachother

mercyslovechild: nidhis parents invited me and lise to stay with them over break

mercyslovechild: they don’t celebrate or anything

mercyslovechild: it just sounds peaceful

iamworthy: And you’ll get to spend time with your girlfriends

mercyslovechild: yeah

VixenFoxtrot: They know about your relationship?

* KingElsa has joined #therapycouchfort

mercyslovechild: since the start

KingElsa: <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

KingElsa: Hello, everyone!

Deltatangofoxtrot: hi king

SockPuppet: Welcome back, King

mercyslovechild: they say they’re happy beause we make their daughter happy

mercyslovechild: you should see all the sweets they sent for diwali

Peaches_and_Dream: Morning, ice boi!

VixenFoxtrot: *mouths* ‘Ice boi’...

KingElsa:  :O Peaches is here, without Mess!  :O

iamworthy: Oh wow, I hadn’t noticed that

iamworthy: Is that allowed?

Peaches_and_Dream: Yeah, I’m actually at the airport waiting for Mess’ flight to come in.

Peaches_and_Dream: It’s boring, so… *shrug*

KingElsa: Oh, maybe I should wait then!

mercyslovechild: hihi king! <3

SockPuppet: Wait for what

KingElsa: I have to tell you all about the amazing weekend I just had!

King Elsa: It was

mercyslovechild: oooo

KingElsa: Transcendent!

Peaches_and_Dream: Whoops, sounds like the flight’s arrived.  Don’t wait to glee on our account -- you know how Mess gets when he’s jetlagged.  Byeee~

*Disconnected from #therapycouchfort (Quit: Quit)

Yuuri’s flight had not actually arrived.  

Phichit was pretty sure he was going to be getting even more well-meaning PMs.  

Phichit was also not currently in a headspace to be able to handle someone rhapsodizing about the utter shitshow that had been the Sochi Grand Prix Final, no matter how vaguely it was being described, or how many details were changed to protect the Nikiforov, so everyone else could just deal.  It didn’t even matter that none of it would be about Yuuri --

Or rather it did , because Victor should be gushing about Yuuri.  In a fair universe, Katsuki Yuuri would have knocked the socks off of that sad, lonely legend with his dancing, would have stood tall and proud and equal on the podium with him, would have said or done something to tip Victor off to his secret online identity, and after that the only complications would be the normal long-distance romance ones.  Poodle playdates and transcontinental booty calls and all that. Picking out china patterns.

Instead, the entire world had watched Yuuri’s heart break, live in HD, over and over again, for four minutes and twenty-two seconds of Liszt-accompanied agony.  And then, neither understanding nor caring about the tragedy they had just witnessed, they’d gossiped about it.

Phichit was happy for Victor.  More, he liked him, or at least the KingElsa version of him.  Victor did not deserve to have Phichit rip him a new one for the crime of being happy while existing in the same awful, ugly, unfair timeline as the rest of them.

It wasn’t that much longer before the most recently updated arrival time.  Maybe he could people-watch?

His phone chirped, the definitely-not-a-Star-Trek-communicator-noise from King and the Skater VII: Quads in Space .  At the same time, a notification bubble informed him that he had an incoming text message from “Podium-Worthy Ass”.

Phichit grinned.  Saved by the bae.

My, aren’t we eager to talk this evening?  Six messages. Desperation looks good on you, darling.  But then, most things look good on you. As, I imagine, does nothing at all.

Chris! <3

My hero!

Naturellement. But what sort of fearsome beast am I rescuing you from this time, petit?

The urge to tell a bunch of people they’re being Wrong on the Internet

In that case, I am happy to be of service.  Windmill tilting never ends well for anyone.

Well, that and boredom

Mostly boredom

Yuuri’s flight has been delayed all morning

Ah, yes.  Our deliciously spicy little cinnamon roll...

You certainly missed the event of the season.  Victor enjoyed himself thoroughly.

Phichit bit back a groan.  Chris, too? Of course, he was friends with the man, but still.  The world really didn’t need to revolve around Victor Nikiforov all of the time.

Um.  Can we change the subject?

It’s a bit of a sore spot right now, tbh.

Oh dear, he’s not too embarrassed, is he?

I’m sorry, have you met Yuuri before ever?

Try humiliated

He has absolutely no reason to be.  You know that, mon coeur.

More than just about anyone.

Don’t worry, I’ll work on drilling it into this thick skull

Good.  Such dancing as his… the world needs it, I think.

