Work Text:
Viktor Nikiforov had previously considered himself an expert on things that could go wrong during air travel. He was, after all, a frequent purveyor of Aeroflot. But sitting on a plane parked in the darkness in an unknown location for an unknown amount of time and an unknown reason was a lot lower than he thought he’d sink.
And, worse: Skate America in two days. He could practically feel his muscles stiffening from the prolonged time in an airplane seat, but the alternative was weaving past his increasingly drunk neighbors to pace the foot and a half of the aisle like a trapped animal.
At least he hadn’t been recognized.
Viktor tried to close his eyes and rest, but the volume kept rising and the number of people crowding in the back of the plane with drinks in hand seemed to be multiplying. Eventually he quietly excused himself, snatched his pillow, and headed up the aisle in search of a quieter place.
Towards the front of the plane he found it: an empty seat beside an attractive young Asian man with blue glasses, who was slumped against the window. He stopped beside him. “Excuse me.”
The man twisted around suddenly. “Ah!”
“Sorry!” Viktor lifted his hands in a placatory gesture. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You—“ the young man choked. “You didn’t!”
He obviously had, but Viktor let the awkwardness go. “Is someone sitting here? I’m afraid my section has gotten…enthusiastic, and I’d like to get some rest.”
“Yes,” he said, quickly. “Yes, of course.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m Viktor.”
“…Yuuri.”
“Nice to meet you, Yuuri.” He sat down and wedged the pillow behind his head. It wasn’t comfortable, per se—airplane seats never were—but it was preferable to trying to block out the chatter of drunks. “I appreciate it.”
“It’s not a problem,” Yuuri assured him.
“What brings you to Detroit?”
“Ahh—sort of work? What—what about you?”
“Sort of work, too,” Viktor said. “Although I’m starting to doubt we’ll get there.”
Yuuri laughed a little nervously. “Yeah…I wish they’d tell us what’s going on.”
“Something serious,” Viktor said, wisely. “They never break out the free drinks unless it’s serious.”
Yuuri’s face clouded. “I hope that’s not true.”
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Viktor said. “Maybe it’s nothing.” He smiled. “I’ll try and rest now and leave you alone.”
“I don’t mind,” Yuuri said. Viktor hoped he meant it; he was very handsome.
“Well, thank you for sharing your space,” Viktor said, and leaned back and closed his eyes, hoping that he’d wake up feeling well-rested to an announcement that they’d soon be back in the air.
---
Naturally, he didn’t. Instead, he woke with crusted eyes and stiff limbs and they were still on the plane, surrounded now by darkness. The flight attendants let them retrieve their carry-ons but not their checked luggage and shuffled them slowly off the plane into the waiting darkness. Viktor stopped to ask about using a phone, but was just shuttled along with the rest.
Well, hopefully Yakov wasn’t too worried. Viktor shrugged. It wasn’t worth fussing about now.
More disappointing than the lack of phone was the lack of Yuuri—he disappeared into the night, shuffled into a different line or something, and Viktor quietly resigned himself to not seeing him again. Well, maybe back on the plane. Who knew?
All the people around him were unsettled, anxious. They were herded into the airport terminal, which was very large but apparently not used to the number of visitors it currently contained, and someone turned on the news.
There was no channel-flipping or arguing. Besides, it was on every channel.
Everyone got very quiet. Then everyone got very loud. A flight to Detroit was full of Americans. Viktor stared at the picture on the screen, full of horror and grief along with the rest of them, but still feeling somehow like a voyeur. If this had been Russia…he didn’t know. But he gave up on the phone idea immediately; too many people were rushing to call loved ones, to check if their families were safe. He could hardly imagine that Yakov’s maybe-worry was more important than that.
There weren’t enough chairs. Viktor’s legs were already stiff from so long sitting, though, so he paced until he grew too tired and then arranged himself in a heap against the wall. So what if his legs were stiff? They were in Gandor, Newfoundland, according to the signs on the wall. He wasn’t going to be skating any time soon. Did a place like this even have an ice rink?
“My parents are going to be worried,” Yuuri said, sitting down next to him.
“YuurI!” Viktor was delighted.
“Yeah, that’s—hi. Again.”
“Hi again,” said Viktor. “Did you want to call them?”
Yuuri shook his head. “The lines for the phones are…”
Viktor nodded, understanding. “I feel a little guilty,” he admitted. He surveyed the airport. People from all over the world had joined them, from all different flights coming and going from all different places. There was an attendant by the nearest gate calling to them not to wander off, to remember their flight numbers. “I don’t have much to worry about.”
“I…know what you mean,” Yuuri said. “I’m from Japan. All my family’s there. So I don’t…it’s not so personal, I guess.”
“Exactly,” Viktor said. “I’m Russian.”
