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Chapter Text

"i love you and i think i would be okay if i'd never once took a look at the ice if it meant you'd tell me you love me too," viktor says, the sun shining so bright it's hard to tell whether he's dazzled by the sun or the way yuuri wakes up. but god, gold means something entirely new to him now that he can wear it everywhere he can go. "i'd never skate for anyone ever again," he exhales, so overwhelmed with love he doesn't know how to express himself quite right, quite composed.

yuuri blinks, his vision blurry - but he can see the way viktor looks at him without the need to put his glasses on (but he decides to, since any moment he gets to be able to look at him is another he'll be able to treasure.) "no, vitya - i fell in love with skating because of you."

viktor looks puzzled for a moment because, "i did too," he replies. he does not dare release his breath, for he fears yuuri would disappear, once he lays his soul bare to the only person who's ever made him feel normal, as vitya, darling and not russia's legend viktor nikiforov.

"what were the last twenty years like?" yuuri ponders, stroking vitya's cheek. he's never felt more at peace, more braver than he's ever been - he's holding his entire reason for being in his calloused, worn hands. you see, yuuri katsuki loves because he wants to, not because it's all he has. (and that's how he shall skate.)

viktor leans into yuuri's fingertips, his smile making a small appearance, once he feels the cool warmth of yuuri's ring on his cheek. "they were all i had," he replies, sincere. "they do not matter anymore, since i forgot how they went."

"you liar," mr. katsuki-nikiforov whispers, pushing the other mr. katsuki-nikiforov's hair out of his face. "vitya, you were growing up. that in itself is extraordinary. you're still growing now." i'm still growing, he doesn't add. "if you love me as much as you say you do, you'd remember the way you felt before," he adds, courage running through his veins, with fear of overstepping his boundaries following at a slower pace. no one knows love as much as those who've had nothing before or those who've had their heart broken, viktor and yuuri know, respectively. 

"that is true," vitya responds. "although i grew physically, i don't believe i've ever grown so much, as a person, until the first time your name ever came out of my mouth."

yuuri frowns. "my name isn't anything like the gold medals you've won, vitya. you've built yourself, that isn't something to toss aside just because you love me."

viktor sighs, the sun makes yuuri's eyes look absolutely divine and he knows he's right; he will never get rid of the dizzying sensation of yuuri katsuki-nikiforov saying viktor loves him, confidently and as fact. "sure i've worked hard, but it was all i had for so long, darling. i did it because it was what was expected of me. i did not realise love wasn't allowing myself to continuously burn for twenty years for an entire universe to watch me for a few minutes," a passing comet that only shone once in a lifetime.

yuuri does not immediately respond; instead, he breathes with the man, who he's looked up to half of his life, who's now unsure of how he managed to inspire others when he became so uninspired himself. but they sit for a while, lovers basking in the golden light of gentle honesty and the way the dawn coaxes out their affection a little further. (as if they'd ever need encouragement.) but here, vitya is no longer a comet, rushing for his time in the limelight, but he isn't trapped around his roots in earth. he's viktor katsuki-nikiforov, a man who walks his dog and still looks up at the stars and is so forgetful, but he never forgets the feeling of falling in love.

"i love you too," yuuri whispers, as viktor slowly falls deeper, deeper, deeply enamoured with the way yuuri is. viktor loves because that's how he is and yuuri loves because it's who he is. "so, will you skate, for me?"

"if that's what you wish," vitya says, spying his husband's smile of relief. 

Chapter Text

"mr. nikiforov? i don't know him," yuuri says, calm. he glances at the ring on his hand and gives a bored look at the reporter.

"ah," the reporter replies, nervous in front of the incredibly beautiful, gorgeous skater, "my apologies. how does, uh, the other mr. katsuki-nikiforov feel know that you've finally taken gold away from him?"

"he," yuuri says, before pausing to look at the camera. "is doing fine, besides, it isn't everyday you get to marry someone with record-breaking short and free skate programmes," he says, carefree.

the reporter is silent for a moment, stunned. the tables have turned on russia's legend, for sure. "right."

then, yuuri erupts, his body and face shaking with laughter - a birth of a star, some may say. "no, i'm kidding!" he softens, "but really, vitya's fine." he nods his head towards his husband. "go take a look."

the camera pans to viktor, currently sprinting his way towards yuuri, as if he were the last man on earth. "i've married a champion! a god! an angel! aaaaaaahhhhh!" he yells, his voice echoing around the rink as he half-trips over a bunch of wires.

yuuri sighs. "if you told me my life would be like this a year ago, i would've laughed in your face." then he adds, "then cried."

the reporter nods, thinking the same thing. but if yuuri katsuki-nikiforov could handle a man as unpredictable as viktor katsuki-nikiforov, what on earth does that say about him?

Chapter Text

yuuri katsuki owns a keyboard, a dusty old yamaha that his sister managed to pawn from a senior, since his band had broken up before university. naturally, he loves it, with all its colourful stickers and sharpie doodles.

yuuri writes on it not even an hour later, with his favourite blue sharpie, bashful. 

he took piano lessons for a year, before it got a bit too much to juggle skating, ballet, school, dog-walking and piano lessons.

but, 14 year old yuuri katsuki did not part ways with the dusty, old, sticker-ridden keyboard. he had taken it upon himself to learn different, new things, since he only remembers how to play clair de lune, thanks to his piano teacher.

so he learns the songs he has on his ipod - of course, he falls in love with the trashy euro and american pop viktor loves, creating graceful renditions of pokerface by lady gaga, toxic by britney spears, and for some reason, any song by abba. because anything viktor nikiforov likes is surely the finest delicacy to have ever existed.

