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Every storm has to begin with the first drop of rain. In Yuuri and Viktor’s case, it was the simple act of taking the trash out that opened a Pandora’s box.
Yuuri Katsuki was an incredibly patient man. Or at least he liked to think of himself as such. When Viktor offered him to move in together, it was like a dream come true. Their shared apartment in St. Petersburg was a rather spacious place and its minimalistic interior design didn’t make it appear any smaller. The thing was, Yuuri liked maintaining order – to a ridiculous extent in some cases, he didn’t deny it. That’s why after the first month of living with his fiancé, calling whom messy would be an understatement, he was on the verge of throwing all their belongings out the window to make the place even remotely cleaner.
Yuuri didn’t mind doing Viktor’s chores from time to time. He tried to understand him as much as he could – coaching and competing simultaneously must have been both emotionally and physically draining. The first time Yuuri saw Viktor forgot to do the dishes, he completed the housework himself and didn’t mention it. Accidents happen, right?
The incident reoccurred in less than a week. Yuuri wasn’t amused. This time Viktor didn’t do the laundry, even though Yuuri had reminded him twice of their dirty clothes piling up. Twice. He left the bathroom to find Viktor sprawled out on the couch with eyes lidded, unsuccessfully trying to watch the TV screen displaying some overly dramatic romantic comedy. Yuuri wanted to bring up the topic of his fiancé's unfinished duty, but he was physically unable to do so. Not with his adorable, grouchy Viktor lying there with the most angelic look known to men on his face.
“Next time,” he thought. “Next time I’ll surely tell him.”
And then he didn’t. Not the third time, not the fourth time, not even the fifth time.
At first, Yuuri was still somewhat mad at Viktor for forgetting about the chores. With each time the negative feeling shifted an inch or so, all until the point where Yuuri thought he was the one to blame – he and his pathetic incapability of choking out a single word whenever Viktor gave him those gorgeous, beautiful, so-cute-they-should-be-illegal puppy eyes of his.
Technically, Yuuri was completely aware of the fact that communication should be the core of every relationship. When he was younger, he used to both love and get annoyed at the overexaggerated arguments between lovers in Hollywood movies. Love because they were engaging, they made him empathize with characters and wish them all the best. Get annoyed because they wouldn’t be fighting in the first place if not for their lack of basic communication.
The older Yuuri got, the more he understood such behaviors. It was easy to know what he should do, yet harder to actually do it. But Yuuri Katsuki came home exhausted after each training session, and seeing trash bags right next to the door frame as the first thing following to entering the apartment seemed more devitalizing than practicing a quad salchow with Yuri Plisetsky yelling at him every five seconds.
“Viktor?” he spoke out. As he should have done so ages ago.
Said Russian hummed in acknowledgment and put his skating equipment right next to the rubbish, completely oblivious to the irked expression on his fiancé's face.
Yuuri sighed.
“Could you take care of it?” he pointed at the trash bags to his left. “You were supposed to do it this morning.”
Viktor looked at Yuuri. Then he looked at the result of his unfinished chore. Then he looked at Yuuri again.
“I’m sorry, solnyshko, I completely forgot,” he admitted, his tone whiny. “But can’t it wait till tomorrow? I’m so tired.”
“But–”
“One day surely won’t hurt, right Yuu–ri?” Viktor purred, clearly prolonging the vowel and staring expectantly at his fiancé when the r rolled off his tongue. “I’d really prefer to cuddle with my lovely fiancé now if that’s not a problem.”
Yuuri pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned in defeat. Maybe one day wouldn’t make that much of a difference.
***
As stated before, competing and coaching at the same time could be a real bitch. Viktor Nikiforov had to learn it the hard way.
He was known for surprising his audience in the most unexpected ways, for routines that left you gasping in shock and yearning for another slide of his skates on the ice. Viktor Nikiforov, the living legend, was a walking contradiction.
Desirable yet untouchable.
Human yet perfect.
Painfully honest yet fake.
That’s why he decided to live up to the expectations once more, preparing something that the skating world hasn’t seen landed in any competition. A quadruple axel.
Viktor didn’t tell Yuuri about his plans. Hell, even Yakov didn’t know what his favorite student had in mind. The thing about quad axel, it wasn’t attempted too often for a good reason. The points received for landing the jump cleanly weren’t worth the risk if Viktor had to be honest, but it didn’t discourage him in the slightest.
