Archive of Our Own

Yuri was an angry child

He spent half of his kindergarten in time out for hitting other children or, because of his seemingly naturally acquired flexibility, kicking them. The thing was, no one really knew why. One teacher suspected he learned the behavior from his family, they had people investigate, but, and Yuri would back this up, he came from a great family. Every Friday evening, they had a special family dinner, where Yuri’s grandpa was invited, they had a stern household of course, things that were off limits, things that were encouraged, but Yuri’s family was great. it seemed simple enough to him, he was just an angry child.

Which was fine of course, except even Yuri didn’t know why.

When he was sent home early again, after hurting another student, he first started to realize there were things beyond his control. When Yuri realized he was one of those things, it hit him hard. He sat on his mother’s lap, after a firm scolding and cried.

He told her “I don’t know why I’m like this Mama, I don’t know why”

Those words broke her heart, coming from such a tiny child, small droplets formed in her eyes and she tried to blink them away, she held him tight and told him “sweetheart, you don’t always get to choose who you are. A large part of who you are, is who you choose to be, but I see something else inside you, something you can’t control right now”

Yuri sniffed, wiping tears away from his cheeks with chubby fist’s “what is it Mama?”

“It’s fire baby. You have fire inside you”

It was the first time Yuri was aware of its presence, like how a child with partial hearing loss gets used to hearing only a tiny fraction of the world, because they’ve never known anything different. Yuri was an angry child, because he got used to the fire eating away inside him, the heat, building up under his skin, turning and pulsating, ready to burst free and burn anything it touched.

Yuri got used to it

That night, his parents sat down and decided to do something for Yuri, one of the teachers previously believed Yuri’s behavior issues were caused by additional energy that Yuri couldn’t get out of his system even by running around, and fighting other children, at recess.

So, they started looking for sport’s, they tried football, and then volleyball, and while the act of physical activity helped subdue him a bit, it was never enough.

It was only when he started ice skating, did they realize what they stumbled onto. Something bigger than any of them planned for, something beautiful.

It was rather ironic that a boy filled with fire found solace on the ice.

It didn’t take long for the ice to take him over, every day after school, most of the days on the weekend, Yuri practiced, and skated, and felt his body start to break down as he did it. He would take off his skates and feel the deep ache they caused in his bones, he could visibly see the reddened skin, the callouses, the negative effect of ice skating, but when Yuri seamlessly entered a spiral, or a shoot the duck, when he was complimented by strangers at competitions, and stared at in awe when practicing, he knew he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Yakov found him when he was eight, he was just a child entering a competition against people twice his age, after he completely obliterated his competition, Yakov approached him, his parents, and his grand-father, explaining that he wanted to coach him, explaining that he had potential.

His mom grabbed Yuri proudly and said “of course, he’s a natural”

Yakov just laughed, which made Yuri mad for some inexplicable reason. “I’ve told all my students this, and I’ll tell you, no one’s a natural, to get good at skating, you have to work at it”

Yuri felt the fire light up again, if the old man didn’t believe in natural talent, Yuri was going to prove him wrong. He narrowed his eyes, bring it on.

They ended up moving to Saint Petersburg, Yakov told his parents that if they were serious about Yuri pursuing a career in ice skating, that he should take part time school and spend the rest of his time at practice, his parents agreed immediately. They had seen the difference skating made in Yuri’s life, they didn’t want to take it away.

So, before Yuri had a chance to think about his life back in Moscow, he was thrown into a new one in Saint. Petersburg.

It’s where he first met Victor.

Long silver hair, and pale blue eyes, and a body long and nimble, perfectly crafted for skating.

Of course, Yuri had seen Victor before, he saw him on television, on posters, on the back of cereal boxes. Victor was everywhere, being a Russian born skater, who was quickly named the ‘best skater of this century’ meant he was everywhere, and Yuri being a Russian skater-to-be, meant he heard more than his fair share about Victor Nikiforov. But seeing him in the flesh was an entirely different experience, he wasn’t doing much that would suggest he was a world class athlete, he was just talking, talking and following Yakov around like a disobedient puppy, using his hands to gesture too much.

Yuri started to get angry; if Yakov didn’t believe anyone was a natural did that mean he didn’t believe Victor was a natural either? How could someone get as good as him without being a natural?

Yuri gritted his teeth, and flared his nostrils quickly, if he was going to be a natural, then he was going to be better than Victor Nikiforov, he watched Victor lean forward and laugh loudly, Yuri was more than ready to wipe that stupid smirk off his face.

He took a quick lap around the rink and settled himself in for his best jump, a toe loop; he was going to do a triple, just to show his skill at his young age. He prepared, waited, then pushed off with his pick, flying through the air and landing far too soon on the second rotation… on two feet.

Yuri scowled and hit the ice with his skate.

From across the ice he watched Victor haphazardly shrug off the jacket that was tied around his waist, and enter seamlessly into a quad loop, landing perfectly if not a bit theatrically.

