Chapter Text
1.
Yuri was seven the first time he saw Katsuki skate. It was an ordinary night for the most part. He pulled his ratty blanket closer around him, trying to drown out the muffled noise of his parents arguing. Even with the T.V’s volume all the way up, he could still hear them screaming about god knows what upstairs. They were always fighting. He switched to a different channel in another futile attempt to ignore the bickering voices and condemning whispers. Whispers reminding him that he was the problem.
He sighed, wondering if the neighbours would knock on the door to complain again. It’s all anyone around here did⸺ complain. The rent was too high and the flat was too cramped. The building creaked and the air was always heavy with mildew and musk. Yuri shivered and wrapped the worn red blanket closer still, burying himself as best as he could. The glare of the TV was the only light in the dim room, casting him in a sickly yellow tone. Almost as sick as the feeling bubbling in the pit of Yuri’s stomach.
His parents never used to fight before he came along ruining their lives; at least, that’s what they told him. He clenched his fists, mulling over the familiar words in his head. He practically has the speech memorized; has his calculated reactions mastered. He learned long ago that there was no point in fighting back. There was no way he could ever win.
So, Yuri got comfortable with the numbness. He got used to the grating noise of his mother’s screams as she told him how he wasn’t part of her plans. He learned to ignore the scathing curses mourning his existence. Over and over again, she told Yuri how she didn’t want the pregnancy⸺how she didn’t want him. He pretended he didn’t notice her shaking hands as she clung onto him, trying to sort through hallucinations and reality. Afterwards, she always claimed she was clean but he knew better by now.
Just like he knew to avoid his father after he came home after a rough day. Yuri was intimately acquainted with the consequences of his anger; of the crack of his angry fist hitting the drywall as he muttered obscenities, telling Yuri that he was the reason for their crumbling marriage; that Yuri was the only reason he was married to that psychotic bitch. His bellowing voice never failed to set Yuri’s teeth on edge even as his father’s rants transformed into incoherent ramblings of unemployment and minimum wages. If Yuri was lucky, it wouldn’t take long before he would pass out, a tumbler of whisky balancing precariously in his hand.
It was simple; Yuri didn’t simply think he was unwanted; he knew it to be a fact.
So, Yuri learned how to make himself scarce. He learned how to blend into the shadows and disappear. He learned how to survive; he had no other choice.
“... now entering the rink, Yuuri Katsuki of Japan.... Japan’s most promising...the one to keep eyes on…. Yuuri Katsuki’s recent success at….where he placed….up and coming….performing today...”
It was the sound of his own name that drew him out of his reverie. Yuri shuffled around, popping up from under the blanket to glance up at the TV screen. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the harsh light. A young boy in large blue glasses occupied the screen. The dark haired boy fidgeted with the sleeves of his blue and white jacket, eyes darting from his coach to the ice. The commentators continued to drone in the background as the camera panned out, flitting to the faces of the other wasn’t competitors.
Yuri blinked, focussing on the rapid discourse. He caught words like great potential and fan favourite . The camera switched to a different boy; this one with golden curls and a wider smile. The glitter painted across this boy’s face is dim when compared to the glitter in his eyes; a natural high that must come with being the current first place. The commentators called him Giacometti and wondered if Katsuki could usurp him.
As the camera shifted back to the Japanese boy, Yuri almost laughed. That boy looked minutes away from fainting and the commentators were regarding him like he had the talent to flip the whole competition. Granted, Yuri had never really watched nor cared about ice skating and didn’t know much about it, but he found it hard to believe that the scrawny boy could perform at all, much less win.
“...expecting Katsuki to place the podium. It will be another…. Win for Japan? Is it possible…talking to his coach, renowned...”
The boy took a deep breath before shaking off his jacket to reveal his costume. He transformed before Yuri’s eyes as he stepped out onto the pristine ice. WIth his simple black trousers and shimmery blood red shirt, the boy- Katsuki- looked like a whole different person. The black and gold vines painted around his eyes emphasized his dark eyes and delicate features. As he took a few laps around the rink, the bundle of nerves from a few minutes ago was nowhere to be seen. That other boy had been replaced with this confident persona; someone dangerous and bold.
And as he took his starting stance, Yuri Katsuki looked like everything Yuri wished he was.
