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Summary
“Victor has gone to seek love, which is, if they should find it, a useful tool.”
“Love,” he repeated dully. “Love…” Yuri rolled the word over his tongue as if trying to taste it. His nose was scrunched before his eyes became steel. “Love doesn’t win you a gold medal. It only consoles you after you’ve been beaten to silver.”
And it was that moment, when she also saw his strength, the same fire within. Their way lead to gold, paved by their own blood, the blood of his enemies and they would strike it.
“I think you and I can come to an agreement, Yuri Plisetsky.”