Yuri just stood and watched in awe, it was when Victor gave him a sideways glance, that he knew the jump was meant for him.

Yuri was ready to storm off, hide in the bathroom stall and cry, or punch a wall with his tiny fists, when Victor skated up next to him and laughed loudly.
It took Yuri a second to understand he wasn’t laughing at him.

“You’re good, very determined”

Yuri watched Victor tower over him, he knew somewhere in his mind he should have been intimidated, even maybe scared about talking to a living legend, but for some reason, he wasn’t. He wrote Victor off as any other person in the world, no different.

“I know”

Victor laughed again, placing two hands on his hips. “But not very humble” he waggled a finger as if to scold Yuri

Yuri ignored him, skating to the other edge of the rink. Victor wasn’t dissuaded, he just followed closely.

“How old are you?” Victor asked

Yuri stopped and turned to him, subconsciously mirroring Victor by placing a hand on his hip “How old are you?”

Victor’s smile turned around in surprise “I’m twenty-one! I’m not that old”

“Yeah well I’m nine; you’re pretty old to me. You’re practically middle aged!”

Victor laughed again, as if he was scandalized “Twenty-one is not middle age, I’m not going to die at age forty-two”

Yuri froze, oh so that’s what middle age meant. “Then why do you have grey hair, grandpa?”

Victor gaped “its silver not grey” he said placing a hand over his hair delicately

“Ooh yeah big difference”

Victor’s eyes widened “then what about your hair? Your hairs grey too”

Yuri stuck his tongue out at him “It’s blonde grandpa”

Victor stuck his tongue out back

“This is a junior practice session, you’re obviously not a junior, so why are you here?”

“I wanted to talk with Yakov. Besides he left me home alone, and I was bored and I like skating”

Yuri ignored him, he kept skating.

“You know you almost landed that jump” Victor said calling after him

“I know”

“Yeah well you’re not going to get any better if you keep doing the wrong thing” Victor said

Yuri stopped again. He was right. Yuri turned around quickly to face Victor “and you’re going to help me?” he asked accusatorily

“Well I am a pretty good skater you know” Victor said smiling.

Yuri stayed silent and Victor took that as an offer to continue “you almost landed it well, but you have to bend your knee more, accept that your body will know what to do to keep itself alive. A little bend in the knee when landing a big jump can seem scary because you get closer to the ice, but it also allows you to keep more control”

Yuri nodded, looking down to the ice as he processed that

“Try again”

Yuri did, once again taking a lap around the rink, and entering the jump, making two rotations and landing again, forcing his knee to bend, taking the energy from his body, from there he pushed out adding an arm for balance.

He turned to see Victor, who was smiling widely. “See, you did great”

Yuri offered Victor a small stilted smile. “You should be a coach, when you retire” Yuri offered ignoring the look of interest on Victors face “which shouldn’t be too long, maybe a few months”

Victor laughed again “mmh, I don’t think so”

Yakov called for Victor from across the ice and Victor started to skate away from Yuri, only stopping to call out a “Keep skating like that, and you’ll be better than me in no time”

Yuri knew he was joking, but as he watched Victor skate away to fight with Yakov, he felt the fire in his heart start to grow.

Victor had just added more kindling

▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪

It wasn’t long after that, when it happened

It was after practice, and his family hadn’t come to pick him up. The first thirty minutes were normal; Yuri wasn’t worried, he wasn’t nervous. But when the minutes dragged on to an hour, when the advanced skaters took their places and Victor walked in with a bag on his side, giving a small smile and a nod, when the skaters left and the thirty minutes slowly turned to three hours, Yuri started to wonder if something was wrong.

Victor never left, he stood a few feet away from him, watching him with an aura of mild concern constantly.
Yuri pretended not to notice.

When Victor eventually gave up his pretense of doing something else, and sat next to Yuri on the bench, he started to talk. Not the way he usually spoke to Yuri, like he was an adult, capable of being talked to in anything but soft tone, but now he was quiet, his voice laced in a mask of comfort and forced nonchalance. “Are your parents coming?”

Yuri gave him a vague look of annoyance “yes… probably soon”

“You’ve been waiting for three hours” Victor said softly choosing to continue talking when Yuri said nothing “does this usually happen?”

Yuri shot to his feet “No! It doesn’t happen, and my parents will be here soon, okay?”

Victor said nothing, he just sat with him in silence, minutes ticked by before he spoke “This has happened to me too. Is there someone I can call?”

Yuri was opening his mouth to defend his family, who he was already fiercely protective of at his young age, when the door opened, and he saw the panicked face of his grandfather.

For Yuri, confusion hit him like a brick wall, his grandfather wasn’t supposed to pick him up today, he only picked him up on Friday’s so they could go and eat together like always, and it didn’t make sense that he would show up so late.

All his grandfather had to do was look at him

And with an eerily calm sense of understanding Yuri knew

Something truly terrible had happened

▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪

After that everything was harder

Simple mundane acts like moving boxes to his grandfather’s house, making his bed, brushing his teeth, they seemed monumental. His only escape, the only time things were easy for him, was when he skated.