Viktor’s plan was simple. He stayed overtime at the ice rink to work at his secret weapon and if Yuuri started questioning him about it, he’ll make something up about perfecting his routines. That way he’ll have the time to skate on the ice, get in the air, make – hopefully – at least four out of the four and a half of the needed rotations, and land straight on his ass. After all, he was a professional.
Given the season he spent off the ice, Viktor didn’t exactly predict how exhausting it would be to suddenly come back to practice and take on even more responsibilities than usual. He wasn’t getting any younger, which he was painfully reminded of every time his bones screamed in terror after another failed landing. Viktor didn’t miss the look of disappointment present on Yuuri’s face whenever he had to ditch his offer to have dinner together, come home and watch a movie or even let Yuuri stay with him on the rink to help.
“Maybe next time,” he would say, shutting out the silent plea that hasn’t yet escaped his fiancé's lips.
Viktor justified his actions with the need to surprise Yuuri in the same manner Yuuri surprised him every time he stepped on the ice. It was for the greater good.
The problem was, Yuuri didn’t know about any of Viktor’s motives. And it made him anxious. Extremely anxious. He wasn’t sure whether he did something to upset Viktor, and, even if that was the case, why he wouldn’t confront him about it.
After another next time that never actually came, Yuuri just stopped offering. Maybe Viktor was too tired of him and decided to find a place where he can finally have some space. Yuuri thought he had every right to do so. The ice never bugged him about unfinished chores.
That day wasn’t meant to be any different. Viktor woke up first, as he always did, lazily stretching in their shared bed. The loving fiancé he was, he made sure to wake Yuuri up right away, leaving butterfly kisses all over his face with little to no care for his horrendous morning breath. Yuuri was too sleepy to pay attention to it anyway.
After eating a quick breakfast, they went out to train. If Yuuri had to name the best quality of living with Viktor Nikiforov, having the ice rink a walking distance from their apartment would be right next to the blessing of Makkachin’s everyday presence.
Yakov had a habit of scheduling their training ridiculously early in the morning. Except for people Yuuri recognized – such as Yurio, Mila, or Georgi – there were quite a few new faces. He remembered Viktor mentioning Yakov taking on a bunch of skaters barely out of juniors, but Yuuri couldn’t remember their names.
“We’re focusing on quads today,” Yakov announced, deliberately ignoring Viktor’s pained expression. His knees were never going to forgive him.
The warm-up went smoothly. Unfortunately, that’s where the good part ended. Viktor flubbed every. Single. Jump. How was he even supposed to attempt a quad axel when his face made close contact with the ice while doing a toe loop? He groaned in frustration, picking himself up once again.
“What is wrong with you today, Vitya?!” Yakov yelled, clearly done with his miserable performance. “If you can’t skate, get off the ice!”
Viktor gave him a pointed look, ready to argue back. He suddenly felt a hand being placed on his right shoulder.
“Maybe you could use a break,” Yuuri suggested, rubbing small circles with his thumb on his tensed muscles. “Please, Viktor, it’s for your own good.”
Instead of calming down, he felt a completely new rush of annoyance flowing through his body. Did Yuuri think he was incompetent enough not to realize what’s best for him? Probably not, but the nonexistent chance that this was the case still bothered him. He hadn’t been coaching for too long, true. If someone pointed out the flaws of his teaching technics, Viktor wouldn’t be mad. There’s quite a chance he’d even reconsider his earlier methods and thank for the suggestion. But it wasn’t about coaching. The problem seemed to lay within Viktor’s skating. He felt as if everyone suddenly forgot who had been the winner of World Championships for five consecutive times, who finished numerous Grand Prix Finals with gold in hand, and who wrapped the entire skating community around his little finger by the age of sixteen. And now, reaching the twenty-eighth year of his life, he’s suddenly told to get off the ice. The ice that he had conquered even before Yuuri learned the sensation of being blinded by the cameras as he stood on the podium.
“I’m not a child, I’m capable of deciding what’s good for me,” Viktor snapped, even though his ice-cold tone didn’t properly express his current frustration. “Missing a jump isn’t the end of the world. You of all people should know that.” He remarked without putting much thought into it.
Yuuri stiffed in shock, not a single word of reply escaping his lips for a few seconds. He took the hand off Viktor’s shoulder, hiding it in his pocket.
“Okay,” he mustered, looking down at his skates. “Sorry, I need to go to the restroom.” The last thing he wanted was for Viktor to notice how glassy his eyes became.