"yuuri," viktor calls. "why do we have a keyboard in our spare room?"

the spare room, being yura's room in all but name, is the new home of a few remaining moving boxes and yuuri's dusty, old, sticker-ridden keyboard.

"because," yuuri says, shrugging.

"can you play for me?" viktor asks, with a curious glint in his eye. "please?"

"sure," yuuri says, smiling. he grabs the keyboard and starts fishing for the extension lead.

"wow," viktor fondly sighs. "aren't you amazing?"

yuuri pops his head out of a box. "i almost sold this after a year of having it," he says, nonchalant. he turns on the keyboard, missing the way it crackled when switched on.

vitya asks, his voice lilting, "why did you keep it?"

"sentiments and such," yuuri says, ever-so-cryptic. i kept it in the hopes to impress you one day, he doesn't add. 

viktor grins, his teeth visible and cheeks hurting, as he traces a finger over a blue sharpie outline, as yuuri lets the first few notes of clair de lune fill the apartment.

Chapter Text

yuuri wails, panicked. "wHAT IS HAPPENING?!"

*record scratch*

yuuri walks into the frozen scene, frazzled. "oh shit," he says, unimpressed and defeated. "uh, that's me, yuuri katsuki-nikiforov and you're probably wondering how i got into this situation."

he takes one look back at the kitchen, currently decorated by flames and his mouth starts to open, inhaling, ready for an increasingly loud yell, "seriously," he says, "what thE F-"

the screen cuts off into viktor katsuki-nikiforov feeding some ducks in the nearby pond outside the onsen.

viktor nikiforov-katsuki loves yuuri katsuki-nikiforov and surprises. (he also loves surprising yuuri katsuki-nikiforov.)

yuuri katsuki-nikiforov loves viktor katsuki-nikiforov and katsudon.

so what does viktor do? naturally, he combines both of yuuri's loves by taking it upon himself to cook katsudon for yuuri katsuki-nikiforov (also carrying out his love of surprising his husband.)

he runs out of seeds to give to the ducks (bread is bad for them, he read once) then he rings the only person who can make yuuri's katsudon: hiroko.

it takes two seconds for her to pick up.

"hi, okaa-san! how are you?"

hiroko's voice is warm and bubbly and enthusiastic. "i'm fine, thank you vic-chan! are you and yuuri okay?"

(((( it is well known that viktor and yuuri are not referred to as viktor and yuuri, but either:

viktor-and-yuuri (or yuuri-and-viktor),

or by their name and double-barrelled surname,

or as the other's husband.

it's simple. (unless you're yuri, when in public, then it's katsudon and the old man.) ))))

"yes! actually, about yuuri-"

hiroko and viktor may be completely different (viktor's an almost 6 foot tall, white, russian man, whereas, hiroko is not an almost 6 foot tall, white, russian man) but they both love yuuri.

"yes? is he okay?"

"yes, he is! yuuri keeps on eating all the matcha kitkats though..."

hiroko gently laughs into the phone, a floating little huff of a chuckle. "oh dear!"

"anyway," viktor says, realises they've gone off track talking about yuuri, again. "could you send the recipe for katsudon please?"

"of course, vic-chan! i'll do it right now!"

the screen cuts back into viktor-and-yuuri's apartment, specifically the kitchen prior to the fire. yuuri is currently playing mario kart and is obviously winning.

"this doesn't seem so hard," hiroko's son-in-law says, scrolling through the gentle instructions she had left him.

(e.g: vic-chan, don't put too much egg in! yuuri prefers more pork, but i'm sure he'll love it anyway!)

but of course, it is hard and not even five minutes later, the pan sets on fire.

the fire alarm goes off and yuuri bursts into the kitchen, almost kicking the door down.

"VITYA?!" yuuri screeches. "my parents haven't even left for three hours yet and-

wHAT IS HAPPENING?!"

Chapter Text

of course yuuri would look lovely in red lipstick and mascara and winged liner, of course he would.

and of course, viktor supposes, this is the part where he gets an insatiable surge of lust.

"i bought this last year, when me and phichit got drunk after i was announced as one of the grand prix finalists," yuuri sighs mournfully. "i know, i'm almost as bad as you, vitya."

yuuri's in the middle of daintily applying louboutin's diva (retailing for a whopping £70 a piece) with one of the many lip brushes that the other skaters had offered to him.

(a continuous wave of "here, you can borrow mine!"s were heard all around the magical being yuuri katsuki, who can coax the seung-gils of the world out from their shells and the JJs from their apparent straightness and such bravado.

"uh," yuuri replied, flustered and unsure of where to look. "i'll just take viktor's, if that's okay?"

all the skaters nodded solemnly, looking at the way yuuri's lips pouted in indecision.)

so now, viktor has to deal with the fact they're indirectly kissing through his kevyn aucoin lip brush.

"you know," yuuri says, spying the way viktor stares helplessly at yuuri's reflection (he stares back, curious), "i used to steal my sister's makeup and then just wear it around my bedroom. guess it's paid off, huh?"

"yes."

"are you okay?" yuuri pouts, hand on his hip.

"yes."

"do you," he turns around, "have a boner, vitya?"

"yes."

"uhuh, sweetheart," yuuri smiles. "just checking."

(of course, naturally, yuuri looks very good with red liptick on his mouth and viktor's dick in his mouth.)