Just being on the ice was escape enough for Yuri. It was an escape from the cold harsh reality of life. The realities that sometimes people died, sometimes good people die far far too soon, and that there is nothing you can do about it.

But when Yuri skated, he knew he lacked something, he couldn’t land any jumps, he couldn’t focus on his footwork, it was getting sloppy, his spins would travel, his movements slow. During certain practices, he would focus on one jump, over and over again, and falling over and over again until his ankles throbbed and his feet grew callouses, and large bruises formed on his legs.

It was one of those days, when Victor was watching him. From the sideboards so uncharacteristically quiet, Yuri couldn’t even tell he was there.

He had just fallen from a triple axel and, lifted himself from the ice, brushing the snow off his pants, he got up to try again. Most of the junior class had left already, but Yuri was welcomed to stay afterward and continue practicing, Yakov realized that he needed the practice.

When Yuri fell from the jump again, he felt bitter tears sting his chest. His parents told him far too many times that they loved watching him skate, they moved to Saint Petersburg so he could continue, they bought him things like skates and fancy cat guards, they bought him gloves, and high quality skating clothes, they bought presents for him, usually stuffed cats to throw on the ice for him after performances, they loved when he skated so much and now…

Now Yuri was just disappointing them.

Before he knew he had fallen to the ice again, and before he could push himself off to redo the jump, he felt hands wrap around his forearms securely and lift him up. Yuri knew it was Victor, but he still leaned gratefully into the warm chest in front of him, tears were blurring his vision. He followed his soothing voice off the rink.

He felt the fire inside him rage out of control, growing, consuming everything in its path without a second thought. In Yuri though, the fire manifested itself in shaky sobs, in fits of temper, in fists thrown and yelling insults that Yuri didn’t even fully understand, and Victor? Victor braved it all. He eventually let Yuri just tire himself out, and sob openly into his chest. Victor didn’t budge.

When the tears started to tamper off, when his sobs turned gradually into unsure inhales and shaky exhales, Yuri just leaned into his chest and mumbled “It hurts”

Victor wrapped his fingers around Yuri’s shoulders and held him tight “I know” he said, “I know”

Yuri didn’t ask, because how could Victor possibly understand this, this pain, this anger.

“I’m just so angry” he confessed

Victor nodded, and dropped to his knees in front of Yuri, coming to his height. “Good” Victor said “you’re allowed to be angry, so use that anger to skate. To make your parents proud”

Yuri cried some more, and let himself be held some more. Eventually Yakov found the two, and he held him in his arms, and when Yuri was done and asked if he wanted to skate some more, he just shook his head

“No” he said, “I think I’m done for the day” and he called his grandpa and was picked up within the hour.

And when Yuri left the rink, he felt the fire die down to a sizzle.

But it was enough to keep him warm.

▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪

Yuri was there when Victor collapsed

He saw the whole thing.

He saw Victor grow pale, far too pale then he had ever been. He turned white, and then took on a sickly shade of green, and then he excused himself to the locker room, and the now fifteen-year-old Yuri was sent to check on the twenty-seven year old, because no matter how the media portrayed him, Victor Nikiforov was essentially the world’s biggest baby, with the world’s most over protective coach.

He groaned at Yakov, and thought briefly about complaining but ultimately decided against it, and stood up from where he was sitting to follow Victor through the men’s locker room.

It was sudden, Victor didn’t hear Yuri come in, he was too focused on watching the sink, his hands gripped tightly on the porcelain edge, Yuri watched as a drop of blood fell from Victor’s nose to the sink, and Victor continued watching as if mesmerized by the blood, and then he fell. With no prompt, with no push, or slip, it’s as if his legs refused to work, and they gave out below him, sending Victor toppling to the floor in a heap.

His body began moving slowly, Yuri learned from seeing Mila pass out on the ice after practice, that the movement were natural, it was the bodies way of leveling itself out. But it was enough to terrify Yuri, he felt his body freeze up, felt ice forming in his stomach, crawling up to clog his throat, as images of him mother and father in the hospital flashed before him.

Then, suddenly, everything came back to him.

Yuri rushed towards Victor turning to yell at the top of his lungs for someone to help him. For anyone.

Thankfully, Yuri could be loud when he needed to be, and as he saw Victor’s pale eyes open, Yakov, Mila, and Georgi came barreling in through the door.

Yakov was first to kneel next to Victor, pushing past Yuri roughly, which Yuri at the moment didn’t mind. As Victor gained consciousness, the first thing he did was laugh. Which was such a Victor thing to do, by that, Yuri meant it was annoying, and maybe just a bit terrifying.

Yakov watched Victor and asked in concern “what happened Victor are you okay?”