Yuuri had left the rink before Viktor even realized what he had said. He never regretted being blunt more in his life.
Yuri Plisetsky, on the other hand, was having none of that shit.
“The fuck was that, old man?!” he shouted, disregarding Yakov’s nagging glare caused by the exceptionally eloquent language. “I don’t care why you’re acting like a bigger dick than usual, but you have no damn right to take it out on Katsudon! He was just trying to save you from looking like a fucking disaster and it’s not his fault your sorry ass can’t do anything properly today!”
Viktor could sense a vein popping on his forehead, blood boiling. Apparently, everything had to turn against him. He didn’t mean to fail his jumps, he didn’t mean to lash out on Yuuri, and, dear god, the last thing he could possibly mean was to get Yuri involved. He took a deep breath while closing his eyes, trying to calm down. The least he could to maintain his image of a responsible adult was not getting into shouting matches with a teenager.
Yuri grumbled something, using his characteristically rich vocabulary, and before Viktor managed to reply, he had already skated off the rink to look for his namesake. None of Yakov’s other skaters could exactly pinpoint when their little Ice Tiger became so ridiculously protective of Yuuri, but everyone just kind of accepted the situation as it was.
Viktor sighed in defeat, deciding to give them both some space. One thing bugged him, though.
“When did Yuri start caring so much about him?” Viktor murmured, aiming the question at no one in particular. He felt like he hadn’t been present in his own life for a couple of months and then came back to a completely new place that he knew absolutely nothing about. It was strange to say the least.
Suddenly, a bunch of red locks flashed right before his eyes and he heard a giggle.
“Are you kidding?” Mila raised her eyebrow with an amused grin present on her face. “He’s been like that basically since you and Yuuri started living together. Yuri likes him way more than he will admit to, you know.”
***
“Katsudon? Don’t tell me you’re crying in the bathroom again; we’ve already gone over that!” Yuri yelled, though there was no distinguishable anger in his voice.
A sniffle could be heard from one of the stalls. Yuuri approached it, but this time, for the sake of good manners, he didn’t kick the door open. He aggressively knocked on it, waiting for Yuuri to answer. A few seconds had passed before there was a soft click.
“You didn’t need to waste your time on me, I’m fine,” Yuuri assured him, allowing Yuri to finally see him. He sounded so hesitant that Yuri wasn’t sure whether the man himself was convinced of what he was saying.
“If you were fine, you would be busy training and being gross with the old man, not storming off to hide because he was being an asshole,” he stated firmly, lifting Yuuri’s chin to look at his face properly. The area around his eyes was puffy and reddened, but at least his breathing seemed calmer and there were no more tears running down his chubby, flushed cheeks. At moments like this Yuri Plisetsky always reminded himself of why he woke up every day and deliberately chose violence.
“He was right, though.”
“No, he wasn’t. If none of us failed a jump in our lives, we wouldn’t even be in this sport, but he’s still an idiot for taking it out on you,” Yuri disagreed immediately. “Also, I hope he lands on his face the next time he tries to get off the ice. Maybe that would make him learn to shut the fuck up.”
Yuuri let out a half-laugh at the comment. He wasn’t exactly fond of the idea of Viktor getting hurt, but Yuri’s words made him feel somewhat more at ease.
“Now, let’s get out of here. And the next time Viktor’s talking shit you better kick his ass or I’ll do it instead, da?”
Yuuri smiled. “Da.”
***
The second they left the bathroom, Viktor rushed to his Yuuri. The more he thought about giving him space, the more he questioned whether this was the right option. Both Yuris weren’t gone for even half an hour, yet Viktor began worrying after around five minutes that followed the process of him calming down. Maybe something went wrong. Maybe he should have gone there instead of letting Yuri handle it.
Or maybe he made the right decision and Yuuri wanted to see anyone but him.
“Yuuri!” he called, quickly following up with hundreds of apologies. “I’m so sorry about earlier, I know I shouldn’t have-”
“Shut it, old man,” Yuri interrupted. “Being sorry won’t fix anything.”
“It’s okay, Yurio, thank you for everything,” said Yuuri, looking at the teen with visible gratitude in his brown eyes. Yuri thought he was still too soft to scold Viktor properly. He didn’t want to leave Katsudon in such a vulnerable state, though he would rather die than say it out loud. “I want to talk to him.”