Chapter Text

vitya constantly falls in love with everything yuuri does - in fact, he's doing it right now.

yuuri's staring at viktor as if the latter has no idea, marvelling at the way he's unpicked this legendary myth of a man into someone that could, possibly, love him.

he's sneaking glances as if he's scared viktor will disappear, because good things only come to those who wait - they've only known each other for a year but god, no one can refute the fact viktor nikiforov was so close to burning out, from burning for so long and yuuri katsuki was burnt out before he'd even truly begun.

and it may be true that they've managed to live this long without ever once entering the other's orbit but it wasn't as easy as whatever they have now.

viktor doesn't remember when he managed to pick up this new habit of his, falling in love, but it's one he'll keep practising for the longest time.

though, sometimes, they're just dreamers, knowing the world can be too harsh because

"yuuri katsuki, how on earth did you manage to end up with him?" they'd ask.

yuuri replies, "i don't know, because he's here because he wants to be."

"but-"

"i think," he begins, taking a breath. "i think he might love me," he says - tired, weary. "i know i'm not much, but if i'm with him, then maybe there is something about me." he breathes out on the him, offering a small smile, giving viktor the reputation of a simple man who wants to love - which, of course, is most definitely true.

and sometimes

"i didn't realise you could be tied down," a reporter jokes.

viktor smiles, as if he'd never stopped performing even though he finished his free skate routine ten minutes ago. "what do you mean? i have a beating heart and eyes that cry tears; i am capable of love and being loved, just like anyone else," he cheerfully says.

the reporter laughs, "of course, but tell us - how on earth did you end up with him?"

"because i love him," viktor says, simple, confidently.

a heart is most certainly a burdensome, fickle thing - but it must be certainly awful to have it ridiculed like that.

no one understands, they both know. they were fine, but now everyone knows that

viktor is scared he cannot love; yuuri is scared he cannot be loved.

none of which is true, but that is how the world sees their constellation and love, as a downfall compared to years of constant rising - though, the thing is, if you do not continue rising, it does not mean you begin to fall.

you begin a constant, a routine - falling in love? that itself, is a routine, regardless of how many surprises it may throw at you along the way, the dust begins to settle long enough for you to stay loved by the only one who matters.

which brings us back to how viktor constantly falls in love with yuuri katsuki. and the way yuuri constantly holds him, as if he cannot get close enough and constantly sneaks glances, as if he has never once laid his eyes upon viktor.

viktor has a reputation for surprises, sure, but he loves constantly waking up knowing he loves yuuri and yuuri loves him.

love is not an easy journey, but having someone else along the way makes it a lot easier.

Chapter Text

god, yuuri's having such a terrible, terrible evening.

he got on the wrong bus and then had to walk all the way to his original bus stop again because the second bus didn't pass directly by there.

he's an hour later getting home and his backpack's is the heaviest its ever been and he's pretty sure phichit's been waiting too long and therefore has taken it upon himself to eat all of the leftovers.

he goes onto the bus and it's 9pm or something, but he doesn't remember because there's this incredibly handsome man getting on the incredibly empty bus.

he stares at yuuri, with an indiscernible expression.

"can i sit here?" he says, smooth as velvet.

yuuri cannot trust himself to embarrass himself again and just nods once, shuffling a little bit even though he's got his own seat.

"i've seen you dance," the mystery man says, drumming his hands against his leg, his probably expensive, suited leg. "i work in the place opposite your studio."

"wait," yuuri says. "did you see me catch the bus twice?"

the man laughs, nodding.

yuuri shakes his head, hiding his flushed face in his palms.

"trust me, no one else knows but me," the man says again, winking. he playfully nudges yuuri, smiling.

"okay," yuuri sighs, still embarrassed. "but wait, you work in that fancy building?"

"i wouldn't call it fancy-"

"there is a literal marble bust in the entrance," yuuri deadpans.

"okay," the man huffs. "perhaps it's a little fancy."

"i like to paint," the man explains. "my co-worker works with marble - just be glad you've only seen the bust and not his full body sculptures," he grimaces.

"oh," yuuri replies, entranced. "i don't mean to be rude, but how come you're wearing a suit?"

"we have a showcase going on this month," the artist says, smiling. "you should stop by!"

yuuri's stop is approaching. "ah," he helpfully replies. "uh, my stop is coming- uh, take my number? it's here somewhere-

he takes out a receipt, quickly scribbling yuuri katsuki, (xxx) xxxx-xxxx and-

"uh?" yuuri says. "my stop's here- it was lovely meeting you!"

"bye, yuuri!" the artist who knows yuuri cheerfully waves, his hand clutching yuuri's dairy queen receipt tightly.

it hasn't been two minutes since he'd gotten off the bus and-

(xxx)-xxx-xxx: Hi, it's Viktor - the guy on the bus!

me: hi!

viktor the hot artist: Do you want to meet me after you finish rehearsal tomorrow? The owner of the studio is my Godfather, so he wouldn't mind having another guest.

me: if you want to?? if it's not too much of a hassle.

viktor the hot artist: I was going to bring my dog, but you could be my +1 instead.

me: okay! but i'm sure your dog would be a better option - dogs are much better than any human, they're the best things that have ever happened, in the universe, ever

viktor the hot artist who loves dogs: That is very true, but now that you've said that, I think you may come VERY close or just as amazing!!! 

me: ???!!!! 

viktor the hot artist who loves dogs and is possibly flirting with me by using our love for dogs: See you tomorrow, Yuuri. You're done at 7pm, right?

me: yes? 

yuuri screeches into his pillow.