“I’m really okay, I must have just slipped” Victor said slowly, a small smile still playing on his lips

Yuri’s eye’s narrowed

“Your nose is bleeding” Mila said next to Yuri. He looked like a mess, silver hair messy, certain strands dyed red, the lower half of his face covered in blood. He looked like a crime scene. Victor reached a numb hand to dab at his mouth and looked at his bloody fingers as if confused

“Oh” Victor looked lost “I… I must have hit it on the sink when I went down.” Victor looked around the room at everyone’s faces “Aw Yakov, you care about me, don’t you?”

As Yakov relaxed at Victor’s joking, Yuri watched the rest of the room do some unconsciously. Letting out held breathes, and releasing tighten muscles.

Now Yakov turned to Yuri “Yuri, what happened?”

Yuri didn’t answer, he just watched Victor who decided to answer for himself “I told you what happened, I slippe-”

Yakov raised a hand to silence him.

Yuri took it as his que to speak, although he didn’t take his eyes off Victor, watching him in suspicion “well you told me to go check on him and when I came in, he was on the ground with blood on his face” Yuri felt himself grow defensive “that’s all I know don’t look at me for an explanation of something”

Mila washed off a paper towel for him to clean his face, and Victor continued making sexual jokes which made everyone groan, and just like that, they wrote it off as a simple mistake.

But, Yuri was there. And Yuri was angry, and Yuri was stubborn and Yuri was observant. Victor fell, he did not slip, he did not hit his head on the way down, he was bleeding when Yuri walked in, he simply fell with no prompt from the world around him.

Yuri watched him lean on Yakov as he was lugged upwards, and watched him get carried off, all the while wondering ‘what’s really going on’
Yuri’s next hint was at the rink a few months later.

Yakov was by the side lines, choppily texting on his phone, when his eyes grew wide. Yuri watched him from the ice curiously, he watched him leave quickly to the bathroom and only return about ten minutes later, eyes red and puffy.

When Victor arrived to practice late, with a blank face and an empty expression, Yuri watched him. He watched him practice his two newly choreographed short skates, but something was missing.

He watched him from the corner of his eye, as Yuri skated, practicing footwork and jumps. And then Yuri watched Victor leave, after only thirty minutes of practice, he watched him simply don his skate guards and go.

Yuri skated to Yakov who was watching Victor with that same delicate expression, something had changed in the day “why does he get to leave I w-”

“Mind your own business Yuri” Yakov said angrily “and get back to work!”

“Okay, okay I’m going old man” Yuri said, raising his hands to his side. He just wanted to know.

And then there was Yuuri. The other Yuuri, the Japanese Yuuri, who Victor was just so enamored with. After Victor left to fly to Japan to coach him, Yuri could feel a heat rise within him, something angry, and bitter, and uncontrollable, Victor didn’t just get to leave everyone in Russia for some one night stand a year ago. It didn’t matter what was going on with him, he had an obligation to Russia, he had a connection… right?

He wanted to know just what was so special about this Japanese man, he only met him twice, once in a bathroom where Yuri yelled at him for being a loser at the Grand Prix, and then another time at a banquet where the guy got drunk off his ass, and challenged everyone to a dance off. So what if Yuri accepted the challenge? So what if Yuri lost?

But when he decided to follow in Victor’s footsteps, flying to Japan to now challenge the cry baby in an ice skating competition, because Yuri’s seen him skate, and Yuri could beat him any day, to bring Victor back to Russia where he belonged.

Yuri finally understood what Victor saw in him. Yuuri, Yuuri was something else.

There was something kind but utterly lonely in the way he looked at the world. It made Yuri feel vulnerable, it made Yuri feel angry. No one should be allowed to make Yuri feel vulnerable, he wasn’t. Not in the end. Not when all he had to ground him to the earth was his grandfather, and skating, and he cared about nothing else, nothing could make him feel small anymore. Yuri made sure of it.

But then there was Yuuri. The man that Victor had fallen all too quickly in love with. The man with kind eyes, and a gentle heart, who talked to Yuri and made him feel ten years old again, watching his grandfather run into the rink wearing that face that told him everything he needed to know already.

So, Yuri did what he usually did, he made himself big, and he made himself scary, and he pushed him away. And Yuri and Victor pushed back, gently, with fun nicknames like ‘Yurio’ or the simple act of returning Yuri’s anger with a smile, but it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

And when he watched him skate, Yuri understood. He radiated love, he radiated life, and when Yuri watched Victor push him away to be with Yuuri.

He knew, Victor didn’t need him anymore. Victor didn’t care.

The same boy who followed Yuri around the rink years ago, pestering him to talk, annoying him to all get out, wanted nothing to do with him now. He found a new play toy, to keep him busy as he got tired of the old ones and threw them away.

And Yuri? Yuri was unneeded.

It was a cold reality, but one that Yuri knew was the truth.

If you didn’t have the truth, then what do you have?

It was a hypothetical question but Yuri knew the answer.

You had nothing.

Nothing.

▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪

As they entered the Grand Prix Final, Yuri began to piece everything together.