Speaking of, if I may ask, what happened before the free?  Yuuri wasn’t exactly

A long pause with the three dots appearing and disappearing.  Christophe seemed to be uncharacteristically struggling with his words.

Talkative

At the banquet.

He sighed.  Of course Chris didn’t know; how could he?  Yuuri would hardly have been inclined to socialize with his fellow skaters -- even under the best circumstances it was like pulling teeth -- and Ciao Ciao might never have figured out how to truly work with Yuuri’s anxiety, but nobody kept a confidence better.

The RandomSkatingFanXXXs of the world might not deserve an explanation, but Chris was a friend.

Ah… you know Yuuri had a dog, right?

The little brown one named after Victor, non?

Oh.  

“Had?”

There was a car

The words hurt to type, almost physically.  Chris didn’t need to know that the driver was drunk.  He didn’t need to know that the man had almost hit Yuuri’s sister as well.  He didn’t need to know that there’d been a little hand bell mounted on the truck’s dashboard, that it had sounded almost exactly like the bell from Yuuri’s old bike when the driver played with it, that Vicchan had charged into the street barking his special Yuuri-bark, his little tail a blur of joy and anticipation.

Probably nobody needed to know those things.  But Yuuri had asked, and Mari had told him, and Yuuri had repeated it to Phichit later between sobs.

Mon dieu.

That explains… a lot.

Yes.

Is he

No, of course he is not all right.  Poor little sweetling.

Both of them.

Yes.

Phichit wanted to say more, to lean on Chris just a little so he’d be better prepared to let Yuuri lean on him, but at that moment the arrival announcement crackled over the terminal speakers and it was time to find the luggage carousel and start gathering bags.  People started swarming the luggage claim area, but Yuuri was always one of the last off the plane, preferring to be able to take his time after everyone else rushed to crowd the aisles. Ciao Ciao rarely waited with him, being both long-legged as well as one of nature’s hurriers, but today he would almost certainly remain back with his student.

By the time they appeared -- Ciao Ciao animatedly chattering away at a slumped Yuuri, whom he was unsubtly steering via a hand at the skater’s lower back -- Phichit was waiting for them with a rented luggage cart, already loaded and ready to go.  Ciao Ciao shook his head at him, unsurprised, while Yuuri just blinked owlishly. It took Phichit actually relieving Yuuri of the all-important carry-on bag that held his skates and costumes before he finally seemed to register his presence.

“Phich?”  His voice was low and rough with what Phichit hoped was sleep.  “What are you doing here?”

“Skipping training, of course!”  Phichit grinned at Yuuri. “Don’t tell Ciao Ciao!”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, lips twisting into something vaguely resembling a smile.  “Sure, I won’t tell Celestino-sensei, who is standing directly behind me and within your line of sight, that you’re missing afternoon practice.”

“You’re the best , Yuuri!”  With no further warning than that, Phichit threw himself forward into a flying tackle hug, knowing that Yuuri could and would catch him.  Which he did, huffing an actual laugh into Phichit’s shoulder. A reluctant and exasperated laugh, maybe, but a real one.

“ Phichit !”  

Celestino said nothing, clearly amused and just as obviously relieved.  He never was any good at cheering up a despondent Yuuri, his praise and encouragement making matters worse more often than not.  Yuuri always would rather be insulted to his face than sit through compliments that he didn’t think he had earned.

Ciao Ciao suggested that Phichit might want to let Yuuri put him down at some point.  Phichit whined dramatically, and Yuuri retaliated by shifting him to a fireman’s carry, face down and ass in the air, which he persisted with until Phichit shifted his demands to a double-selfie that he could send Chris.

“For posterior , Yuuri!”

At which pun Yuuri promptly dumped him on his posterity.

Their antics caused a bit of a stir, and they wound up with a minor TSA escort to the parking structure, but even for brown people being silly and loud wasn’t actually forbidden in an airport.  Besides, they were leaving , which security was happy to facilitate.

They snuggled together in the back seat of Ciao Ciao’s car, or rather, Phichit snuggled and Yuuri let him.  Some of the misery had lifted, leaving a mostly normal jetlag-zombie Yuuri, and that was what Phichit wanted.  Not to make the hurt go away, because that was beyond even his power, but to distract from it. If only a little.

“Did you get to see Victor, though?” he asked later as he tucked his exhausted roommate into bed.

Yuuri stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, his eyes blank with fatigue.  “No,” he murmured finally. “He didn’t say a word to me.” And with a sigh, he fell asleep.