Chapter Text

yuuri doesn't know anything outside of himself - not to a point in which he can safely say he can predict what will happen next.

this scares him.

he couldn't predict that vic-chan would die right before his first grand prix final - but because of that, he could predict his free skate would go abysmally (by his standards, of course.)

he couldn't predict that viktor nikiforov would come in, dropping everything just for him. that, yuuri knows, is something he can't quite comprehend to this day. (he's still waiting for a camera crew to jump out when he least expects it, from the closet or after he's had a shower.)

the thing about viktor is that yuuri feels dizzyingly blind with him, as if someone's taken his glasses off and he can't quite see where he's going next - he just knows he's going somewhere with viktor and his seemingly spontaneous plans. and it's the same sensation, when he describes how he feels about him. his heart seems to spin and jump about, giving his body this wonderful fluttering sensation, a tidal wave of awe and adoration starting from his heart.

it's weird, because he's experienced loving viktor nikiforov - but now he's in love with his vitya, which is a completely different concept because- because- because-

it just is

there's no spotlight, no camera, no medals, no ice, no nothing, nothing, nothing

it's just him, the way the sun makes his freckles appear and the way yuuri makes him candidly, crookedly smile. a private, honest performance. this? 14 year old yuuri would've never guessed this was the man he'd looked up to. he's overcome with emotion and just can't seem to solely blame it on love.

he'd always imagined viktor would have a clean, pristine apartment - but now? it's just full of picture frames, half-empty mugs of jam ridden tea or the teas hiroko sends them, and all the doors are ALWAYS open. because viktor always expects makkachin to follow him wherever he goes, but now yuuri follows him and it's all a bit too much for him to comprehend.

"stop thinking," viktor mumbles, clumsily taking yuuri's glasses off his face in an attempt to make him stop thinking. "sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep."

"why?"

"you don't always need a reason," viktor replies, his voice slurred with sleep and a strengthened russian accent.

oh, yuuri realises. things don't always have to happen for a particular, specific reason, part of some elaborate plan. maybe, just maybe, that's why he can't always work out what viktor's next move is because he'll solely go with the premise that viktor loves yuuri.

that is enough for yuuri to go dizzyingly blind with love and everything else for forever.

Chapter Text

"hey," the quarterback says, suave as any 17 year old can be. "d'ya come 'round here often?"

"sure," the 16 year old replies, huffing. "i mean, i kinda work and live here."

viktor nikiforov and yuuri katsuki are sitting on tatami mats, while they do homework. viktor's apparently struggling with science.

"viktor, stop getting distracted- look, you can't just put random numbers here! there aren't enough bonds for the oxygen to attach to all of those!"

"mhm," viktor says, leaning closer to yuuri. "i see."

"you're just looking at me, not the paper," yuuri accuses. it's not even an accusation, just an observation, given at how shameless viktor is.

"yup," he replies, sighing like the lovesick fool he is. "you're much better to look at."

"vitya," yuur says, unimpressed. "i think anyone would say that if they had to look at equations all day."

viktor internally screams, i'm flirting with you please just kiss me or else i'll cry!!!!!!!!!

yuuri seems to notice because he lets his hand "fall" onto of viktor's, closing his fingers around the older teen's. "would this be an effective method of concentration?" yuuri asks, demure.

"mhm," viktor says, squeezing his hand.

Chapter Text

poor viktor nikiforov, renowned polyglot, fluent in all but love. the man has hair practically made of stardust, and his eyes that could rival any ocean's storm - for he is the way moses parted the seas, crowds of students, to get to anywhere he wanted. (and to think he couldn't get to yuuri katsuki's heart on his sleeve.)

"you look nice," he says.

yuuri looks up, peering above his glasses in a very, unintentionally, sexy secretary or librarian way. unimpressed, he replies, "i thought april fools day was yesterday."

he walks off, not once looking back. viktor thinks he's almost jogging away.

"i literally complimented him," viktor softly wails.

chris sympathetically replies, "but you also dressed up as him yesterday."

"I WANTED US TO MATCH!" viktor howls into his textbooks. "IT IS NOT MY FAULT APRIL FOOLS COINCIDED WITH MY QUEST FOR LOVE!"

"mhm," chris replies.

Chapter Text

viktor enters the living room quietly, a little dizzy - as if he stood up too quickly and now he's seeing stars.

of course, the person who's hidden from the world for the past decade would see through viktor's futile attempt of silence.

a sudden your thoughts are as silent as your entrance, softly interrupts viktor's, well, thoughts. it makes his brain fuzzy, as the sarcasm paints his mind with some embarrassment.

viktor huffs, putting his hands on his hips. "where are you? face me, you coward!"

a page from the magazine on the coffee table flutters. you know exactly where i am, vitya, his mind hears.

viktor watches the room closely. as the blanket slowly drops onto the floor from the sofa, he smiles. he sits carefully down on the sofa, watching how the fabric shifts to accommodate his arrival.

yuuri, he asks, did you miss me?

yes, always, is echoed back, with humble conviction. pride is usually something they carried differently as their self-preservation. viktor usually flaunted it and yuuri used it to keep invisible. why must you ask this every time you come back? it unnecessarily wastes time. 

it's not wasting my time if i like to know these things, viktor replies.

will you do this for the rest of your life? yuuri asks, so quiet that viktor almost misses it. perhaps that was his intention, to give viktor the option to ignore him.

"if you want to stay with me," viktor begins, putting his hand in his pocket and searching. "i'll take you anywhere you want to go."

yuuri laughs, making himself visible; viktor marvels at how the colours seem to melt back onto yuuri's body, as if he were being painted and sculpted all at once - a birth of a masterpiece. "well," yuuri chuckles, revealing a golden ring from his hand. "then i wish to stay with you."

yuuri gently pulls viktor's right hand towards him, and slides the ring onto his finger.

viktor blinks, gazing at his right hand to his left, where he's slowly opening his fist to reveal another golden ring. "you read my mind," he gasps. "wow!"

yuuri groans, "that wasn't funny the first time you said it- you know i can't do it when i'm not near you."

viktor laughs, gripping yuuri's hands in his, feeling the spark transfer to his fingertips to yuuri's as he puts the other ring on his finger and-

they disappear, to wherever their hearts desire.

