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Some birds are meant to be caged.
Victor types the words with hesitant fingers, feels a past pinprick nip at his heart. He heard a reporter say it after a press conference where his shorter haircut debut was the subject of a lively debate. The public relations spin included a lot of fancy exposition and generous admiration of the look but that particular line floated above Victor’s head and remained a stark question mark until he found Yakov.
Yakov never allowed that reporter to ask a question at conferences again.
The meaning of it came to him the way a failed jump distributed pain - delayed in his impossible schedule, putting aside his life for the ice, piece by piece, until his heart was held together by faux smiles and indistinguishable views from the top of the podium. He was caged, by others, by his own obsession, by the medals around his neck. He was what everyone taught him to be.
He strolled through the Village in Sochi, eyes roving for somewhere quiet. He wanted to cry in peace before his competition, had left Yakov a note that he was taking a walk to get some air before the evening. A building loomed in his vision, far from the general crowds and lonely enough that he could spend some time with his thoughts. He snuck into the place, glancing over his shoulder before shutting the door with a sigh. It was a gym, stuffy, underused and catering to storage it seemed. Perfect.
Victor wove through boxes and stacked chairs, aborting sneezes and easing cobweb from his bangs as he walked. It was okay; he hadn’t been expecting much. He certainly wasn’t expecting to find that he wasn’t alone. And above all, for the person on the large mat at the center of the room to be the most radiant presence Victor had ever seen.
An angel. A raven-haired angel in form fitting silver spandex, ribbons swirling in his skilled grasp. He bent then to his will, moved with them, offered himself to their color and magic as they enhanced his own beauty and flair. It was a stunning display of control and patience, of freedom and passion; it was love, in every dip and curve and twirl. As effortless as breathing.
Victor tripped over a box and went crashing to the ground, previously unhinged jaw now clenched in pain.
“Are you okay?!” the man was suddenly at his side, ribbons abandoned on the mat. Victor was encased in strong hands and a sweet musk and gentle guidance that got him to his feet.
“T-thanks,” Victor mumbled, “I'm really sorry I disturbed you.”
“It’s okay. I've been here a few hours so, it's about time for a break. I'm Yuuri, by the way.”
“Victor.”
Yuuri smiled. “Are you competing at the Winter Games?”
Victor studied him for an iota of irony and found only curious brown eyes. “I, uh, I'm a figure skater. I'm competing later this evening, yes.”
“That’s so cool! My friend back home, Yuuko, she adores skating. I can’t say I know much about it but it’s very beautiful to watch.”
“You’re not a competitor?”
“Nope. I'm here supporting a friend from Thailand, Phichit. He’s a snowboarder, one of the best in the world. He recommended this old gym for me to get my daily practice in. I didn’t think anyone else knew about it.”
“I didn’t, I just needed…” Victor cleared his throat, waved a hand, smiled his ass off; pretended. “You know how the mind gets before a competition.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” Yuuri walked over to where he dropped his ribbons, retrieving them with an elegant bend. “Rhythmic gymnastics was never part of the Olympic roster until recently. It was always considered a sport for women. Distinctions like that, for both men and women, annoys the fuck out of me.”
Victor blinked; Yuuri’s foul mouthed spur was unexpected and a contradiction to the graceful line of him. Victor couldn't help but adore it.
“I grateful that I'm able to compete now,” Yuuri said, pride clear in his voice, “but fighting for it, all those years, it made me feel caged.”
Victor let out a whimper, caustic and broken. Yuuri spun to him, concern flooding his features and once again the ribbons went to the ground. Victor tipped forward, head pounding and eyes flooded with tears; Yuuri was beside himself with worry.
“Are you hurt? Did I say something? Victor, you’re shaking so much! Please look at me!”
It took some time for his vision to clear and Yuuri’s voice to reach him. By then, they were seated on the mat, and he was propped against Yuuri’s shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“I'm just glad you’re okay. You had me so worried.”
Victor huffed. “You don’t even know me.”
Yuuri didn’t say anything, only looked at him with concern. There was no pity, no expectations in his expression. He offered a place for Victor to rest his head and that was it. Victor sighed. Yuuri felt like a bubble of calm, and Victor really was the intruder here and-
“We can talk, if you want.”
“About?” Victor said all too quickly, like he was hiding a mountain under a rug.
“About anything. Phichit always says I'm a good listener.”
Victor picked at his sweats, kiting his thoughts around and around as he glanced at Yuuri.
“I'm broken. It’s my fault. I heard someone say a long time ago that some birds are meant to be caged.” Victor said sadly, tracing patterns into the dusty mat. “I wish I never figured out what they meant.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“But I went ahead and did it to myself. I skated and I won and I forgot to live. Maybe they wanted me caged in a different way but in the end…”
“What’s stopping you from living now?”
“I have to compete. I have to skate. It’s the only thing I have.”
“Who told you that?” Yuuri questioned softly. Victor opened his mouth to rebut but nothing came, only a puff of useless air and a blank mind that had no shield against Yuuri’s quiet determination.
“No one. No one told me. But...that’s how I get strong. How I stay strong. Who am I if I don’t skate?”