The bloody noses Victor Nikiforov (now Yuuri’s coach) tried to hide, the moments of unfocus that would glaze his eyes during practices. The subtle glances shared between Lilia and Yakov when it would happen to Victor again. Sometimes there would be words whispered to one another, as if Yuri wasn’t practicing only a few feet away, simple things like “Can someone in his situation handle long distance flights?” or “he had another bloody nose did you see?” and though they never referred to him by name, it didn’t take long for Yuri to piece it together, and realize they were talking about Victor.

That something was wrong with Victor

It just made him angry.

Angry that whatever was happening to Victor was happening to Victor, angry that Victor didn’t tell him himself, that Yakov and Lilia didn’t tell him, that Yakov and Lilia didn’t think he could figure it out for himself, that he wasn’t important enough to be talked to, that he had very few people in this world he allowed himself to care about, and that Victor had wormed his way into being one of them, and that just like that he was leaving. Like they all did. Like they were all going to.

Yuri, felt the fire grow, and light up his chest, eating away at his organs, at his heart. Yuri did as Victor told him all those years ago, and used that anger to push his triple lutz to a quad, with an arm raised, and a perfect landing, it was one of Yuri’s best jumps.

Yakov barked at him from the sidelines, to follow his directions.

Yuri ignored him, and continued through his practice, the fire had died down again, and the lack of heat made Yuri shiver.

He felt cold.

▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪

Makkachin barked, his collar hanging behind him as he ran along Hasetsu’s beach, barking at seagulls or even the constant waves that would build and crash across the beach methodically, at one point he stopped to chase his own shadow.

Yuri rolled his eyes, there was a reason he was a cat person. Dogs were so stupid sometimes, despite his profound hatred for almost anything living, he couldn’t help but smile when Makkachin bounded out into the ocean and then ran out into the beach again, covering himself with sand.

He recalled a fond memory from Yuri and Victor’s wedding here, when Makkachin who was ring bearer wandered out into the ocean, and everyone freaked out thinking he was going to lose the rings so Yakov chased after him only to find that the rings were secure in a zipped and waterproof pouch, but unfortunately Yakov’s suit wasn’t spared. The wedding was strange, but Yuri was glad to be a part of it, glad to be invited, although he would have shown up anyways, invited or not.

But Victor. Victor with the doctor’s following him, with his pale skin turning almost green in certain lighting, with the increasing bloody noses and aphasia attacks, he looked awful, but he looked in love.

Yuri didn’t want to dwell on the fact that he was right. On the fact that from where Yuri was, walking Makkachin, he could see Hasetsu’s Ocean View Hospital, where Victor was staying, probably sleeping, probably dreaming, Yuri ignored it.

Instead he focused on the setting sun, the fire reflecting off the water, as some kind of living proof of yin and yang, he watched Makkachin bound across the beach, and stopped to throw a stick for him. Only stopping the game of fetch to turn and watch the sun sink below the horizon, and as darkness fell upon the sky, Yuri pet Makkachin soundly on his side, grabbed his leash and started walking back to the Inn where they had been staying.

He was halfway here when his phone buzzed against his side. Yuri kept walking Makkachin until they arrived at Yu-topia, he continued putting Makkachin away, kneeling to unhook his collar, and pushing him away gently when Makka tried to lick him. Yuri exasperatedly ignored the four other texts he was receiving.

All it took for him to realize something was wrong, was to see the others faces. Phichit and Minako were bent over their phones, the distraught clear on their features, and it hit Yuri like a wall.

Something had happened.

He quickly hid behind the wall, before the others could notice him and checked the group chat. The first text sent was from Yuuri. It simply read

‘He’s gone’

The next was from Phichit

‘when?’

Yuri felt his heart start to beat faster, and he ignored the rest of the text’s. He dropped his phone to the ground, as he heard the car approach the Inn.

He ran outside with Phichit and Minako, he ignored their looks and instead watched the car pull up slowly. He watched as Hiroko, Toshiya, Mari and Yana got out of the car slowly, as if moving too fast was wrong, as if moving too fast was unnecessary and hurtful, as if the world around them was porcelain and moving too fast would shatter it, break it into a million pieces too difficult to piece together again.

Phichit went around to help with Yuuri who was guided from the car in a near catatonic state

But once glance at Yakov, and Yuri knew it was real.

He nodded, and Yuri lost any kind of control he might have held onto previously, the fire grew too large for even Yuri to control.

“No!” he yelled “Stop lying!”

And then it was too much, the realization that he was gone, that the world was still turning, and everyone was still alive, that nothing and everything had happened all at once, and that he was dead. He couldn’t just stand there, he wasn’t going to go back inside the Inn and talk with everyone about their feelings, he wasn’t going to pretend this was okay. He didn’t really know what he was going to do, but he wasn’t going to stay here, his legs made that decision for him, Yuri didn’t have much of a say in it. He just started running, and he couldn’t have stopped if he tried.

In the distance, he vaguely heard Yakov’s call for him, and heard the shuffling of someone chasing after him, but it made him panic and he ran faster. He let his body move, following down the path he had familiarized himself with over the past months, he followed the same path he used when walking Makkachin.

