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Yuuri has spent a fair amount of time wondering what it would feel like if he ever touched his soulmate. They say you know instantly, no matter how many layers of clothing lie between you. Yuuri used to lay awake at night and wonder what it felt like, to have that knowledge poured into your head.
If he’s honest with himself, all those fantasies had one thing in common. They all centered around the same person. The person whose hand he’s now holding.
As knowledge sparks in his brain like a firework and all his adolescent fantasies come true, all Yuuri can say is the first thing that comes to mind. “Oh, no.”
Viktor Nikiforov’s face shutters and he drops Yuuri’s hand like he’s been burned. “If that’s how you feel,” he says, and before Yuuri can open his mouth, can say anything to try and dig himself out of this hole, Viktor turns on his heel and vanishes. Chris, who had engineered their introduction, gapes at Yuuri apologetically before following. Yuuri is left alone, to come to terms with the fact that the great Viktor Nikiforov has been saddled with him for a soulmate.
And that’s that, for several years. Yuuri is sixteen when he touches hands with Viktor Nikiforov, and for the next five years, Viktor coolly ignores him at every competition, sidesteps him at every banquet. Yuuri tries reaching out the next time they see each other, an apology half-formed on his lips, but Viktor’s eyes skate over him and he gives up.
Which is why it comes as quite a surprise when, at the banquet after the Trophee de France one year, he looks over to his coach to see him deep in what appears to be an argument with Viktor.
As he watches, Viktor throws his hands up in apparent frustration and stalks away. Celestino scowls down at his flute of champagne. Yuuri heads over. “What was that about?” he asks, coming up to Celestino.
“Ah, Yuuri, there you are. Nothing for you to worry about,” Celestino replies, pasting an obviously fake smile over his frown.
“What did he want?” Yuuri asks again.
Celestino downs his champagne. “Just some impertinence. Nothing you need concern yourself with, Yuuri. You did well! Fifth place, that’s higher than you’ve ever gone before. Relax, have a drink, enjoy yourself.” Yuuri has already done the schmoozing of sponsors required at such events; now they’re in the awkward period where the skaters are meant to be having fun socializing. Yuuri’s never been able to pry himself out of the darkest corner he can find, much to Celestino’s chagrin.
“I want to know what Viktor Nikiforov was talking to you about,” Yuuri presses, surprised at his own boldness. But it’s relatively uncommon for a skater to talk to a coach that isn’t their own, especially at a banquet, and for him to have gotten Celestino, normally so even-tempered, riled up like this... Yuuri wants to know.
Celestino sighs. “I can see you’re not going to drop this.” Yuuri attempts to look as stubborn as his face will allow. “He was trying to convince me to backload your jumps.”
Yuuri blinks. That’s so far from anything he was expecting... “Backload my jumps?”
Celestino nods. “He said you should be putting all your jumps in your back halves, to get more points. But don’t worry, I told him I’m your coach and it was none of his business.”
Yuuri’s mind is racing, doing calculations as fast as his brain will allow. “I want to try it.”
Surprise etches itself across Celestino’s face. “Yuuri, he was trying to sabotage you as a competitor.”
“What? No, it’s good advice.” Yuuri frowns, still doing math. “And why would he want to sabotage me? I didn’t even medal, I’m not a threat to him.”
“You didn’t medal this time. But you’ve moved up the rankings at every competition for the past two years, maybe he can tell you will be soon.”
Yuuri stops doing math as the realization sinks cold into his gut. “You don’t think I can do it.”
“What?”
“The programs with the back-loaded jumps,” Yuuri says. “You don’t think I can pull it off. I can, Coach Celestino.”
Celestino sighs again and rubs a hand over his eyes. “I think it’s an unnecessary risk, Yuuri. Your stamina is good, yes, but why tire yourself out like that and risk an injury for a few extra points?”
“Those few extra points could be the difference between medalling and not medalling,” Yuuri said. “I want to try it for Four Continents.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Celestino looks at Yuuri’s face and adds, “But we can trial it a few times in practice. Just to see,” he adds, as Yuuri smiles. “No guarantees.”
A few months later, for the first time in his life, Yuuri takes gold in an international competition.
All it does, once the cheering and the congratulatory phone calls from his family and Minako die down and Yuuri can stop beaming, is make him more nervous for Worlds.
Celestino doesn’t even bother putting up a fight about Yuuri using the adapted routines for Worlds, although his mouth still twists a little whenever Yuuri does a full run-through. Especially because Yuuri insisted on adding another combination to the line-up as well, after Four Continents. (It’s only logical, Yuuri argues in his head with the version of Celestino who says something. More jumps, more points, a higher ranking. Assuming he doesn’t fall. Which is not an assumption Yuuri can safely make. But still.)