Yuuri studied him, an impenetrable strength quaking in the deep burgundy of his eyes. He stood suddenly, pacing to the nearby makeshift table and rummaging through his bag, frowning deep and a tad scary, Victor thought. Yuuri pulled his hand out, scissors in his hold and he ran back to Victor, beaming.
“Close your eyes and hold out your wrist.” Yuuri instructed. Victor, with no other choice against such tenacity, did as he was told; he did make a face or two before things went dark. He heard snips, clean cuts and a whisper of fabric before it touched his skin. His eyes flew open as Yuuri tied a piece of his beautiful ribbon around his wrist.
“You’re really impatient.” Yuuri chastised with a smile. “Surprise.”
“What…” Victor stared at the ombre ribbon, blues flowing like the ocean in the gentle loop and knot of the bow. “Yuuri, your ribbon…”
“I have others that are competition ready.” he shrugged. “But this one is my favorite. I carry it with me everywhere I go, as a reminder. It always brought me good luck and you look like you need as much of that as you can get.”
Victor sat dumbstruck, watched Yuuri smooth the material, felt warmth and heart and soul in his touch; Yuuri continued. “I’m happy you know what the reporter meant. Sometimes people don’t think about the impact that their words have on others. They’re content to treat them like things. It’s wrong. It’s cruel. I don’t do this sport for anyone else but myself and that should never be a point of contention.”
Yuuri looked him straight in the eye, so fierce and determined that Victor felt tears spring to his own. “It’s okay to feel lost, Victor. It’s more than okay to want something that’s different from what everyone expects of you. So, when you go out there today, think about what it is you really want and show them exactly how strong you are.” Yuuri lay a hand over his own. “When you skate today, remember, cages can be broken. When you skate today, just remember to fly.”
Fly. Victor felt like he was soaring right then. Yuuri.. .
“Will you watch me, too?” Victor took Yuuri’s hand between his own, cheeks wet and voice nothing but a whisper. Yuuri was a little redder, lashes dusting his cheeks in his sudden shyness; Victor saw why ‘ingenue’ was a quick conclusion by persons ready to tear this beautiful man down. But they were wrong. There was fire there in the not-so-dormant volcano under Yuuri’s anxieties. It was rich and blinding and disruptive.
“Yes. It would be my pleasure.”
It was a wonder to the outside world but not at all to Victor that Yuuri became his boyfriend. When his schedule allowed, Yuuri became a fixture at competitions and vice versa. Their first kiss happened some months after the gym, as Victor shed his jacket and awaited his announcement. Yuuri tied ribbons in his hair, said “Good luck” like always and pressed a soft kiss to his lips that shocked them both. Victor had no time to address it then, but he made sure to give it his full attention that evening.
It was less of a wonder but endlessly wonderful to Victor that Yuuri became his husband. Yuuri claimed gold in Rio, a hero to his fellow competitors for his resounding and endless voice that was responsible for Men’s Rhythmic Gymnastics in the Summer Games. He ran to Victor, held him close, whispered “That was for you. I love you” and Victor forgot all about his elaborate proposal plan, dropping to his knee right there and then.
As a figure skating coach, Victor was happy. It came as a shock that he retired after his fifth world championship win, and took Yuri Plisetsky under his wing. Even more so when a second skater, Minami Kenjirou, came seeking his help too. It was an interesting mix - stubborn, impatient but focused Yuri and hyper, exuberant and unfailing Minami. They balanced each other out, and Yuuri’s influence on them both, and their skating, was always noticeable.
The three of them were here to see Yuuri perform for the last time. He had announced his retirement earlier that year, ready to continue work in the background to assist young men interested in the sport. Victor sat in the Village, enjoying a fresh smoothie and the heat against his skin. Yuri and Minami forbade him from seeing Yuuri before competition, hinting at a surprise of some kind. Yuuri was tight lipped and nothing, not chocolate chip pancakes at two a.m. on their cheat day or cuddles under the stars or pillow talk in the afterglow could get Victor an answer.
The message came in their group chat and Victor made his way across to the group. There were many familiar faces here, memories that he respected and used to teach his students.
He reached the dressing area, Minami bouncing high and Yuri leaning against the wall with a full smirk. They both gestured to the door and Victor took a deep breath.
He found Yuuri beyond it, dressed in a spandex replica of his Stammi Vicino skate outfit. Victor felt the tears; Yuuri looked so beautiful.
“Yuuri.” Victor’s voice was hoarse with emotion. “You didn't have to.”
“You always said you wished I could skate with you, and I always wanted you to do gymnastics with me. This is a good in-between. Happy Anniversary, love.”
“It’s early. You’re cheating.” Victor kissed him long and slow. “I have something for you.”
Victor presented new ribbons of the same ombre blue. Yuuri’s eyes were swimming around his perfect makeup.
“Don’t make him cry!” Yuri yelled. “We spent hours getting the colors right!”
“Victor...how…”
“It’s a secret.” Victor touched his own wrist, the ribbon he took off as often as his wedding ring (see:rare).
“If I win gold, you have to tell me.”
“ When you win gold.” Victor tucked back a stray hair and dusted away flyaway glitter. Yuuri smiled, brilliant and content.
They left the room knowing that no matter what, gold was already painted over both their spirits. And that was worth everything.