“I know,” said Yuuri, and then flushed. “That is—“
Viktor just laughed, which turned into a yawn. He sighed. “What a long day. At least I’ve had some luck.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve met you,” Viktor said, and watched Yuuri turn bright red with great pleasure.
---
He stuck with Yuuri as they were herded onto buses and brought to the community center. It was starting to turn to day by the time they disembarked and were handed blankets and pillows, carefully piling their things in a corner. Yuuri seemed to hesitate as Viktor set about making up his bed.
“Come here,” Viktor said, watching him. “Unless you’ve made some other friends while I wasn’t looking?”
“No, I—friends?”
“Is that presumptuous?” Viktor asked. “You’re the only one I know here, and it sounds like we may be here for a while, so…why not friends?”
“Alright,” Yuuri said, unfolding his blanket and spreading it beside Viktor’s. “Yes. Friends.” He sounded a little stunned by it.
“So, my new friend, I think I should know your last name,” Viktor said. “Mine’s Nikiforov.”
“Katsuki,” he said. “Yuuri Katsuki.”
“Oh!” Viktor said, delighted. “Why didn’t you say?”
“What?” Yuuri asked, but they were interrupted by a woman yelling.
“Welcome to Gandor!” she shouted. “We’ve got food for you all over here. Come see me if you need a shower, we’ll get you to one.”
“I could use a shower,” Viktor said.
“Same,” Yuuri said, and so they headed over to the woman.
“Alright,” she said. “The Hendersons are happy to have you over, let me get Jenny and she’ll show you the way.”
“Sorry,” Viktor said politely. “Am I going to someone’s home? ”
“Sure are,” she said. “We’ve got some showers at the high school but that gym is already full up of people. “The Hendersons are real nice.”
They were, in a way that Viktor couldn’t entirely wrap his head around. They let him shower and foisted clean clothes on him and then insisted he sit down with them for a meal, a heaping portion of pasta that Viktor was sure his dietician would not approve of. When he returned to the community center, Yuuri was already back, hair damp, looking equally bewildered.
“They made me stay for lunch,” Yuuri said. “And let me hug their dog.”
“They didn’t have a dog,” Viktor said wistfully. “I miss my dog. Do you have one?”
“Yes,” Yuuri said. “Back home. A miniature poodle.”
“I have a poodle!” Viktor was thrilled. So much in common! “She’s a standard, though.”
“I know,” Yuuri said. “I—Viktor, I’m really sorry, I know who you are.”
“Well, of course,” Viktor said.
“What?” Yuuri looked at him. “Oh, I mean, I guess you must get it all the time, you’re famous …”
“You’re Yuuri Katsuki,” Viktor said. “I didn’t recognize you with the glasses. Do you have contacts when you skate?”
“No, I, I just sort of,” Yuuri made a vague gesture. “It kind of blurs the crowd but honestly that’s better. Wait. You know who I am?”
“Yes,” Viktor said. “I remember your Lohengrin. Your spins are very good.”
“I—“ Yuuri looked legitimately stunned, which Viktor didn’t think was entirely fair. It made his eyes go wide and Viktor found their deep brown very distracting. “Why do you know who I am?”
“Because we’re both professional figure skaters?” Viktor blinked at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re—Viktor Nikiforov!”
“Yes,” Viktor said. “And I think I already said, it’s very nice to meet you. You’re not slated for Skate America, are you?”
“No,” Yuuri said. “I only have one placement. NHK Cup.”
“Ah, I’ll be back in Russia for my second,” Viktor said, and then frowned. “Although I suspect they’ll have to do some adjustment. Skate America might be a loss.”
“They said they’ve grounded all travel in US airspace,” Yuuri said. “So if it makes you feel better, most of your competitors aren’t getting there either.”
“A little!” Viktor said. “Everything works out in the end, I suppose. I wouldn’t have been able to spend so much quality time with you otherwise.”
“Yeah,” Yuuri said faintly.
“Quality time which I have very much enjoyed,” Viktor added, “And would like to resume once I’ve slept.”
“Yeah,” Yuuri said. “Yeah, that—that sounds good.”
---
Viktor ended up sleeping until mid-afternoon. He’d slept on and off on the plane, of course, but it had been a long draining night with more uncertainty than rest. Even on the floor of the community center he was able to drift off quickly. He woke up to find Yuuri already awake next to him, glasses-less and looking much more like the skater Viktor remembered. He flushed when their eyes met.
“You could have woken me,” Viktor said, sitting up.
“It’s—sorry,” Yuuri said, as though he hadn’t heard what Viktor actually said, so Viktor just let it go.
“Any news?”
Yuuri shook his head. “Still grounded.”
Viktor found himself surprisingly undisappointed. “Lovely. Shall we go see Gandor?”
“I guess we should,” said Yuuri, replacing his glasses.