Worlds dawns, cold and clammy in Germany. Celestino, after three years with Yuuri, knows better than most how to deal with Yuuri’s anxiety. He keeps Yuuri away from the other competitors, passes him what feels like endless replacement earplugs, and makes sure he eats vegetables and not garbage. It mostly works.
The short program goes, to Yuuri’s mind, shockingly well. It leaves him in fifth place overall, which is higher than Yuuri’s ever placed in a Worlds short program. Celestino claps him on the shoulder in the kiss-and-cry and says something that was probably encouraging. Yuuri can’t hear him over the earplugs he shoved in immediately after getting off the ice.
Viktor is in first, of course. He’s won the past two years running, and is in line to win again. Yuuri has about as much chance of beating him as he does of, oh, spontaneously becoming fluent in German.
(Watching Viktor skate is the sole exception to Yuuri’s no-watching-competitors policy. Celestino doesn’t like it, but Celestino doesn’t understand. There’s no risk of Yuuri comparing himself to Viktor and getting depressed. Viktor is in another class of skater - of person - entirely.)
Yuuri is, predictably, a wreck during the days leading up to the free skate, but oddly enough, it doesn’t seem to be affecting his practices. The morning of the free skate, Yuuri pulls out of a jump to see Viktor Nikiforov’s silver head turning away from his direction to look at his coach.
“Probably just avoiding a lecture or something,” Yuuri thinks, lining up for another jump. “There’s no way he was looking at me.”
Yuuri is in fifth, so he’s in the final group to skate. He warms up under Celestino’s gimlet eye, stomach churning, thoughts racing. He might medal. No, there’s no way he’s going to medal. But he could. But there’s no chance. But maybe...
All too soon, Celestino is putting a hand on his shoulder and tugging him out to the ice. He steps onto the ice as Christophe Giacometti takes his bows. Celestino squeezes his shoulder. “Just put yourself out there,” Celestino says. “I was wrong about the backloading, it’s really working for you. Just do your best.” Yuuri nods. His best. It’s not very good, but it’s all he can offer. He skates out to center ice.
He doesn’t fall.
He doesn’t fall, and at first he thinks that’s the best he can think of it. Surely, with his mind such a wreck, his performance was wooden, his dancing of the sort to make Minako wince. Surely the best that can be said is that he doesn’t fall. But Celestino is beaming when Yuuri makes it off the ice, and then his scores come up, and he’s in second place.
“Second place!” Celestino crows into his ear, wrapping Yuuri in a hug in the kiss-and-cry. “And who knows, you might keep it.”
Yuuri snorts, unable even in his addled, endorphin-filled state to believe himself capable of silvering at Worlds. “Only if Viktor breaks every bone in his body.”
“Well, okay,” Celestino allows. “But you could medal, Yuuri.” Yuuri tries to snort again, but the mocking sound won’t come. He seriously might medal. At Worlds.
He does. Not silver, but bronze. The first Worlds medal of his career. He’s hustled onto the podium, and then he’s standing closer to Viktor Nikiforov than he has in five years. He has to say something. “Thanks for the tip,” he manages, forcing what must be just a disgusting smile onto his face for the cameras.
Viktor doesn’t respond, but when Yuuri looks, he’s looking down at him. “About the backloading?” Yuuri goes on. “It made a difference.”
“So I can see,” Viktor finally says. His gaze is unreadable. “I just hate to see wasted potential is all. Congratulations,” he adds. An afterthought, but it makes Yuuri warm inside all the same.
Celestino meets him at the boards once the pictures are over. “Can you do me a favor?” Yuuri asks.
“Anything for my bronze medalist!” Celestino says, slinging an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders.
“Can you apologize to Viktor?” Celestino looks surprised. “For assuming the worst about his intentions with the tip. He was right, after all.”
“And what about the fact that he’s ignored you for years? Don’t think I haven’t noticed that, Yuuri. That’s no way to treat a fan.”
Yuuri sighs. “You’ll just have to trust me when I say he had a really, really good reason for that. But I think things are starting to thaw now, but that’ll never happen if he hates my coach.” Celestino still looks unconvinced, so Yuuri says, “Plus, it’s kind of tripping my anxiety.”
That, as always, is the golden ticket. Celestino is still frowning, but he says, “Alright. I’ll talk to him at the banquet, okay?”
“Thanks,” Yuuri says, and puts his arm around Celestino too. “I really appreciate it.”