“Just don’t go easy on him,” he replied, his lips twisting into a sour grimace, but respected Katsudon’s decision enough to leave him alone with Viktor. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep an eye on them, though.
Viktor shuffled around nervously, at first not even looking at Yuuri. He couldn’t bear the sense of guilt and embarrassment that came in even stronger waves, now that his fiancé was standing right in front of him.
“Yuuri,” he pronounced his name carefully, as if hesitant to let the syllables slip past his lips. Viktor could feel Yuuri’s burning gaze, clearly expecting him to continue. “I didn’t mean those things I said earlier.”
“You weren’t wrong, though. I do fail my jumps pretty often, don’t I?” Yuuri asked in a bittersweet tone, barely mustering to lift a corner of his mouth. It was the expression that Viktor absolutely loathed. It meant nothing less than Yuuri spiraling into anxiety, his insecurities taking over. “I’m such a failure, aren’t I?” was what Viktor heard.
“No, Yuuri, please! I overreacted; you were completely right!” he argued right away, trying to distract him. “I am a horrible fiancé for saying all that nasty stuff and you have every right to be mad at me for it, so, please, let me make it up to you?” Viktor finally looked Yuuri in the eyes, willing to do anything to repent.
The younger skater gulped, not moving a muscle in shock. He didn’t know what to do.
“Okay,” was all he managed to mumble. The moment the word slipped out, Viktor’s hands were already all over him, embracing Yuuri in a tight hug. This time he didn’t hesitate, reciprocating the affection right away. Unlike fighting, hugging was nice. Hugging felt like home.
Yuuri wasn’t sure why he was still anxious, unable to silence the nagging voice that kept whispering they hadn’t yet fixed anything. It must have been his mind playing tricks on him.
***
Their shared walk home was uncomfortably quiet. After Yuuri convinced Viktor not to apologize to him for the fifteenth time, they both continued moving in silence. Usually, they would spend the time talking over each other, discussing any new skating improvements and what to eat for dinner. They would spend it filling the space with Yuuri giggling at Viktor’s terrible jokes and Viktor looking at Yuuri as if he hung the moon and the stars.
That time they obviously didn’t talk about skating, or anything ice-related for that matter. All they needed was to make the walk ever more awkward. Yuuri wondered whether he and Viktor would have even known how to talk at all if it wasn’t for skating.
The moment they entered the apartment, Yuuri noticed dirty dishes piling-up in the sink. He didn’t say a word.
***
The following day left Yuuri’s anxiety feeling slightly more at ease. He woke up with Viktor clinging to him for dear life, Yuuri pressed into his chest, peacefully breathing. Almost all their mornings started this way and the familiarity of it helped them both forget about yesterday.
Yuuri carefully slipped out of Viktor’s grip, hoping not to wake his octopus of a fiancé up. He quietly made his way into the kitchen and began preparing some oatmeal, relying solely on muscle memory, his brain still too sleepy to function at its fullest. Just when Yuuri was about to eat, he realized Viktor remained snoring in the bedroom. It seemed strange to say the least – between the two of them, it was Viktor who had the habit of being up earlier. Yuuri didn’t understand morning people and he doubted whether he even wanted to understand them.
After analyzing all pros and cons, he decided to be merciful and make sure Viktor received his needed caloric intake. He sneaked back into the bedroom and saw the man still sleeping peacefully under the covers. Yuuri, as bold as he could muster himself to act at that moment, leaned to kiss him. At first, it was just a peck on his cheek, but that didn’t deem to be sufficient. Viktor’s body hasn’t yet moved an inch. Yuuri sighed, allowing himself to now pepper kisses all over his fiancé's sleeping face. Surprisingly, it didn’t work. His stomach grumbled in a reminder of the oatmeal he had left in the kitchen.
“Viktor, wake up,” he hastened, not willing to wait any longer. “The breakfast is ready.”
Viktor slowly rubbed his eyes, stretching lazily.
“That’s not the right way of waking the sleeping beauty up, Yuuri,” he pouted. “Where’s my proper kiss?”
“A proper fairytale princess wouldn’t have such a horrendous morning breath,” Yuuri remarked. “Brush your teeth and I’ll think about it.”
Viktor had whined for a while before getting out of bed, Yuuri’s decision apparently too cruel for his poor heart to bear. It took him one adorable and hungry fiancé, inhumane determination, and the smell of tasty food to finally crawl into the kitchen. At that moment Viktor thought nothing could possibly go wrong between Yuuri and him, their shared domestic life too blissful to allow any doubts or negative thoughts. Yesterday’s argument must have been just a one-time thing, existing merely to educate them on avoiding any further conflicts, so they could finally live happily ever after.