When Katsuki skated, Yuri could do nothing but watch with his mouth agape. The way he floated on the ice was ethereal. The costume was almost painfully harsh against the background of his delicate and precise movements. Katsuki twisted and turned and smiled like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. As if the ice was his kingdom and he was the returning hero, gracing it with his presence. He was telling a story in his every step and Yuri was sitting in rapture, his most attentive listener.
The fairy tale came to life before him, and Yuri shuffled closer to the TV, anxious to not miss a single detail. A story of a young boy, a prince, who was scared to be himself was etched in Katsuki’s small steps and tight spins. An elegant arch of his hands as he held his fingers just so, bending backward as he walked the tightrope of life. The young boy grew as Katsuki’s moves got bolder. Larger swoops and daring jumps, teasing the edges of recklessness. His hands swing faster and the moves get fiercer as Katsuki shook the last of his uncertainty, replacing it with assurance. The music built and he jumped into a spin which seemed to get faster and faster until Katsuki was nothing but a blur of red on the screen.
But then, Katsuki fell.
“Unexpected fall! This is going to…. points off of… undoubtedly a loss for Japan today… faltered and it isn’t the first….unfortunate circumstance…going to cost him.”
Katsuki fell, but then he got up. He got up and continued to skate as if nothing happened. He skated into the next choreographed move as if nothing had gone horribly awry⸺but it had. On closer inspection, Yuri spotted the slight stiffness to Katsuki’s shoulders. Was he injured? Nevertheless, Katsuki persisted. He continued and the story moved along, untainted and unblemished.
All too soon, the music wound down and Katsuki tumbled into his final pose. The crowd was silent for a heartbeat before they erupted, showering the skater breathing heavily with plushies and flowers. Katsuki straightened, bowing and grinning as he accepted the accolades.
“Yuuri Katsuki of Japan has delivered…. Brilliant execution in spite of… clearly secured a medal for third place! Wonderful….”
Third place, even after that horrible fall. The camera followed Katsuki as he stepped off of the rink, rolling his shoulders. He waved to the crowd and Yuri couldn’t help but think how much he would like to be him. To be that bold and fearless; to be able to persist and tell his own stories. To be applauded even after he messed up; to be able to make mistakes. Watching the performance, Yuri almost forgot where he was. In fact, he didn’t even notice when his parents' argument finally died down.
That night, curled up on the sofa, ready for bed, Yuri thought again of the cool ice with the fiery Japanese boy, dancing as if there was no other place he’d rather be.
The sound of the police banging on the rusty old door woke Yuri up early the next day. It wasn’t a particularly new occurrence; it simply meant Yuri was going to spend another day, or rather week, with his grandfather.
His grandfather was the best person in the world, as far as he was concerned. His grandfather’s kindness wasn’t exaggerated and his patience seemingly endless. He didn’t mind listening to Yuri’s stories and Yuri certainly had many to tell.
But Yuri made sure his grandfather never truly found out how bad things had gotten at home. He never whispered a word about how cold the nights felt and how scary the shadows looked in the dark. He didn’t even mention how hungry he was; but as he wolfs down another piroshki, Yuri suspects his grandfather might know anyway .
“What?” Yuri barked out in between bites, alarmed by the peculiar look his grandfather levered at him.
“Yura, what have we said about talking while your mouth is full?”
Yuri quickly gulped down the last bite, clearing his throat as he rushed to appease his grandfather. He hated to disappoint him. Sitting up straighter, Yuri asked politely, “why are you looking at me like that, Grandfather?”
He simply sighed in response, grabbing a piroshki to place on his own plate. He picked at it lightly, not really looking at Yuri. “Yura…” Another deep breath, “your mother and father…they aren’t well. ”
Yuri felt his heart sink. He shook his head, “Mom and Dad have a few issues but that doesn’t mean-“ To his horror, his voice cracked on the last word.
He would not cry. He would not cry. He would not cry.
He pushed his plate away from him, appetite vanished. His face burned and his throat threatened to close entirely.
He would not cry. He would not cry. He would not cry.
Yuri knew his parents weren’t the best but that didn’t mean he wanted them to go away. They were the only parents he had.
He would not cry. He would not cry. He would not cry.
He doesn’t want to be alone. The chair dragged against the hardwood floor as his grandfather stood up and made his way towards Yuri, wrapping his arms around him.