“I told you, anything for my bronze medalist,” Celestino says, ruffling Yuuri’s hair. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”
Yuuri doesn’t see Viktor again until the Rostelecom Cup the next season. After his Worlds medal, he’s seeded into two Grand Prix events, and he takes silver at Skate America. His programs this year are back-loaded again, and he browbeat Celestino into making them more technically and artistically complex than anything he’s done before. Viktor’s skating in Rostelecom so Yuuri knows he has no chance at the gold, but he still harbors secret hopes for a silver, and to stand that little bit higher next to Viktor on the podium. It seems to be addictive.
Viktor nods at him when they see each other in the warm-up area before the short programs. Yuuri’s heart leaps into his throat and he nods back. Viktor’s skating before him, and Yuuri swallows his nerves and stops warming up to watch.
Viktor’s programs this year are also a departure. Normally he’s a technical powerhouse, shorting out the performance aspect a little but more than making up for that in jump points, but this year he seems to have gone all-out for emotion. Yuuri wants to cry by the end of his short program, it’s so full of longing and hope. What could Viktor Nikiforov, on top of the world for so long, have to long for?
Yuuri’s short program goes well too. He’s in third place at the end of it, and Celestino beams at him all through dinner. “Just carry that momentum forward,” he keeps saying, “and you’ll be in the Final in no time.” Like that’s going to calm Yuuri’s nerves.
The next day, Yuuri takes a drink of water while warming up for the free skate and almost spits it all over himself when Viktor walks in and makes a beeline for him. “Good luck,” Viktor says, coming to a stop in front of him. “I watched your performance at Skate America. You’ve got what it takes.”
“Th- thanks,” Yuuri stammers. “You too?” he offers. As though Viktor Nikiforov needs luck. Ugh, so stupid... “I really like your programs this year.”
To his surprise, Viktor gives him a small smile. “Thanks,” he says, and moves away, letting Yuuri breathe again.
Yuuri carries Viktor’s smile like a token, and it propels him to a silver medal. Viktor offers him another smile on the podium that night, this one bigger and warmer. “I knew you could do it,” he says.
“If only you’d broken your leg,” Yuuri says without thinking, and then full-body winces. But Viktor just laughs, like it was funny, and turns his smile onto the photographers.
Yuuri watches Viktor closer than ever at the banquet the next night. Viktor looks - well, he looks bored. He gets his sponsor talks out of the way early and drifts around the room, looking listless. Yuuri downs four flutes of champagne and approaches him. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asks under his breath, looking around to make sure Celestino isn’t in earshot.
“What?” Viktor asks, looking honestly shocked.
“Do you want to get out of here,” Yuuri repeats. “I’m bored. I was thinking we could go out to the hotel pool and, I dunno, talk?” This is seeming like more and more of a stupid idea the more he rambles on, but Viktor gets a contemplative look on his face.
“You know what, sure,” Viktor says after a few moments’ thought. “Let’s get out of here.”
They manage to slip from the room without either of their coaches noticing, and Yuuri gets through the next few minutes by consulting the directories on the hotel walls for the way to the pool. All too soon, though, they’re there, and Yuuri has to come up with something to say. Quickly.
“I’m sorry about Celestino biting your head off last year,” he says, for want of a topic.
“I honestly was just trying to help,” Viktor says. They settle themselves into pool recliners. The air is too cold to be out, but Yuuri’s face and hands are burning hot, which helps. “Your programs last year were a crime.”
“Hey,” Yuuri says without heat. “But, yeah, you’re probably right. He just gets... protective of me.”
“He’s a terrible coach for you,” Viktor says bluntly. Yuuri winces. “Sorry, I’ve had some champagne and my tact’s gone out the window. But he doesn’t believe in you.”
“He does,” Yuuri says. “He believes I’m a perfectly good mid-range skater. Which is what I am.”
Viktor snorts. “A mid-range skater who’s medalled at Worlds? Come on, Yuuri, you’re top tier, you just haven’t been allowed to stretch out.”
Yuuri bites his lip. “It’s true he doesn’t... push me. But he’s good for me in other ways.” Primarily his anxiety. But he’s not going to tell Viktor about that particular weakness.
“He better be,” Viktor says darkly. “That’s a lot to make up for.”
“You sound like you’ve been watching me,” Yuuri says after a moment. He turns to look at Viktor.
Viktor’s looking back at him. “I have been,” he says, his voice softer than it had been a moment ago. “You know why.”
“I do,” Yuuri whispers. Something’s building in him, something hot and uncontrollable, and to stave it off a moment longer he surges forward and kisses Viktor.