Of course, the universe had to prove him wrong.
***
The ice was cold and unforgiving under Yuuri’s trembling touch. One second his body flew weightlessly through the air, the other it fell to the ground, crushed under its own heaviness. Yuuri let out a pained groan, his hands bleeding from the friction and the left ankle throbbing as if broken. He swore under his breath. It could not be happening.
“Yuuri! Yuuri? Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself? I can get the first aid ki-” Viktor rambled nervously, getting by Yuuri’s side in the blink of an eye. He could clearly see the frown on his face, Viktor’s eyebrows knitted together tightly and his forehead wrinkled.
“I’m okay, no need to worry!” he briskly reassured him, forcing a smile as his ankle didn’t allow him to forget about the earlier accident. “Missing a jump isn’t the end of the world, right?”
You of all people should know about it.
Viktor huffed, not fully buying his response, but he didn’t voice out his concerns. After all, Yuuri had no reason to lie to him.
“Just be more careful next time, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt right before the season starts for real.” Viktor gave Yuuri his hand to help him get up and just when he was about to come back to their regular training, he noticed the fresh blood on his palms. “Yuuri.”
The shorter skater hummed in acknowledgment, at first not sure what Viktor wanted from him. And then he noticed his fierce gaze focused on the outcome of his fall.
“It’s just a scratch, really! Please, can we come back to training?” he asked in a hopeful manner, wishing one of the most stubborn people on this planet would give in to his request.
Instead, Viktor grabbed him gently by the forearm, dragging him out of the ice. “Not until we take care of that. What kind of coach would I be if I left my student bleeding?”
“One that doesn’t like wasting time on minor inconveniences?”
“A horrible one, Yuuri. Horrible,” he corrected him with a serious expression. “Anyway, wait on the bench and I’ll grab the first aid kit. You’re not hurt anywhere else, are you?”
Yuuri couldn’t allow himself to spend even more of his precious ice time on stupidly insignificant injuries. Even if it meant lying to his coach.
“No, I’m fine.”
He really wasn’t.
***
The ankle throbbed more with each jump he landed, but all that remained was to grit his teeth and bear through the pain. Yuuri repeatedly told himself that by the next training session his injury will have already been healed. It had to. The ache must have meant nothing more than a bad bruise anyway.
Yuuri genuinely wished for Viktor not to notice his step sequences becoming sloppier than usual, or just the fact that he was favoring his right leg in general. Viktor’s tense shoulders had already had too much weight put on them, even though he might have thought Yuuri wouldn’t notice the little things that indicated how fatigued the living legend truly was. It never showed in Viktor complaining about getting a few hours of sleep too little, whining how badly his joints ached after some sessions of simultaneous coaching and training, or him ignoring Yuuri to rest properly without worrying about his fiancé. That has never been the case with him. The throughout exhaustion showed in Viktor barely mustering a smile when Yurio threw a fit because of Yakov not letting him pull off another over-the-top, punkish exhibition skate. Yuuri noticed it when Viktor responded to a question a few seconds later than usual, barely registering what he was asked about in the first place, or when all he could do after coming back home was to cuddle with Makkachin and preferably never get off the couch again. All of that happened to be one of the most Viktor things Yuuri has ever seen. The more time he spent with his idol, the more he understood his behavior. It was because the whole world always expected Viktor Nikiforov to be told like a story – the perfect fairytale prince that existed only during interviews, snobbish galas, and on posters in bedrooms. Yuuri’s Vitya, on the other hand, would always choose showing over telling. He has never been about conquering the world from the age of sixteen, smiling during a photoshoot, or standing on the podium. The real Viktor showed in the horrible romantic comedies he liked watching, the way he danced with Yuuri in their shared apartment in the middle of the night with no music in the background, and trying to conceal his burdens, thinking it’s for everyone’s greater benefit.
Maybe that was why Yuuri felt so bothered about it – the fact Viktor that never complained about anything. Didn’t he trust Yuuri enough to talk to him? Yuuri wanted anything but to pressure Viktor, but maybe he should have come up with the topic himself. Just like Viktor always did whenever he noticed his dear future husband seemed troubled. God, did it mean that Yuuri was a bad fiancé? Maybe it did. Or-
“Yuuri?”