The town itself was exactly as Viktor had clocked it on his way to the Henderson’s home: small and a little rustic. But in the daylight, instead of the endless encroaching darkness, the landscape spread out endlessly around them: mountains, lake, trees.
“It’s so beautiful,” Yuuri said.
Viktor looked at him, and at the sunlight around him, and thought it took a great deal of self-control not to verbalize his thought: so are you.
---
On the third day, they found themselves in a bar.
They had walked there, together, as they’d done most things together in the last few days. Yuuri had been hesitant about it, but Viktor had talked him into it. “It’ll be fun!” he promised.
“Okay,” Yuuri had agreed, doubtfully. But he did look as though he was having fun now, face flushed, shirt half unbuttoned. Viktor was considering the best way he might convince Yuuri to get it all the way unbuttoned when someone jumped on the table and yelled, “Who wants to be an Honorary Newfoundlander?”
“Me!” Yuuri shouted, instantly, grabbing Viktor’s hand and raising it in the air. “We do!”
“I guess we do,” Viktor agreed, warm from the alcohol and the feel of Yuuri’s hand in his.
“Where are you two from?” the man asked.
“Japan and—“
“Japan! That’s a long way. Where in Japan?” he looked at Viktor, who was the more evidently sober of the two.
“Oh, no,” Viktor said. “He’s from Japan. I’m from Russia.”
“Now, how does that work?” the man laughed.
“What?”
“Your marriage.”
“Oh, we’re not—“ Yuuri flushed. “We’re not married.”
“Oh, I just assumed,” the man said. “Would you like to be?”
“Err,” Viktor said.
“Well, why not?” asked Yuuri.
That, Viktor was quite sure, was the alcohol talking. He looked at Yuuri, who beamed back at him. “Let me get you another drink,” he said.
Someone stuck a bucket hat on both of their heads. Viktor was quite certain it was not flattering and equally certain that he did not care. Then, it turned out he didn’t need to be helping Yuuri get drunk, because:
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man declared, “This is screech!” Viktor gingerly passed a shot to Yuuri and took his own between thumb and forefinger. He sniffed it and recoiled. It smelled alcoholic.
“Three. Two. One. Drink!”
Viktor choked a little swallowing it. Yuuri tossed it back like it was nothing.
“Last thing!” the man declared. “This is a freshly caught Newfoundland Cod. And if you want to be a Newfoundlander—you’ll give her a kiss!”
“Yuuri,” Viktor said. “I’m not kissing a fish.”
“You have to,” Yuuri gasped. “I will if you do.”
“Fine.” When it got to him, Viktor got a whiff of it and promptly switched to breathing through his mouth. Still, he leaned in and gave it a quick peck.
“Alright!” people cheered and the fish passed to Yuuri, who got his own whiff and recoiled. “Oh, god.”
“I did it,” Viktor reminded him.
Yuuri regarded the fish. It regarded him back. “No,” he sighed, slumping down on an arm, boneless in the way of the very drunk. “I can’t.”
“Well,” the man said. “You can kiss the fish, or you can kiss this Russian who you’re not married to.”
“Well,” Viktor said, turning towards him. He was prepared to tease Yuuri, which meant he was not prepared for Yuuri’s enthusiastic open-mouthed kiss.
He froze, and then kissed back. When Yuuri pulled back, Viktor gaped openly.
Yuuri grinned. “Come dance!”
“Alright,” Viktor said dumbly, and followed Yuuri, incapable of doing anything else.
---
The next morning, they started to head out when they were stopped by an announcement. “Any minute now we could get clearance to take off,” one of the pilots announced. “So stick close.”
“Should we stay?” Yuuri asked. He’d been far more subdued that morning than the evening before.
“Of course not,” Viktor said. “They won’t leave us here.”
“They might,” Yuuri said, doubtful.
“Well,” Viktor shrugged. “Would that be so terrible?”
Yuuri just looked at him.
“We won’t go far,” Viktor said, convincingly. “Just out to the continental divide.”
“Alright,” Yuuri agreed. “Just there.”
All the way out into the landscape, Viktor kept snatching glances at Yuuri, trying to figure out what he was thinking. Had he meant the kiss the night before, and how close he’d pressed up against Viktor in the dance that followed? What the hell did why not mean when asked if you wanted to get married? Could Viktor kiss him again?
In the end, he didn’t. They walked out together, enjoying the silence only broken by their soft footsteps and the sound of birds. At the top of the divide Viktor stared out and wondered about fleeting moments. Here, the continents collided. Here, the continents pulled apart again. Now they were split apart forever.
And yet, here it was. This spot still marked by that brief contact, thousands of years afterwards.
It was perhaps dramatic to think, and certainly far too dramatic to voice, but Viktor couldn’t help but wonder if he would be the same way: marked forever by these few days with Yuuri, however brief. It was strange to think that something felt like it had come alight inside him over the past few days, on what should have been a frustrating, inconvenient detour on an insignificant island but instead felt breathtakingly important.