He was aware Yakov was looking for him, that he would be angry with him. But Yuri was fast, and Yuri was smart, when he came across a split in the road that took him down to town he took a left instead of his usual right, he didn’t really know where it would take him, and for the moment he couldn’t really let himself care, if Yakov was expecting him to do one thing, then Yuri was going to do then other.

He tried not to think, but he couldn’t always help it. A memory would flash in front of his vision like it was playing on a screen, his mom wrapped in bandages, and hooked up to different kinds of fluids, he saw her as he did when he was a child, big, and scary, and gone. He blinked and she changed into Victor, an idea of what he looked like, the EKG above him no longer beeping methodically, just a long steady beep, the sound of death. Yuri wanted to squeeze his eyes shut to clear the images, but it was hopeless, they were in his mind, in his heart, nothing physical could change it. Yuri wanted to duck into an alley way and sob, to scream, and cry and hit something or someone, he wanted to hurt himself and other people, he wanted to do something important, something drastic, but when it came down to it, Yuri was just a kid.

He was just a lost and lonely kid who was running from something that couldn’t be run from, he was just a kid sobbing as he ran through the night in a strange country where he didn’t speak the language. He was just a kid, who was angry, and who couldn’t help being angry.

Its when Yuri finally looked around and realized he didn’t know where he was that he started to cry.

Well Yuri had been crying before of course, but they were tears of anger. They were shed in bitter defiance, so they were hot and forceful, but now, he stopped sobbing, and he just started crying. They weren’t soft exactly, but they were tears of sorrow, of mourning, and of realizations. They were tears Yuri hadn’t shed in a long time, they were tears Yuri hoped he would never shed again.

But here he was, just a lost boy crying in an alley way.

Yuri slowly lowered himself next to a dumpster, he realized how hard it was for him to move. He drew one leg up to himself, and then the other, and he wrapped his arms round both and cried openly into his legs. For the first time in Yuri’s life, he tried to make himself smaller than he was.

He realized it made him look vulnerable, but it made him feel safe.

Yuri let the images run free now, snippets of things Victor had said, following him around the ice to bother him, joking about his age, acting offended at everything Yuri said to him, giving him the name ‘Yurio’ It was Victor’s nickname for him, and it was Victor’s name to use alone.

It wasn’t like losing Victor was hard for Yuri, it was like losing a part of himself.

And he hated it. He hated Victor for taking a part of him away without permission. He hated Victor, and he hated the world for taking Victor away, and he hated Yuuri for taking up Victor’s time, and he hated Yakov for not telling Yuri sooner, and he hated, and he hated, and he hated.

And then in the blur of everything, Yuri heard a voice.

And then he felt a pair of arms wrap around him, and he panicked, without a thought process to rely upon, and without any energy left to use, he pushed away against the persons chest, he didn’t know who it was, and he didn’t fully know what was happening, but he didn’t want to be touched, and he didn’t want to exist.

When he gave in to the soothing touches, the sturdy arms around his back, and words whispered in his ear Yuri opened his eyes. He saw as everyone does when you cry, through blurry splotches of the world around you. Not quite real enough to be considered true, but not masked enough to be considered false.

He started focusing on the words, and discovered them to be Russian, he was so used to hearing English and Japanese over the past months, he had forgotten anyone else spoke Russian. It was a comforting realization.

The words were saying something along the lines of “It’s okay” and “I’ve got you” which made Yuri all too aware of his position, sobbing into a jacket while splayed out across an alley way next to a dumpster. He shifted uncomfortably in the arms, it’s like something went through him and he felt the need to move again, to struggle minutely before giving in.

He knew it was Yakov. Yakov who chased after him, and loved Victor with all his heart. Who lost Victor too.

He listened to Yakov, whisper soothing nothings into his ear, and hold him tightly like he never wanted to let go. For some ridiculous reason Yuri wished he never did. There was something about being held after crying, breathing open mouthed into a warm chest, knowing that you didn’t actually look very good, or even look very sane, that made Yuri feel something other than anger.

He didn’t really know what it was, but it was something.

Yuri felt his mouth move, and he let words slide out. He hadn’t planned them, and he didn’t really know what was going to happen as he spoke, he just let it happen.
“I’m so angry” he said

Yakov stilled for a moment, letting the words sink in as he pondered a possible response. Finally, he just rested his lower chin on Yuri’s forehead, it wasn’t quite a parental kiss, but it was close enough to be considered one.

“I know” he said, “It’s who you are”

Yuri opened his eyes wider to clear the tears that settled there. It’s who he was, he was just the angry boy, who had a fire growing inside him, a lost boy, who never really knew where to go. It’s who he was. Its who he was. But…

“I don’t want to be” Yuri said finally.

Yakov moved again, to pull him closer, as if it was possible. “I know” he said again, “But it’s not a bad thing. You have plenty to be angry about, you have plenty to be sad about, and it’s okay to feel these things.”