Chapter Text

yuuri thinks viktor is beautiful.

viktor's definitely beautiful - but he's also dramatic, vain and selfish. but it's mostly in yuuri's best interests that viktor's given up being selfish, becoming vitya.

the use of 'vitya' implies that viktor nikiforov is capable of being seen as a thing of endearment, someone with bleeding skin and too many flaws to count on hands and has someone who loves him with as much as 'vitya' exudes.

"vitya," yakov sighs, the syllables forever melded into his tongue out of care.

"vitya!" georgi wails, in the way the boy who grew up in the shadow of viktor nikiforov does, wanting to escape that to see his friend (vitya.)

"vitya," yuri complains, his teenage annoyance easily mistaken for contempt - in fact, he's just bugging viktor for feedback and he's taking too long to reply because-

"vitya," yuuri finally giggles, a thing of ardent love. the consonants are softer than powdered snow and the first breath you exhale on a winter's day but the way he loves is so much more. "you're distracting me!"

who cares? who cares if your name was viktor nikiforov? he's cold stares and a ruthless king, edging his way closer towards what lays beyond gold, taking it all for himself. but vitya? someone could never be so alive, so beautiful.

Chapter Text

the roses are the same shade as yuuri's flushed cheeks, lips and suit. the candles give his eyes an extra sparkle, the divine mahogany irises glowing in the room.

"so," yuuri begins. "what i'm trying to say is that-"

"mhm," viktor responds, nodding with each step he takes towards yuuri.

"that-"

"mhm?" viktor interrupts, grin widening with every word yuuri says.

yuuri sighs; viktor apologetically laughs.

"where was i?" yuuri giggles, pushing his glasses up. 

"i will marry you," viktor supplies. "there, i've saved you the trouble."

"CUT!" a loud voice bellows. "VIKTOR, STOP GETTING AHEAD OF YOURSELF! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO ACT CASUAL ABOUT THIS!"

"it's not my fault!" viktor whines, "he looks very very handsome in this suit!"

"viktor," yuuri groans. "we've done this scene about 20 times already!"

"and i will never get tired of it!"

yuri bellows, "WELL I AM!"

"so," yuuri begins. "what i'm trying to say is that-"

"mhm?" viktor responds, interest piqued.

"your ass is divine," yuuri whispers, hushed.

"YUURI!" yuri screeches. "THIS WAS NOT PART OF THE SCRIPT!"

"was it not?" yuuri asks, feigning ignorance.

viktor nods in agreement.

"i'm this close," yuri presses his thumb and index finger together, "to recasting everyone's roles and giving them to my cat instead."

Chapter Text

A sleight of hand, Yuuri calls it.

But Viktor would call it magic.

Viktor strokes his knee discreetly as he sits down, the strain not so bad as he isn't skating this season, but only due to his body adapting to the Japanese climate, and to him not moving around as much as he's used to.

His injury is not excruciatingly painful, but irritating at best.

Funny, Viktor thinks. That's exactly what Yakov thinks of him.

Yuuri's mother's voice echoes cheerily through the onsen, "Yuuri! Could you pick some blossoms for me please?"

Viktor has only been at the inn for less than a week since Makkachin returned from the vet and already the Japanese skater is surprising him once more. His skin shows no signs of wear, light and almost glowing, even though Viktor's been relentlessly pushing his limits since Rostelecom.

As the youngest Katsuki collects the cherry blossoms, his delicate fingers gingerly plucking each bud; Viktor swears he can see stars glowing around his fingertips.

"Of course you can see stars, Vic-chan. It's probably jetlag." She mischievously winks, as if she's heard Viktor's thoughts.

Hiroko Katsuki is as youthful as the pomegranate flower - certainly as sweet as the fruit itself, in the window of autumn, too. If anyone knows better, Viktor supposes, it's her.

She leaves two bowls of fresh Katsudon by the porch, the steam escaping seemingly endless.

"Yuuri, you should eat it. It'll get cold," Viktor warily talks, tentative to break Yuuri's concentration.

"No it won't," Yuuri replies, voice lilting, with the sweetness of the sugar cubes in Viktor's coffee.

"Are you sure?"

Yuuri tilts his head towards Viktor, with the ghost of a smile on his rosy face, "When have I never been?"

"Well, you're pretty experienced in self-doubt, Yuuri," Viktor begins to ramble about the things he's picked up on Yuuri, carefully selecting his word choice as to not upset the younger man.

"Of course, Vitya," Yuuri whispers with a smile under his breath. "But I don't tell a lie unless I know it's one, right?"

"I guess so," Viktor narrows his eyes slightly and purses his lips.

Yuuri gingerly places himself and the blossoms next to Viktor, the bowls of Katsudon still as hot as they were when Viktor first touched them.

Yuuri's voice is continually playful and kind, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he emphasises different words in Japanese. He touches Viktor's knee with the gentlest tap, "There's a bug."

Viktor doesn't understand why Yuuri explained himself, because he can already feel his knee unraveling to as it once was a few years ago. (Though he has no urge to rush out to the nearest rink.)

"Thank you," he sighs contently.

"Hm? Oh no, my mother made the food," Yuuri vaguely replies, dipping a finger into the onsen water; he visibly relaxes.

And if anything could be magic, it's got to be Yuuri Katsuki - because only magic can conjure up someone as magnificent as him, Viktor decides.