It also felt unfair: to be so happy, so fulfilled, in a moment when so many people were struck by grief and fear and uncertainty. But when he looked into Yuuri’s eyes Viktor could forgive himself for it.
He had dug out the camera in his carry-on, the one he used to use to comprehensively document every new city he traveled to. Routine meant he still packed it, but Viktor couldn’t remember when it had last come out of his bag. Paris, maybe? But when was that? A full year before? And he had barely a handful of photos from that trip, too, just a couple with Chris and of the Eiffel tower. Tired tourist shots.
Over the last two days, it had filled up with pictures again. Now, he lifted it up and snapped a picture of Yuuri at the fence, staring out at the divide, the trees and mountains ringing the background.
“Oh!” Yuuri turned back to look at him when he heard the shutter snap. “I can move.”
“No,” Viktor said firmly, taking another with Yuuri’s eyes towards him. “This is perfect.”
Yuuri flushed again and said nothing else.
They walked back slowly, and then had to hurry because someone shouted that the planes were boarding and they still had to repack their things hastily and hurry along. Viktor was struck suddenly by the fear that they’d be shooed into their old seats, but luckily everyone seemed to have reshuffled and it was easy for them to settle in beside each other.
“Off to Detroit,” Viktor said. “What will you do?”
“Back to training,” Yuuri said. “What about you?”
“Fly back to Russia,” he admitted. “I’ll book a flight from there. I have Telecom, of course. And now I’ll be in Paris as well.”
“Right,” Yuuri said. “Skate America was canceled. So you have no reason to be in Detroit.”
“Right,” Viktor echoed. But he did have a reason. Just not a good one.
The plane took off. Viktor stared out the window for a little while, trying to reorder his thoughts, and then he heard a soft gasp and looked over and realized Yuuri was crying.
“Oh,” he said, dumbly. “Yuuri…”
“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said. “I know it’s stupid. I’ve just—I’ve really. The truth is I’ve looked up to you for a long time and this has been amazing, and I guess I’m. I’m not ready for it to be over.”
“I’m not either,” Viktor said, and then looked at him and the tears dripping down his face. “I’m sorry. I’m terrible with crying people.”
Yuuri laughed wetly. “I can tell.”
“Should I kiss you or something?”
Yuuri stared at him. Viktor took that as a no , so when he leaned in he honestly intended just to wipe Yuuri’s tears away and maybe give him a hug, but instead Yuuri planted one on him and it turned out that kissing made a flight go by very, very quickly.
Too quickly.
Too soon, Michigan was taking shape below them, the plane circling downwards and landing to the cheers of the passengers. The joyful shouts of people coming home. There would have been more beauty to it if Viktor hadn’t been staring at Yuuri’s lips, at the brown eyes he had grown so fond of, and thinking that he was about to leave his home behind.
“We’ll,” Yuuri said, as they disembarked. “We’ll keep in touch, right?”
“Of course,” Viktor said, and borrowed a pen from the gate attendant to write his number of Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri returned the favor.
“Call me,” he said. “When you get back to Russia, call me.”
“The first thing I do,” he promised. “From the airport.”
Yuuri laughed, a little. They kissed again, there in the middle of everyone. For once, Viktor couldn’t have cared less about the tabloids, but they were surrounded by a sea of people hugging, kissing, weeping, reuniting. No one even batted an eye.
And then they drew back, and Yuuri turned and walked into the crowd and was gone.
---
Viktor called Yuuri from Russia the next day and every part of it was horrible.
“I’m home,” he said, a little awkwardly. “I said I’d call.”
“Right,” Yuuri said. “How was the flight?”
“Good,” Viktor said. “Not as nice as with you.”
Yuuri was just quiet. “Sorry. I smiled.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Viktor said. Then they lapsed into another awkward silence.
So maybe they had nothing to say to each other. Maybe they were meant to meet once and never again, earthshattering and after that a little distant, staring across a gap in the earth.
“I miss you,” Viktor said, suddenly.
“It’s been a day,” Yuuri said.
“I still miss you,” Viktor said.
“Yeah,” Yuuri admitted. “Me too.”
---
“Skater Katsuki,” the reporter said, tilting the microphone. “Why are you moving to Russia?”
“My new coach is there,” Yuuri said serenely. “It only made sense.”
“But Celestino Cialdini reported you were specifically looking for coaches in Russia,” the reporter said. “Why was that?”
“Long distance relationships aren’t my thing, it turns out,” Yuuri said. “But, um. We weren’t quite ready to let go.”
“Moving for love!” she sounded gratified. “How romantic. How did you meet someone who lives so far away?”
“It’s,” Yuuri hesitated. “Sort of a long story.”