Viktor meets him halfway, one hand coming up to cup Yuuri’s face. Yuuri gets hold of Viktor’s arms and kisses him again; Viktor’s free arm wraps around Yuuri’s waist and he kisses back.
Yuuri loses track of time. Viktor’s mouth is hot and demanding and he smells amazing and it’s all Yuuri can do to keep breathing while he learns what Viktor’s tongue tastes like, so it comes as a deeply unwelcome surprise when he hears Celestino’s voice call out, “Yuuri? Are you out here?”
They jerk apart, breathing heavily, and stare at each other. “I’ll be in in a minute!” Yuuri calls back, praying Celestino doesn’t come to investigate.
Thankfully, all he says is, “Alright, but hurry up,” and then Yuuri hears the door close. Neither he nor Viktor have blinked since breaking apart. Finally, Yuuri sighs and leans forward again. He kisses Viktor once, firm, and pulls back. “See you at the Final,” he says. Viktor nods.
Yuuri leaves. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, but his head is spinning and he needs to think, not strip naked and throw himself on his idol and soulmate. And Celestino is waiting.
The next morning, he wakes to a text from an unfamiliar number. I don’t understand how you can kiss me like you did when you looked so disappointed to be my soulmate.
Yuuri taps his phone against his chin while he thinks. I wasn’t disappointed IN you, he types back. I was disappointed FOR you.
No response.
Yuuri throws himself into training. The Grand Prix Final has always been the pinnacle of his ambition, and now, thanks to Viktor, he’s in it. Celestino admonishes him to remember to rest, not to overwork himself; Yuuri grits his teeth and complies with the letter of the law, if not the spirit.
Finally, the Final dawns. It’s in Toronto this year, a short flight compared to some of the other competitions Yuuri has been to (Japanese Nationals every year are a trial from Detroit). His parents call him the night before his flight. “Good luck, Yuuri!” they chorus. He smiles and thanks them, his stomach churning all the while under the surface.
Can I see you? he texts the unknown number when he lands.
Room 1317, he gets back. Dinner?
Sounds great.
“I’m meeting a friend for dinner,” he tells Celestino. His coach, ever alert for signs of Yuuri making friends among the other skaters, doesn’t press further.
Yuuri knocks at room 1317, and the door is opened almost immediately. “Hi,” Viktor says, sounding (and looking) a little breathless. “It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you too,” Yuuri says. He steps in and tilts his face up; Viktor obliges, kissing him softly. Yuuri aches.
They order room service, passing the menu back and forth. Viktor makes the call, then sits on the bed, knees pulled up to his chin. Yuuri perches next to him. “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Viktor says quietly. “You were disappointed for me? You thought I’d be disappointed to have you as a soulmate?”
Yuuri looks at his hands. “I don’t... always like myself that much. I thought you wouldn’t either.”
Viktor starts to speak, stops, and starts again. “I mean, I know I don’t know you that well, but from what I hear of you, you seem like a nice guy.”
“Hell,” Yuuri says. “I try to be. But that’s all I am, you know? Nice. I’m not exceptional in any way, not like you. I’m not especially kind, or talented, or funny. I’m just... nice.”
“Maybe I want a nice guy,” Viktor says. “I don’t know many nice guys. And anyway you are exceptional. You’re hands-down the best performer in the Final this year, no question. And you medalled at Worlds last year, that’s exceptional.”
Yuuri’s face is going to catch fire. “Thanks to you.”
“Not having the right coach doesn’t make you not exceptional, Yuuri. And like I said, I like nice.” Viktor goes quiet for a second. “I’ve never been a nice guy’s boyfriend before.”
That’s an opening if Yuuri’s ever heard one. Yuuri looks over at him. “You could be my boyfriend,” he says.
Viktor gazes back at him. “You’d want that?”
“So, so much,” Yuuri says. His voice is a type of earnest that would be embarrassing if this weren’t so important. “Viktor, so much.”
Viktor, impossibly, blushes, a spray of pink spreading over his perfect cheekbones. “I’d like that too, I think.”
Yuuri smiles, helpless. Viktor reaches over and takes his hand. Just as Yuuri leans in, the knock on the door comes. Viktor laughs, a bright and happy thing.
Two days later, as Viktor stands atop the podium and Yuuri stands next to him, a silver medal around his neck, Viktor reaches down and takes his hand again. “Next time we’ll be the other way around,” Viktor says. “You’re coming for my throne, Yuuri.”
“That’s not all I’m coming for,” Yuuri says, low. Viktor laughs and, in front of the cameras, God, and Celestino, he leans down and kisses Yuuri.