“Oh my little Yura,” he crooned, “I didn't mean to alarm you. You’ll simply be spending a bit longer with me than usual this time.” Relief flooded his veins. That didn’t sound so bad. “Would you rather stay with your Auntie Karina?”
Yuri’s face scrunched up in displeasure. Visions of his loud cousins swarmed through his thoughts. He had no desire to spend any more time than strictly necessary in their company. Besides, he vividly remembered the way Aunt Karina regarded him⸺ pitied him. No, Yuri certainly didn’t want to see his Aunt with her perfect husband and her poster children; didn’t want to remind himself that his parents were only parents in the vaguest sense of the word.
“Yuri?” his grandfather prompted, looking a bit concerned at his prolonged silence.
“No,” he mumbled, burying himself into his grandfather’s safe arms. His worn sweater was impossibly soft against his cheek and his comforting hand was gentle as it ruffled his hair. It was quiet for a few moments as Yuri collected himself, trying to hide all evidence of the unwanted emotions.
“We will make a new life together, Yura. There’s even a nice school nearby.”
“School?” Yuri pulled back to look at his grandfather, confused. “Am I… going to stay here from now on?” His heart fluttered in his chest at the possibility. He hadn’t considered that he might get to stay here; hadn’t really considered a future that existed outside the shitty apartment with his forgetful parents.
“Is that a problem?” Yuri quickly shook his head, not giving his grandfather any room to doubt and reevaluate the decision to take him in. “There’s this lovely bakery nearby, do you remember those chocolate eclairs you liked? The lady that owns the place has a young daughter who is your age and-”
He let his grandfather’s soothing voice wash over him and the lingering panic ebbed away as a new hazy dream formed in his head. A nicer school and nicer clothes. A full stomach and a warm bed. Secretly, Yuri pinched himself, wondering if perhaps he would wake up on the thrifted lumpy couch; wondering if perhaps this was all a dream.
“-there’s even an ice rink around here. The younger children go there after school to play.” Yuri’s head snapped up, breaking out of his reverie.
“Ice rink?”
His grandfather’s eyes seemed to twinkle, “You like the sound of that, huh? I’m friends with the coach of the local hockey team. If you want I could-”
“Is there...figure skating there?” Yuri blurted out before truly thinking. He felt his face burn and his eyes flicked down. He hadn’t planned to tell anyone about his new found fascination with the sport. The Japanese boy⸺ Yuuri Katsuki ⸺spinned across his thoughts. He had been fire on the ice; raging flames that had burned themselves into Yuri’s brain. As the silence stretched, Yuri desperately wished he could take his words back.
But Yuuri Katsuki had seemed so happy. And Yuri wanted to be happy too.
“Yuri,” He couldn’t place the odd tone to his grandfather’s voice. He looked up in confusion, only to find something like pride etched across his face. “Your grandmother used to skate too.”
He blinked, once then twice. Yuri hadn’t known that . His grandfather sniffed, reaching up to dap at his slightly watery eyes before saying, “Charlotte who lives next door has a niece who is a skater. I will talk to her tonight.”
The next week, Yuri followed his grandfather’s lead as he walked into an ice rink for the first time. It was colder than he had thought it would be; the air crisper somehow. Rhythmic sounds of blades cutting through the ice created a symphony of their own, mixing and blending with the laughing and giggling children. Yuri did not know if fate existed, but something about this small rink called to him. He knew in his bones that this was where he was supposed to be.
He tightened the laces on his cheap rental skates one last time before taking his first step onto the ice. Immediately, he lost his balance and slipped, falling right on to his butt. Somewhere behind him, he registered his grandfather’s low chuckle. Before he could truly react, a pair of white skates came to a halt in front of him. Yuri let his eyes travel up the skate to meet the eyes of the skater who wore them⸺a bubbly looking red head smiled down at him, hands on her hips.
“Hello! You must be the new skater, Yuri Plisetsky, right? My mama told me you would be here today,” she gestured to the kindly looking woman on the far side of the rink, “that’s her. I’ve been skating for nearly two whole years now! It’s the most fun. I already know you’re going to like it too. In fact-” She was still talking as Yuri carefully stood back up, clutching onto the rink railing.
“-I like watching the skaters on the television but I don’t know who my favourite is. I want to be just like them one day. I’m Mila Babicheva, by the way.” She looked at him expectantly, waiting for a response.
Yuri simply grinned.