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“Teach me all the jumps you can do!” Yuuri had demanded, and with still no music for the free skate, practicing jumps wasn’t the worst use of time.
They started with the toe, which was Yuuri’s best quad, and there wasn’t really anything Viktor could teach him. Then they moved to the salchow which was also fine. Yuuri only really had trouble with it when he was rushing and messed up the timing - which Viktor had learned not from practice, but from going through all of Yuuri’s old programs - so nothing but a full runthrough, and lots of them, would help increase Yuuri’s consistency with the jump.
After the salchow, Viktor showed him the flip, not really knowing what to expect, nor entirely how to guide him if - or more likely when - Yuuri demanded that he teach him how. But then, as if his life’s mission was to always take Viktor by surprise, Yuuri just skated out and did a quad flip as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
“If you try to convince me that that was the first time you’ve done a quad flip, then I will quit coaching,” Viktor said, trying to mask his disbelief with sarcasm.
“If it was, I think you would be the best coach in the world,” Yuuri laughed.
“And how long have you been practicing it then?” Viktor asked curiously, because Viktor doubted that Yuuri could that level of confidence and perfection in the jump if he hadn’t been practicing for long. Either that or Yuko had lied when she had said that Yuuri wasn’t naturally gifted.
“Oh, you know,” Yuuri said lightly, skating around in circles, “A couple of years.”
“A couple of years?” Viktor questioned further. It almost seemed like Yuuri was avoiding the question, though Viktor couldn’t see why... Unless Yuuri was just messing around with him. Still, it seemed odd.
“A year before Sochi,” Yuuri then said, and Viktor grew confused.
“Finals?” He asked to clarify and Yuuri giggled lightly.
“Olympics.”
“Ah...” Viktor said slowly, counting back the years. That would have been roughly four years ago.
“It’s just for fun though,” Yuuri shrugged, “Now show me the lutz.”
“I thought you knew how to do that too?” Viktor asked, teasing him a little and skated close to Yuuri, feeling an urge to just grab him, pull him close and look him in the eyes.
“Yurio ratted me out, huh?” Yuuri realized, sounded slightly betrayed, although Viktor was certain that he was merely acting that way.
“I wasn’t under the impression that it was a secret,” Viktor continued, the distance between them now minimal, yet Yuuri showed no signs of backing off. Maybe because Viktor wasn’t very obviously flirting with him.
“No, but you can’t convince me that it doesn’t change your impression of me.”
Though the statement was said in a lighthearted manner, Viktor still frowned because it felt like Yuuri was degrading himself.
“If anything it proves that I was right,” Viktor retorted, and Yuuri looked at him in question.
“How so?”
“You don’t lack skill, just confidence,” Viktor said and smiled sweetly, trying to make Yuuri believe it, although he knew that task would be much harder than Viktor just telling Yuuri the truth while smiling nicely at him.
“I’m not as good as you think,” Yuuri dismissed, still close to Viktor, as if trying to argue his case, but Viktor was even more stubborn than he was, and he would soon learn that.
“No,” Viktor argued again, “ You’re not as lacking as you believe.”
Yuuri looked intently at Viktor for a moment, perhaps trying to see if this was a fight worthing fighting, and when it became apparent that Viktor wouldn’t back down, Yuuri skated away, and Viktor decided to go back to what they were supposed to be doing.
“What’s your success rate with the flip and lutz?”
Yuuri thought for a little while, “In practice, I’d say that the flip is a fifty-fifty, and the lutz is maybe a twenty-five… I’m not sure, but I haven’t practiced the lutz as much as the flip.”
“Well,” Viktor said, now considering how to approach practice and program planning with this new-found information, “Your salchow is still better in practice, so I’d say we focus on that for now, but let’s continue working the flip. Even if it won’t be ready for this season, the Olympics are coming up soon. God knows how much I practiced the flip before Yakov even considered letting me use it.”
Yuuri smiled at the statement, and the two of them got to work.
It took Viktor an embarrassingly long time to connect the dots. His realization, however, was so sudden that he spooked Makkachin as he was combing out the knots in the poodle’s fur. If Yuuri had started practicing the flip the year before the Sochi Olympics, it lined up perfectly with when Viktor had debuted the flip, becoming the first person to land it. And because Viktor wasn’t a person who really believed in coincidences, there had to be some sort of correlation - the correlation also being fairly obvious. Yuuri was a fan of Viktor. Viktor knew it, and Yuuri knew that he knew it. Perhaps that was why he had been a little dismissive of when he had begun practicing it, though Viktor only viewed it as flattering.
There were many little things about Yuuri’s skating which gave away his admiration for Viktor, and Viktor himself would know that better than anyone. However, perhaps Yuuri’s admiration for Viktor was a liability, as he could too easily compare the two of them. And with Yuuri’s ability to find flaws where none were, while at the same time putting Viktor on a pedestal no one could reach, it was difficult to build on his confidence if he continued to do things that Viktor did, without putting himself out onto the ice more.
The free skate would help Yuuri’s mindset a lot... Hopefully. It was a chance for Yuuri to skate for himself, and about himself without the need of comparison, because there was no one to compare to.
