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Victor leaned on the boards at the Ice Castle with a finger pressed to his lips, watching as Yuuri readied himself for yet another attempt at the quad salchow. Weeks had passed since Yurio went back to Russia, and Yuuri’s success rate at that particular jump had come along by, well, leaps. Today, he’d been struggling a bit more than usual, but overall his programs were really coming along. Eros had a solid foundation, and his free skate was getting there. Victor was confident he would be able to take his regional competition with ease.
And yet, something was still missing.
Yuuri turned into his entry and leapt, landing the salchow with only a minor stumble. It was his best attempt for the day’s practice, and Victor clapped, calling out over the ice, “That’s it, Yuuri! Let’s end there today.” It was better, with Yuuri, to close out training on a high note.
As Yuuri dusted himself off and glided over to the boards, Victor considered what lay ahead of them. He had choreography for both of Yuuri’s programs completed and good jump layouts planned. They knew their competition schedule for the season. What was he forgetting about? What else would a Grand Prix competitor need from his coach?
It hit him right as Yuuri arrived rinkside, grabbing his water bottle from Victor’s waiting hand. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, head tossed back and black hair sticking to the sides of his face from sweat—a casual Eros.
“Oh!” Victor exclaimed as it clicked into place in his head. He’d forgotten one of his favorite parts of competition. “What are we doing for your exhibition skate? Do I need to choreograph another program, or do you have one ready?” He tapped his chin, considering the options. “Of course you can always revitalize an old program, but personally I prefer to leave the past behind.”
Yuuri blinked and dabbed at his forehead with a towel. It pushed his hair back to frame his face, and Victor found himself leaning in closer.
“I don’t usually bother,” Yuuri said.
That wasn’t what Victor had expected to hear. Distracted as he was by the glisten of Yuuri’s skin, it took him a moment to process the idea. “What? Why on earth not?”
Yuuri’s strength on the ice obviously lay in how expressive he was, how artistic. From his brief time as Yuuri’s coach, Victor already knew that the other man was deeply passionate, though he tried to hide it under a bland facade. It was easy—and more than a little fun—to wind Yuuri up and get him talking for hours about video games, music, and dance. Victor would expect someone like Yuuri to love skating at galas, which would let him explore his strengths and passions without the pressure of adding high-value jumps for technical scoring.
Yuuri shrugged. “Gala invites go to medalists and fan favorites. I rarely got invited, so I never bothered to prepare a program. When I did get asked, I’d tell Celestino to decline. Usually my flight schedule had me leaving right after the competition anyway.”
“Well, this year you’ll be winning the Grand Prix Final,” Victor declared, folding his arms over his chest. “You’ll have to have an exhibition as the champion!” To his surprise, Yuuri didn’t seem excited by the idea; he merely shrugged once again.
“Think about it,” Victor urged him. “Let me know when you decide on some music, and I can help.”
“Okay,” Yuuri agreed, stepping off the ice at last to remove his boots, but Victor got the distinct impression that he was only saying that to get Victor to stop asking.
-
“Celestino!” Even from meters back, Victor could see the other coach wince, ducking his head. When Celestino turned, raising a hand to wave, he was wearing a pair of dark glasses, despite the fact that they were indoors.
“Ciao, ciao,” Celestino said, sounding merry enough, but also tired. His long hair was pulled back in his usual ponytail, but frizzed at the edges. “You look chipper. I’m afraid this old body doesn’t recover from a night like that quite so easily anymore.”
“Oh, believe me, I’m suffering,” Victor said. “I’m just very good at hiding it.” That wasn’t quite true. He’d woken with only a mild headache and needed a little concealer beneath his eyes to cover the remnants of being up so late. His biggest pain in the morning had been trying to find all his clothes. His underwear was still MIA, and he was looking forward to finding out where it wound up later.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, if you have a minute,” Victor said. Practices would begin shortly, but Yuuri was still in the locker room and Victor had heard Phichit’s voice in there when they’d split off.
Celestino glanced down at his phone, checking the time, and then nodded. “Of course, but if you’re looking for advice on coaching Yuuri, I’m not sure—”
“No, not that,” Victor waved the protest away, “only more questions about past seasons. Yuuri told me that he’s never had an exhibition program before—is that true?”
“Ah,” Celestino said, “Yes, that’s correct. We talked about it every season, but Yuuri always declined the opportunity.” He shook his head, then tilted his sunglasses down his nose. “That’s Yuuri, I guess; he’s competitive, but at the same time, he always expects to lose.” Celestino paused, and a brief smile flitted across his face. “In fact, the only time I got him to participate in a gala was as an accessory in one of Phichit’s.”
“Really? When was that?” Yuuri hadn’t mentioned it, but it might be useful to watch. Plus, Victor had now mined YouTube pretty thoroughly for old Yuuri Katsuki content. He was surprised more videos existed that he hadn’t found.
“Two years ago, right after Phichit first moved to Detroit.” Celestino’s phone chimed, and both of them checked the time. Practice started in five minutes. With a brief handshake, the two men split off, each to his respective competitor.