Yuri pushed him away roughly, feeling his whole world slide back into itself, as if a camera lens was focusing, slowly but surely, things became more clear. Yuri leaned against the dumpster, letting the hard edge dig into his back, he finally looked at Yakov, really really looked, and he looked the same as he always did. Grief hadn’t changed him, long grey hair, stony features, his mouth hardened into a line, it was if nothing had changed, it was if his star pupil hadn’t just died, was that all Victor was to him? A good ice skater that got Yakov good reviews, that got him fame? Yes, he took good care of him, but it was just some façade, it was only because he knew if Victor was sick then it would cost him his best skater, Yuri looked at him and felt pure unadulterated anger for the old man, for the fool, he didn’t love Victor at all, somewhere in the heat rising up within him, he lost all concept of thoughts and Yuri just let the anger engulf him.

“Then why aren’t you angry?” Yuri asked, “why aren’t you sad?”

Yakov squinted for a moment, letting his features morph in anger before he roped them into obedience again. “I am” he said, “Of course I am”

Yuri kept yelling, letting his mouth take control “No, you never cared about him, he was just your star skater” He ignored Yakov’s anger, the way he shook his head with every additional sentence, as if words had failed him, as if Yuri’s words had rendered him speechless Yuri felt his voice rise, and while he was vaguely aware that he was yelling at his coach in an alleyway in Japan, he couldn’t really bring himself to care. He let himself yell, he let himself push against Yakov’s chest, he let his words rise and echo over the concrete, over the dumpster and the buildings that surrounded him, he let them sink into the world around him, and bury themselves there. He was angry… He was angry, he was angry. “you never actually cared when he went to Japan, it was just because he wasn’t going to be skating for you anymore” he pushed into Yakov’s chest with an accusatory finger, and it pushed Yakov over the edge.

“How dare you say that!” he yelled back. “How dare you say I never cared about him.”

Something about the act of being yelled at back, shocked him. Usually whenever Yuri yelled at someone they treated it as a game, Mila would lift Yuri over her head, and Victor would just laugh at such a large temper being hidden inside such a small boy. Lilia would stare pins and needles into the boy, and convince him almost telepathically to get back to work, even Yuuri would just offer a small smile, and continue talking as if nothing had happened. But Yakov… Yakov was the only person who ever yelled back. He would yell at him when Yuri got distracted while skating, or when he would change a jump into a much more complicated one without asking him first, he would yell at him to follow directions and to follow the rules, Yakov called Yuri just to yell at him when he flew to Japan without so much as a warning.
Yuri fell back, and stared at him with an open mouth, how did he never notice.

He watched Yakov’s eye’s grow wide and wet, he watched him cry faster than he ever thought humanly possible. He watched as the carefully composed man he had grown to know over the years fell apart before his eyes. Yakov grabbed weakly at his thinning hair, and let himself fall back against the alley way wall, as if he was too weak to rest on his knees, his hands moved from his hair to his chest as if trying desperately to hold himself together as he was rapidly falling apart.

“I-” Yakov tried, cutting himself off with a heaving gasp “I loved him” he said. “I always wanted a son but Lilia never did. It was one of the reasons we divorced, but even after that I never had one, and I always wondered, maybe because I was just too old or maybe I knew I already had one.” Yakov started openly sobbing, his voice caught in his throat on the way out. It was a horrifying sound Yuri was all too used to, it was the sound of pain, and it hurt to hear, but it was real, it was all too real.
“He lived with me, because his parents weren’t fit to take care of him, so I did.” Yakov turned to Yuri, anger and loss shining behind his eyes

“I let him live with us because it was the right thing to do” Yakov clutched at his chest again. “but I let him in because I loved him”

Yuri didn’t know what to say. He knew he probably should have started with an apology of some sort, of course he knew that. He would like to say he didn’t really know why he said those kinds of things to Yakov, but it would have been a lie. Yuri wanted to take his anger out on someone, or he wanted to hurt him, or because he was so fucked up he didn’t know any other real form of communication.

So, he said nothing at all.

He just sat down next to Yakov, his back hunched over and touching the alleyway wall, and they just cried. Yuri watched as street lamps flickered on, illuminating a street across the way. It was strange, the light should have been able to reach them from there, but it didn’t. It was as if there was some invisible force field around the lamp, allowing the light to fall around it, but never quite out. Yuri and Yakov were still cast in darkness.

As he waited for his sight to adjust to the darkness, he just sat feeling Yakov’s guttural sobs echo across the alleyway, he listened to the choking sound as phlegm formed in Yakov’s throat. He listened to himself crying softly now, to their breathing, to the sound of the wind blowing between buildings, softly at first, then loudly all at once, as it was daring them to pay attention, to listen. So, Yuri did.

He listened to the wind, and the soft sounds of traffic blocks away, he listened to the far away ocean, maybe imagining the sound of waves crashing over the beach, maybe imagining a voice on the wind that sounded all too much like Victors, and as he listened to Yakov sobs dying out to a trickle of grief, he heard him part his lips, and begin to speak.