Chapter Text

Yuuri is currently emotionally unstable, but he won't admit it.

"Phichit, I don't know about this. I'm basically third wheeling everyone tonight," Yuuri says, over the sound of the extractor fan.

"I can pretend I don't know Phi, if you want," Seung-gil pipes up, his face expressionless (apart from the slight upward curl of his lip, a very small smirk.)

"You don't need incentive to do that anyway, babe," Phichit huffs, drawing out the 'a' in babe. He then snatches the wooden spoon in Yuuri's hand and whacks him on the arm, frowning. "Anyway, Yuuri, we love you, repeat after me."

"Repeat after me."

Phichit exasperatedly sighs, "You are a little shit, Yuuri." He hands the spoon back to Yuuri.

Seung-gil releases a single note of a laughter, soft yet snarky.

Chris enters the dorm with Masumi, singing praises of the new gym in town, and throwing his arms around Yuuri.

Chris croons, "That looks absolutely ravishing!" He winks. "And the food looks good too."

Masumi sighs, apologetically patting Yuuri on the shoulder as Chris indulges Phichit with new gossip.

Yuuri quietly keeps himself busy, vaguely eavesdropping on their conversations. (He's had a tough few months.)

Chris's voice drops to a whisper and asks, "So she really hasn't said anything to him since?"

Phichit shakes his head, sighing. "He's been an absolute mess, even if he thinks he's been acting indifferent."

"That's funny," Chris replies. "That's exactly how Viktor's feeling about his pole dancer boy, from JJ's party, who came in the party for 10 minutes just to give us all a show!"

Phichit laughs, "Yuuri does pole dancing, maybe you should get Viktor to come to his classes!"

They both pause for a moment, an evil grin slowly appearing on their faces.

"Indeed," Chris replies, winking. "Actually, should I tell him to come on up?"

Phi nods eagerly, "Yuuri would KILL me!"

"I'm getting mixed signals from that," Chris replies, raising an eyebrow. He sends a text.

"Don't worry," Seung-gil says with a straight face, startling the blond. "He gets that from me."

Chris whispers, "Is he... joking?"

"I'm not sure," Phichit replies, shrugging. He lightly pecks the Korean's forehead in jest.

Seung-gil looks away from Phichit, probably a little embarassed.

Chris recieves a text back immediately. 

Room 302, right? it reads. I'll be there in a minute once I come back from the gym.

Chris chortles - Viktor's visiting the gym now more than ever, since he wants to 'bump' into his lost love. 

"Yuuri, sweetheart," Chris hollers. "Do you work out?"

"Uh," he replies, hands behind his back, retying an apron with poodles on. "I don't like going to the gym, but I do some dance, if that answers your question."

Chris and Phichit hoot with laughter from the living room, before Yuuri scolds them for being inconsiderately loud.

Chapter Text

"Let's end this," Yuuri finally says, his voice as steady as his gaze upon the floor.

"What."

"What do you mean what?" Yuuri blinks dazedly, his plan for an easy way out immediately thrown out the window of his and Viktor's penthouse suite.

Tears overflowing from Viktor's eyes, he snaps, "Are you fucking kidding me?" He then proceeds to angrily rant, by throwing Russian curse words expressively around the hotel room.

He tries to reel his coach back. Tries. "But I saw you earlier! You looked so..." Yuuri trails off as soon as he locks eyes with Viktor, a toreador donned in the brightest scarlet to a furious bull.

"Go on, finish your sentence, Yuuri," Viktor says in a tone that doesn't make Yuuri think he really wants him to finish his sentence. "Since you don't listen to me, you'll have to listen to your coach then." Viktor's voice is a complete wobbly mess, his eyelashes clump together with tears and his eyebrows are drawn together so far in that his forehead creases. Viktor defiantly crosses his arms.

Yuuri inhales and takes a deep breath.

"Well?" Viktor impatiently asks, tapping his foot on the ground.

"I was going to retire this year, you know that." Scared to see Viktor's reaction, Yuuri immediately spirals, "Besides, don't you need to go back onto the ice? You looked so..." He gestures awkwardly. "When watching everyone else on the ice with their coaches- Coaching fees, Viktor! God, I can't afford any of that at this rate- I'll just have to bulk up on a thousand ramen noodle packets to save money- Maybe I could do what I did in Detroit again to pay off my student loans- Oh god, Phichit would never let me live this down! What if my parents find out?!" Yuuri collapses onto the floor and cradles himself, borderline hyperventilating.

"One step at a time," Viktor says, awkwardly. "Hold on a second-"

"Shut up! Let me think!" Yuuri snaps, a mirror image to his coach: teary-eyed and confused. "Ugh!"

Viktor sighs, immediately backing down; he wants to avoid the outcome with the most tears. "I'm sorry for yelling." He crouches, letting his legs collapse. "But I am not sorry for being upset at you right now," Viktor passively aggressively adds, sitting next to Yuuri.

"You want to go back into skating. I don't want to watch you throw away your reputation and career like that," Yuuri sniffs, clearly wounded. "You want-"

"I'll do what I want, thank you very much," Viktor scoffs. "Go complain to your friends about it then, I'm just as stubborn as you are when it comes to stuff like this."

Yuuri recoils into himself further, his voice becoming even more muffled and words becoming even more garbled. "I don't have any other friends, really."

Viktor raises an arched brow. He hisses in disbelief, "Are you serious-"

"You're basically my best friend at this point," Yuuri mutters.

"What about Phichit? What about literally everyone else in the skating community?"

"He was my roommate in college, we keep in touch a lot, I guess." Yuuri shrugs. "But-" He falters. "Yeah."