-
After Yuuri found out he had made the Final, the days flew. Suddenly, there were a million things to practice, arrange, and prepare, and it didn’t feel to Victor as if they’d ever have time to get it all done. Not for the first time this year, he felt sorry for Yakov. He’d never fully appreciated how much his coach was arranging for him.
They had only a week to go before they’d be departing for the Grand Prix Final, and they were spending as much time as possible at the Ice Castle to prepare. Victor believed that Yuuri could win, knew he could, and yet still Yuuri refused to create an exhibition.
Victor leaned on the boards, watching as Yuuri practiced the choreography for his free program with grace and poise, marking his jumps temporarily as he focused on his edges and creating clean lines. Victor sighed. It would be a travesty if Yuuri deprived the audience of something so beautiful. A Yuuri who didn’t have to worry about jumping created the most glorious things.
Thinking back on his conversation with Celestino, Victor pulled out his phone and opened YouTube, seeking out the old program that Phichit had apparently roped Yuuri into.
The only upload available was poor quality, grainy footage of a television playing an illegal stream, but it would have to do. Phichit skated to center ice in black pants and a pale pink top. Long, gauzy ribbons trailed out from his hips and wrists as he moved. His starting pose was somehow familiar, and as the music began, Victor pressed the speaker to his ear to hear better. He smiled.
It was a Dirty Dancing routine. Victor had never really known Phichit before Cup of China, aside from a few stories Yuuri told him, but he found himself suddenly feeling that the two of them would someday be very good friends. Phichit had great taste in movies, plus a flair for presentation that Victor felt deeply kin to.
Rather than a full pair skate, Phichit had chosen to perform alone, with one exception—on the appropriate cue, Yuuri skated onto the ice in black trousers and a tight black t-shirt. He briefly matched Phichit step for step, then moved away to wait as Phichit flew toward him. Just like in the film, Yuuri hoisted Phichit up into the air over his head.
Victor sucked in a breath at that. Yuuri’s stamina and athleticism had always impressed him, but seeing proof of just how strong Yuuri was in that way was… motivating. It was a shame he and Phichit hadn’t done the performance as a full pair skate. Victor would have appreciated getting to see Yuuri’s take on the entire routine.
As far as Yuuri’s exhibition in the current year, however, Victor didn’t think the video was much help. The program had obviously been Phichit’s idea, so it gave him nothing new to work with in terms of what Yuuri might like.
A familiar opening chord broke through Victor’s thoughts, and he stopped staring out into space. The old exhibition had finished, and YouTube had begun to autoplay his next recommended video—the very same one that had brought Victor across the sea to Hasetsu, Yuuri’s viral video of “Stammi Vicino”.
At the sight of Yuuri’s wistful movement, his call that had echoed out to Victor across the miles, it all snapped into place in Victor’s head. He straightened, immediately smiling. Of course. Yuuri had been able to skate in Phichit’s gala because Phichit, like Victor, believed in him. Phichit was there to support him, and Yuuri had leaned on that.
Just have more faith than I do!
Victor could do that. “Yuuri,” he called out, waving across the ice where Yuuri had stopped his routine at the sound of his voice. “Over here!”
Yuuri dashed across the ink and slid to a stop in front of him. “I know,” he said, “my transitions were sloppy. I’ve been thinking—”
“Watch this.” Victor turned his phone up between them, where a despondent Yuuri was downgrading Victor’s quads to triples.
Yuuri immediately flushed, pink spilling across his cheeks. “Victor, nooo. Don’t watch this again!” He buried his face in Victor’s shoulder. “It’s bad enough knowing you saw it the first time.”
“But we have to watch it, if it’s going to be your exhibition skate.”
Yuuri lifted his head, raising both hands as if to shove the idea away. “What? No. That’s your program. I can’t just steal it away. Your fans are already upset with me because I stole you.”
“You’re not stealing anything,” Victor said. He stopped the video and opened his playlists instead. When he planned new programs, he always listened to many versions and covers of the same song. That was how he’d found Eros and Agape. “Stammi Vicino has a second version, a duet.”
Victor pressed play on the track and the rich piano tones filled the air around them. The duetto wasn’t simply a second version, though. It was a completion of the story told in the first song, just as Yuuri was the completion of Victor’s story.
Victor was the call. Yuuri was the answer.
Yuuri’s eyes fell closed as he concentrated on the song, enveloping himself in the emotion of the two voices, even though he understood little from the lyrics.
“We’ll do it together,” Victor said, and Yuuri’s eyes flew open, bright with tears. “A pair skate.” Victor reached out to cup Yuuri’s face, tracing his thumb over the curve of one cheek. “When you win the Grand Prix Final, when you skate this program again, I want to be there to hold you up.”
Yuuri’s smile was so soft, disbelieving, and Victor leaned in to taste it, cradling Yuuri’s face with both hands as the sounds of duetto intertwined around them.