“Yuri?”

“Yes?” Yuri asked, he was all too aware, that the time between them didn’t fix what had been said.

“I think we should head ba-”

But Yuri interrupted him “I’m sorry” Yakov didn’t respond, and Yuri took it as a chance to continue “I know you loved him, and I loved him too, and I don’t know why I said that. I’m just messed up okay?” the words still came out as if Yuri were angry at him, he wasn’t but Yuri really didn’t know how to change that. He just hoped Yakov would understand what he meant.

“I know you didn’t” Yakov said finally letting go of a long breathe.

They stood in silence, and Yuri hoped it was enough. They started walking back to the inn, in uncomfortable silence.

“But Yuri” Yakov said, in the bare light being shed from the street lamp ahead Yuri could barely make out the outline of Yakov’s face. Yakov didn’t stop walking, and Yuri followed him, walking by his side, they didn’t turn to look at each other so it took away the severity of the situation.

“I said that Victor was my son” Yuri turned to look at him, but Yakov either didn’t see him or ignore his staring. “and that’s true” he added after a moment of hesitation “he is my son, and he always will be.” Yakov reached up and wiped a stray tear away from his cheek, in the darkness he looked like he aged twenty years in a blink of an eye, the death of a child will do that to you.

“but Yuri, I see him in you.” At this Yuri turned to look at him. Yakov stopped and looked at Yuri roughly before turning away again “I never told him, that I considered him my son.” He took a long shuddering breathe “but I should have. I really, really should have. I know that Victor knew, I didn’t have to tell him for him to know, but I still wish I did.”

Yuri watched Yakov digest his next words, slowly at first as if questioning the logistics of them. Then he spit them out carefully, haltingly, as if they were painful. “I consider you my son too”

Yuri felt the fire light inside him, and overwhelm him. It was something he grew all too used to over the years, but this time it felt different. It didn’t feel hot, overwhelming and over powering, blistering and splintering, now it just felt warm.

Fire was destructive. If it grew too large and too wild it could spin out of control, consume and destroy anything and everything in it’s path, anything that got in its way, whether it was trying to help or not. But fire could also be something different. It cooked food, and warmed homes, warmed hearts. It lit the way for people who were lost in the darkness.

It was funny, Yuri thought. He always felt lost, and to find his way home all he needed was a little fire.

A little of something he had all along.

It wasn’t enough to make this entire situation better, but it was something. It was something.

Yuri stopped for a moment, he thought about it for a moment and then did it, not even hesitating to throw himself into Yakov’s unsuspecting arms. He just buried his face in his chest and squeezed his tiny arms around Yakov’s chest, and after only a few moments of surprise Yakov wrapped an arm around Yuri roughly against him, using the other hand to hold Yuri’s head close to his chest.

For the first time in far too long, Yuri let himself be a child.

The hug didn’t last long, but it was enough. They separated roughly and walked back to the Inn in silence.

It wasn’t okay, of course it wasn’t okay. But, they were.

▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪

Yuuri stepped out onto the ice, for the first time since he got back from Japan.

He was closer to everyone, after it happened. Lilia and Yakov flew with him to Russia, nothing had changed of course, Lilia and Yakov were still his coaches, they were still strict and annoying as ever but now he knew what he meant to them and with that the world seemed different.

The news of Victor’s death spread throughout the world. Beyond being the best skater, the skating world has ever seen, he was also a great person. Then came the news about the secret wedding, Yuuri Katsuki was depicted as the mourning widow, there was news that he hadn’t signed up for this year’s Grand Prix, claiming he was heartbroken and stricken with grief. Then came all the gossip, coming from one-night stands, and old dates of his, graphic descriptions of long nights with the one and only Victor Nikiforov. There were claims unsubstantiated by Yakov that his parents were abusive and kicked him from his home, that a brave Yakov had stepped up and taken him into his house.

It was disgusting, a horrifying romanization of death. It made Yuri sick. It made him angry

That never changed at east. He was pretty sure he was always going to be angry. It’s how he was born and it’s how he has lived, Yuri didn’t know how to live without the fire burning inside him.

But with the knowledge that fire could be good to, that it could guide, and warm, and heal. Yuri was aware for the first time in his life, that he had something beautiful inside him.

He watched Mila talking with Georgi from across the rink, he saw Yakov offer Lilia a coffee from a nearby café, he watched her giggle in a very un-Lilia-like way and accept it with a smile. He took his place on the ice preparing himself for his next free program.

He understood what Victor meant a year ago when he said “It’s about emotion, Yuri. Surely you must have figured that out by now” Yuri smiled, yeah, he did.

He had only been in Russia for a few weeks and he already missed Hasetsu, its beach and its town, Yuri even missed its tiny quaint ice rink that over looked its ocean.

So Yuri took his position, breathing calmly waiting for the music to play, Yuri felt strange.

He felt happy.

The music began trickling out of the overhead speakers and with a smile Yuri began to skate.

Sooner or later, everyone was going to know, what fire can do.