"Oh," Viktor says dumbly. "Then I think you should talk to your best friend."

Yuuri's head lifts up from his arms. "What?"

Viktor combs a hand through his hair and breathes deeply, dramatically. "Hi, Yuuri!"

"What," Yuuri flatly replies.

"What's wrong? I heard you had some drama with your incredibly handsome coach!" Viktor leans dramatically on Yuuri's shoulder, laying the back of a hand on his forehead, whilst fanning himself with his free hand.

"Well, I think he's being very stupid right now," Yuuri giggles.

"Is he?!" Viktor gasps. "I don't believe that one bit!"

"I mean, he is a little ditsy off the ice." Viktor flicks Yuuri's forehead. "But I think he misses skating and doesn't realise he regrets taking me on as a student."

"What?" Viktor frowns, pouting. "That doesn't sound like him."

Yuuri pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Well, he doesn't realise it. But I saw him look... pensively at the ice earlier.

Viktor raises his eyebrows, in faux shock. "Wait, even after Chris completely decontaminated it?"

Yuuri giggles, a weird mix of sharp inhaling after crying and laughter; his cheeks are absolutely rosy, threatening for Viktor to break character. "Yes, even after that!"

Viktor pretends to contemplate, stroking his chin and narrowing his eyes in deep thought. "That sounds rough. Well, do you want some advice?"

Yuuri deadpans, "Mhm."

Viktor clearly ignores Yuuri's sarcasm and continues, "I think you should let him speak before you make any big decisions and be more observational about how he feels about you, rather than use what you know about the person you knew a year ago."

Yuuri nods. "Okay," he sighs, shoulders sagging in defeat. "I'll listen to his side of things."

"Because if you've been listening to him and watching him, it's very clear that he intends to stay with you until you retire because you asked him to. And what did he say afterwards?" Viktor smiles encouragingly.

"He wished I would never retire," Yuuri smiles back.

Viktor suddenly cheers, cupping his hands around his mouth. He hollers, like he's just witnessed a home run, "There we have it, folks! We have a winner! Yuuri Katsuki, best friend, student and fiancé of Viktor Nikiforov, the man, the legend whose heart you stole!"

"Viktor!" Yuuri tackles Viktor, in a futile effort to shut him up.

"Do you get it now?" Viktor is breathless and tear-stained still, absolutely radiant even if the corners of his eyes are red. "With you, as my inspiration, gone, I would have nothing left to go back to." He sits back up to fix Yuuri's hair.

Yuuri frowns a little. "But Viktor-"

Viktor firmly interrupts Yuuri. "But Yuuri, you'll still have me as your best friend, coach and whatever the hell we're calling this, right?"

"Okay," Yuuri conceeds, leaning closer to Viktor.

Viktor whispers, leaning closer to Yuuri. "Would it be weird to be having sex with your best friend? I mean, what would your handsome coach and equally handsome fiancé think?"

"Probably nothing since my coach, fiancé and best friend are such airheads," Yuuri mutters, leaning away with a passive-aggressive smile.

"Yuuri!"

Chapter Text

The door is unlocked when Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov comes home.

"Darling?" Viktor's voice echoes in the hallway, dropping his bags in haste. He carefully makes his way into the bedroom.

Yuuri's sitting on Viktor's side of the bed, facing towards the window. He doesn't move his gaze to meet Viktor's. Their duvet is crumpled and the curtains are drawn open, letting the moon outline Yuuri's slumped silhouette.

The lack of acknowledgement makes something painful arise from Viktor's throat, something akin to a violent rip of his wings before getting a chance to fly up to the sun.

"How long have you been awake?" Viktor quietly asks, nervously twisting the wedding ring around his finger. 

An unspoken:

How long have you known?

lingers in the air.

"For a while now."

"Yuuri-"

Yuuri interjects with a shattered series of huffs that almost sound like a laugh. "You've been pretending everything's normal - you're very good at that, you know?"

Viktor bites his lip. He knows Yuuri's had the advantage of analysing his behaviour for the past twenty years.

("You know what, Vitya? You could've been one of those Hollywood actors! The looks, the talent and-"

Viktor misses the way Yuuri hesitates, immediately laughing his way into a kiss.)

"What are you talking about?"

Yuuri shakes his head, burying it in his hands. "What- What did I do wrong?"

Viktor springs forward to kneel in front of Yuuri before he starts to cry. "Nothing! You did nothing, it was all me-"

"I love you, okay? I really do! I swear!" Yuuri suddenly grips Viktor's face, desperately nodding through his shaky pleas.

"I don't doubt it for a second," Viktor replies, heart sinking with te realisation that they're talking about the same thing. "I love you too."

Yuuri starts combing his husband's hair, his fingers trembling. He's always been easy to read, forever fearful that Viktor will suddenly dissolve in his fingertips, while he's watching.

"Who was he, Vitya?"

"No one important."

"What does he have that I don't?"

"Nothing." He can't even remember what his name was.

"Please tell me!" Yuuri begs, crying even harder. The bedsheets begin to fall off as Yuuri sharply coils back, onto his side of the bed, shaking his head. "I promise, I won't be mad!"

"I wasn't thinking straight! I was drunk and it was only for a few weeks-"

Yuuri frustratedly responds, "You aren't happy! I promised to make you happy!" His eyes flicker into something more muted, before defeatedly murmuring, "Do I even make you happy anymore?"

"Yes," Viktor immediately responds breathlessly, before climbing onto the bed. He doesn't know what to do once he's opposite Yuuri, so he just sits. He looks at the gold ring on his finger, surprised it hadn't broken yet for some reason.

