Chapter Text
December 2018, Grand Prix Final, Vancouver
“Gentlemen, your warm-up has ended,” the announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium, the peppy dance beat in the background coming to an abrupt close. “Please leave the ice.”
Yuri swallowed and sped over to the boards to meet Yakov. The group warm-up was always brutal, but being the first to skate made it even worse. Especially at the Grand Prix Final.
Yakov’s hands latched onto Yuri’s wrists. As he leaned in closer to give his final words of advice, he paused, eyes widening a fraction. He could probably feel Yuri trembling.
“All right?” he asked, voice low and confidential.
Yuri forced a stiff nod.
Yakov returned it, eyes growing steely as they locked onto Yuri’s.
“Good,” he said. “You know what to do.”
Yuri nodded again, released a slow, calming breath, and let the words come pouring out.
“They, them, theirs,” Yuri whispered, gazing down at the boards. “They, them, theirs. They, them, theirs…”
As always, the soothing chant was like a balm in the face of those heart-pounding final moments before their skate. It had been Lilia’s idea — a little reminder of who Yuri really was when the stress of skating in the men’s division got to be too much — and it had worked like a charm for the past two seasons. Yuri let everything else fall away as they kept muttering the words under their breath, hands gripping the boards as if clinging to their truth.
“First to skate,” the announcer’s voice returned a few moments later, “representing Russia…” and Yuri snapped to attention. Their eyes shot back up — and landed right on Yuuri Katsuki’s. Too late, they realized that their mouth was still moving.
Fuck.
Yuuri gave them a little wave, smiling and calling out a quick, “Davai!” before turning around to head backstage. But the damage was done. There was no way he hadn’t seen.
And now the announcer was calling Yuri’s name and Yakov was pushing them toward the center of the ice, and they had to perform their short program knowing that their biggest rival had just found out their deepest secret.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK.
Yuri took their starting position with a dry mouth and a racing heart. There was no private ritual they could do out here with thousands of eyes on them, no way to calm themself back down. They would just have to skate with fear flooding every nerve and limb, and hope their body would channel it into adrenaline in the moments when it counted.
The music started to play and Yuri took off, trying to shove everything out of their mind but the ice.
Yuri cornered Yuuri in the locker room as soon as the short program was over.
“Tell anyone what you saw,” they hissed, fingers twisting in Yuuri’s Team Japan jacket as they dragged him into a deserted corner, “and I will end you. The last thing you see will be my knife shoes.”
Yuuri’s brows shot up.
“W-what?”
“Don’t play stupid with me, Katsudon,” Yuri said, pushing Yuuri against the lockers. “I know you saw what I said right before my skate.” They tried to keep their tone threatening despite the tremor that had crept into their voice. “You can’t tell a soul, understand?”
“Tell them what?” Yuuri asked, struggling against Yuri’s grip. “I saw you talking, but I can’t read lips, Yurio.”
Yuri froze.
“...Are you serious?”
“Yes,” Yuuri said. “Your secret is safe, whatever it is.”
Yuri sighed, letting go of Yuuri’s jacket and shoving their hand into their hair instead.
God-fucking-dammit. How could they have been such an idiot? Of course Yuuri hadn’t been able to tell what they were saying — the two of them had only locked eyes for a second. And Yuuri had his own skate to worry about. Why would he care about the words coming out of Yuri’s mouth? Hell, for all he knew, they could have been speaking Russian.
And now, if Yuri didn’t explain, Yuuri was going to think they’d lost their mind.
“It’s — ” Yuri gulped, trying not to choke on the words, “... it was my pronouns.”
Yuuri blinked.
“Oh,” he said softly.
“I do it at every competition,” Yuri added, blood pounding in their ears. Their face felt too hot, the room too small. “When we warm up, it’s always ‘he’ this and ‘gentlemen’ that, you know? And I can’t let it fuck with my mind when I’m about to skate. I have to block it out. So before I take the ice, I just say my pronouns over and over — they, them, theirs.”
They sucked down a ragged breath, hands twisting in their front pockets.
“But today I wasn’t careful enough,” they continued, voice growing shakier. “I looked right at you and I just kept saying it, and I thought that — ”
“Yurio.”
Yuuri cut them off with a hand on their arm. The gentle touch stopped Yuri in their tracks.
“It’s okay,” Yuuri said, eyes warm and voice soothing. “I understand. I, um…” He glanced away uncertainly for a moment, then returned his gaze to Yuri’s. “...I’m nonbinary too.”
Yuri’s mouth fell open.
“So is Viktor,” Yuuri added.
And, okay, that wasn’t quite as shocking — Viktor’s teenage genderbending looks on the ice had been a huge part of Yuri’s own awakening — but Yuri still couldn’t believe what they had just heard. The idea of meeting others like them had always felt like a distant fantasy, something they could only achieve through a phone or computer screen. To think that not one, but two such people had been training with them, had been friends with them, had been living right under their nose this whole time…
“I know it’s not my place to tell you that,” Yuuri said hastily, snapping Yuri out of their thoughts, “but… under the circumstances, I don’t think Vitya would mind.” He gave Yuri a tentative smile and softly patted their arm. “We’re both here for you if you need us.”
Yuri’s mind was racing. There were a million things they wanted to say, all scrambling to get to the surface at once but not quite reaching their mouth. The only thing they were able to get out was a strangled, “...Huh?”
Before they knew what was happening, Yuuri was moving in closer, wrapping his arms around them and holding on tight.
Yuri started to pull back, bewildered, but after a few moments they let themself sag against Yuuri’s frame, forehead dropping to his shoulder. The tension drained out of their body as Yuuri’s hands rubbed soothing circles into their back. It was so overwhelmingly good to finally have someone who knew how they felt — even if it was Katsudon.
“If you want to pretend none of this ever happened, I’ll understand,” Yuuri murmured into Yuri’s hair, “and I’ll take your secret to the grave. But this is a lot to carry around… especially at eighteen.” He gave their shoulders a squeeze. “You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
Yuri managed a single nod against Yuuri’s chest before their vision started to blur.
Shit. No fucking way were they going to let themself cry right now. They bit their lip, clinging hard to Yuuri’s back as they fought for control.
“Hey, I have an idea,” Yuuri said, and he must have noticed Yuri’s struggle, because it sounded like he was trying to make his tone as lighthearted as possible. “Why don’t you have dinner with us tonight?”
Yuri finally pulled back enough to look at Yuuri, hoping like hell that their eyes weren’t too wet.
“We can talk about all of this, if you want,” Yuuri said. “Or not — we can just relax and have fun. Whatever you’d rather do.”
“I…”
It was a tempting offer. The chance to let out everything they’d been bottling up for years, with people who would actually get it , seemed almost too good to be true. And right now, it was also a little too much. Just imagining it made their chest feel like it was about to burst.
“...I’ll think about it,” Yuri said, kicking absently at the floor.
Yuuri took that as his cue to step out of Yuri’s space, and for an instant, Yuri felt a strange urge to pull him back in. But he was already heading toward the door.
“Let us know what you decide, okay?” he called over his shoulder.
“Mm,” Yuri nodded, fists clenching as they willed their churning gut to calm down. Just as Yuuri was about to disappear into the hallway, they added, “Hey, Katsudon?”
Yuuri stopped and turned to look back at them.
“...Thanks,” Yuri whispered.
Yuuri smiled.
“Of course.”