And as Viktor continued to comb through Makkachin’s fur, he thought of the the younger skaters who may very well be like Yuuri. Skaters who had looked up to him and drawn from his skating. Because Viktor hadn’t just helped push the technical side of the sport. Viktor had done many things. He had showed variety in styles, broke patterns and expectations, had never been afraid to try something new. And a slight pang of guilt swept across him. If this was the end of his career, would he be satisfied? Would he have let down the people, the fans like Yuuri, who looked up to the kind of skater he had been - and still was - and not just the victor he ended up becoming?
For now, Viktor decided to sweep those thoughts aside. He believed that the right answer would come to him when it mattered.
“Are you excited to work with original music?” Viktor asked Yuuri after practice one day. It had been a week since Yuuri had commissioned the music, and from experience, it would still take a little while. Though the music might be done, there was the challenge of the time limit, which Viktor knew many of his composers had often struggled with. Especially when Viktor had had a very specific vision in mind for the program and the story.
“Excited, terrified,” Yuuri said, “I’m just happy that I have you to help me.”
Viktor couldn’t say that he blamed him. The challenge of original music was that no one knew the story from the get-go. Everything relied on the skater, and if the story was unclear, or if the program had too many flaws, it would be hard for anyone watching to make heads or tails of the program.
“I always wanted to do it though,” Yuuri confessed quietly, and Viktor immediately stopped everything that he was doing, scared that he would miss anything Yuuri was about to say, “The idea of telling my own story through skating always seemed… exciting.” There was a soft smile on Yuuri’s face and Viktor felt his heart beat just a little faster.
“You’ll be amazing,” he said before he had a chance to think and, realizing how love-struck he sounded, he quickly added on: “You have great musicality, and your connection to people and the music is without compare.”
Yuuri looked at him with a raised eyebrow, “I’m beginning to think that you don’t watch your own skating.”
Viktor huffed, “Look who’s talking.”
They were silent for a second before the both laughed lightly. At this point, they had both accepted that they were each other’s biggest fan, and, at least in Yuuri’s case, that nothing he said could make Viktor think any less of him. Viktor on the other hand was still determined to make Yuuri see his own skills at least a little more objectively, but for now he held back. As soon as competition came around, Yuuri would see. Even if it took them a couple of skates to get consistent, Yuuri would see what Viktor had been seeing all along.
The free skate was coming along nicely. The music itself was very touching, but when Yuuri skated to it, it transformed into something that was so much more. And more amazingly, Viktor was beginning to see the confidence shine through. The first week of choreographing had been rough, as Yuuri had felt unsure of the minor details and the lack of big, bold moves - aside from the jumps - but Viktor had convinced him that as long as Yuuri believed in the program and the story he wanted to tell, it would come through. And it did. And the more Yuuri believed in himself and the program, the stronger it grew. With every week, Yuuri had added little things here and there, making the program completely his own.
It was the week before the small domestic competition Yuuri had to attend due to his lacking results at the previous season’s national championships, and Viktor had been preparing himself for all sorts of results. If Yuuri’s confidence from practice carried over to competition, it would be great, but that was hardly the case with anyone and, knowing Yuuri, he wouldn’t be the exception. He had suggested that Yuuri tone down the difficulty of the free skate for the competition and focused on a clean program instead, and though Yuuri had reluctantly agreed, Viktor would not put it past Yuuri to just pull out a quad flip as his single quad, just to maintain a higher level of difficulty.
As Viktor arrived to practice the next day, he found that not only had Yuuri arrived before him (which was an extreme rarity), but he was in the midst of practicing quad flips and quad lutzes, landing roughly half of his attempts on both of them.
“You better not put them in the programs next week,” Viktor called from the barrier as he removed his skate guards.
“It’s just practice,” Yuuri said dismissively and went for another flip only to fall on it.
Viktor skated out onto the ice and helped Yuuri up, but didn’t let go of his hand, feeling that Yuuri would likely skate off to try for another quad if he did.
“Wouldn’t it be better for you to practice the salchow?” Viktor asked. The short program was further developed than the free skate, so Yuuri had been allowed to keep both quads.
“Habit,” Yuuri confessed, “I always practice harder jumps before a competition.”
“Why?” Viktor questioned. This close to the season’s beginning, it was always better to practice the things that would be used during the season. Yakov had hammered that into him quite early on.
“Confidence, I guess,” Yuuri shrugged, “If I practice the salchow now, and fail, then what happens in competition when it matters? But if I practice the flip and I fail, then no big deal, right? It won’t matter.”
“But we still need to go through the programs,” Viktor reminded him.
“Yes,” Yuuri said, the snarky tone slowly returning, “But you weren’t here to give me orders.”
“Wow,” Viktor said, sounding mildly offended, “You make me sound so evil.”
“How do you know you’re not?” Yuuri teased and broke free of Viktor’s grip to do another quad flip, this time landing it, “What are you going to do about that, coach?”
Viktor could only try to hide his smile, only to fail miserably.
Yuuri didn’t bring the flip or the lutz to the competition, but he also didn’t stick to Viktor’s one-quad plan. Though Viktor had to accept that he could not order Yuuri to do anything, it seemed that his mission to give him the confidence he needed to win was well on its way.