"God, Viktor! Stop pretending everything's okay and that you're fine with me!" 

"I am okay with being with you-" He stops for a moment, brushing Yuuri's hair out of his eyes. "Why aren't you angry at me for doing it?"

"Because no one cheats if their partner's everything they wanted, Viktor," Yuuri's voice breaks everywhere. "You looked so helpless, I was a fucking idiot to think I could try to fix it!"

"This isn't your fault," Viktor begins. "People who cheat aren't good people - listen to me, Yuuri! Don't blame yourself. Don't ever blame yourself for my mistakes."

"Promise me you won't do it again."

"What? Of course I'll never-"

"Promise me and tell me what I did wrong, as your husband."

The word husband echoes, haunting at the way Viktor still has the audacity to wear his wedding ring with honesty.

"You did nothing wrong."

"You're such a liar, Vitya," Yuuri whispers, wincing at the way he addresses his husband. "You said we'd meet each other halfway and I'm waiting."

"I love you, okay?" Viktor firmly says, clutching Yuuri's hand.

"I love you too," Yuuri gasps, his mouth curling in grief. "But I can't help you unless you tell me what I need to fix."

Chapter Text

Yuuri, I think you’re amazing.

Yuuri, I think you’re the most beautiful thing I had ever lay my eyes on.

You’re so wonderful, the way you laugh and smile, and make me laugh and smile. I want to keep doing it forever.

I know you’ve known me for a long time, I want to love you for even longer.

Yuuri, you’re absolutely adorable.

Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri

Yuuri,

My Grandmother taught me two things: 

1. I only deserve the best.
2. Once I have it, I must make sure  I am deserving of it.

And I’ve been wondering for all these years, what did I deserve? 

The only thing I had was a pair of skates and an incessant feeling of loneliness. So I did what I did best, skated for the whole world to see, so I wouldn’t be so lonely. And for a while, it must’ve worked because I became the best.

What I didn’t realise is that I had eventually changed the word best for perfect, which was a grave mistake. And I suddenly forgot what skating ever meant to me in the first place, if not a ride to get as many gold medals as possible and never let go of this life at the top.

But then I met you. You seemed to skate for anybody else but yourself, even though you’re one of the most competitive people I know. It was a humbling experience, watching you skate - you brought the life back into the parts of it I abandoned long ago. You reminded me that growth doesn’t stop once you’re no longer a child and made me rethink everything.

Was this life the best thing I could ever had? Was it worth keeping? Sure it was perfect, but it wasn’t the best life I could have.

I know I’ve inspired you to live in a world of skating, but you inspired me to start living in a world outside skating. Can’t you see? You’re the best thing I could ever have, Yuuri. 

You’ve let me rediscover parts of myself I had left behind and that just because I’m the best skater in the world, doesn’t mean I don’t have room left to grow as a person.

Now, I’ve answered my question about what the best thing in life is - all I want is for you answer this:

Do I deserve to stay by your side forever?

Chapter Text

“dearest yuuri,” they all ask, “do you have a girlfriend?”

“god no,” a flustered boy replies, “i’m just working on my education.”

yuuri’s family is peculiar, talkative and disjointed from generation to generation, not quite resonating with the gentle self-deprecating quality he holds.

yuuri is 18 years old, a little bit in love with viktor nikiforov, but he’s always been too insecure, and has never begun to believe in the idea of  himself, him being loved, him being anything.

“yuuri,” hiroko says, squeezing his shoulder, “is actually one of the best skaters in the world!”

and yuuri sits beside his mother, awkwardly smiling and nodding as she talks as if he weren’t in the room, just how he likes it. 

he worries about the day his mother will stop doing this, and wonders about who will take her place - surely not him?

yuuri is not very good at talking about himself without getting flustered or quickly running out of things to actually say because

“yes, it’s me, yuuri, and i am 18 years old- yes, i’m going to university this september- haha no, i do not have a girlfriend... why? oh, uh, i’m busy studying. haha.”

the haha, of course, is accompanied by a forced smile and a nervous twiddling of thumbs. 

“haha.”

he doesn’t talk about the trips to his doctor or counsellor he’s made about his mental health. he doesn’t talk about how he’s always hated himself and how he’s become paranoid to the point where he’s broken friendships and his own trust in his friends and how he’s lost the motivation to study and knows he can do more but he just can’t do it anymore because what’s the point because there’ll always be someone better and more worthy and likeable and his old best friend and childhood dog had both passed away without him being around for them both and-

“wow, yuuri! you’ve travelled to america?”

yuuri smiles, because he’s done that before. “yes, last year for the junior grand prix.”

hiroko grins, with a bright glint in her eyes, “he brought home a gold!”

yuuri sighs, shaking his head. “it’s only because viktor and chris had already moved up to seniors, so it seemed a lot easier.”

mari lightly smacks the back of yuuri’s head. “you did great, shut up, yuuri.”

yuuri’s tired and he just wants to sleep for a long time, and wake up in the morning to the love of his life making him pancakes or something dumb like that, calling him darling, love and baby, and shit like that.

yuuri’s now 25 years old, kinda the best skater in the world, and after moving in with him in st.petersburg, yuuri realises that the love of his life, viktor nikiforov, does not know how to cook.

“no, actually,” he laughs, “i don’t have a girlfriend!”

“he actually has a fiancé,” mari sighs, watching viktor not so subtly flex his right hand just right, so the ring shines under the lights.

“it’s real gold,” viktor says, winking.

mari rolls her eyes and huffs, “we know, vic-chan. shut up.”

viktor laughs and just squeezes yuuri’s shoulders. “you cried when we told you we got engaged.”

”shut up.”