Yuuri almost jumped, Viktor’s call returning his wandering thoughts back to the ice.
“W-what is it?” he stuttered, his own voice betraying him.
Viktor appeared somewhat pensive, the thumb and pointing finger stroking his chin. It took Yuuri a second to comprehend that the look wasn’t exactly equal to Viktor being deep in thought, fascinated with something. Furthermore, when the cerulean eyes narrowed, he had no doubt – Viktor, scrutinizing his every move, was simply suspicious. Yuuri gulped, not sure how much his fiancé already knew.
“You seem out of it today,” he stated calmly, his hand budging from his face, now slipping between the silver strands of his hair. “Is something bothering you?”
“I’m really fine, Viktor,” Yuuri forced a smile, wishing no one would notice how tightly his jaw clenched with every throb of his ankle. “I’m just worried about not perfecting the routine enough, you know how stressed I get before competitions,” he added to sound more convincing.
Viktor’s expression softened.
“Then let’s go back to some serious training, yes?” he offered. “I don’t want my precious Katsudon to get too anxious only because we’re wasting our ice time.”
“Yeah,” Yuuri blushed at the pet name. “I won’t go easy on you this season.”
***
Viktor’s heart sank once again after telling Yuuri to go home on his own. He deeply wanted to accompany him, hold his hand, or spend more time with his beloved Yuuri, even if it didn’t involve much speaking. But Worlds were getting closer with each day and Viktor’s quad axel wasn’t going to get mastered by itself. He landed it approximately four out of ten times he attempted the jump, which didn’t necessarily mean Viktor became too old for the sport, but certainly indicated he needed to work even harder than before.
Viktor approached the metal barrier, barely catching a breath as the music rumbled through the cold air. It was a classical piece, slow yet lively in its nature. It represented his great comeback to ice, skating, and living. It meant home in a way nothing ever did before – it screamed just Viktor, without the ‘Nikiforov’ part that remained reserved only for his media image. The unhurried beats reminded him of warm nights in Hasetsu, Yuuri’s timid laughter as he told him about some ridiculous events caused by partying with Chris ‘literal safety hazard’ Giacometti. The music quickened and squeaked in happiness when he heard the first “I love you,” from Yuuri, slowing down and whispering “I’ve loved you longer,” at the same time. The only thing differentiating it from reality was the lack of Yuri Plisetsky pretending to puke in the background, calling them gross old people that can’t keep it in their pants.
Viktor’s theme was home. He chuckled bitterly at the thought, realizing that he left the main reason for his concept alone once again. He wondered whether Yuuri was playing with Makkachin right now, running fingers through the poodle’s soft fur, or maybe just resting in bed, wearing one of Viktor’s jackets that hanged adorably on his tiny frame.
He took a deep breath, restarted the music, and slid to the rink center. If he had to spend any time apart from the man he loved most, he better make it worth it.
He landed five quadruple axels out of ten that day.
***
The door closed with a click behind Yuuri as he entered the apartment. The first thing he did after placing his bag neatly next to the sofa was rushing to get some ice cubes from the freezer. His ankle looked swollen, but it honestly could have been worse. Maybe he won’t even need a doctor to tend to his injury. Yuuri shuddered at the sudden temperature change when the cubes touched his skin. For once he felt glad Viktor didn’t come back home with him – there was a very little chance of Yuuri hiding the state of his leg properly and that would only make Viktor worry. He hummed as he grew accustomed to the freezing sensation, slowly losing the unpleasantness it brought at first. As a professional figure skater, feeling the ice on his bare skin wasn’t new. Yuuri somehow found it comforting.
After around half an hour, he could almost stand on his leg without feeling much pain. Although the ice had helped, he nevertheless decided not to put too much pressure on his ankle. It should be better in the morning.
When Viktors walked into the apartment, Yuuri had already fallen asleep in their bed. His additional training prolonged even more than usual, but he was proud of the final results. The quad axel with each proper landing appeared even more achievable than before, lustfully seducing Viktor into its cold arms. He wanted to do it for Yuuri. For both of them.
After a quick shower, he joined him under the covers. Viktor failed to notice when his eyelids became too heavy to open them again that night, slowly drifting out of consciousness. The night was peaceful, lighting up new hopes in his heart.
***
When Yuuri awoke from his slumber, he felt oddly cold. There was something lacking from the usual routine of chilly mornings in St. Petersburg, or rather someone to be precise. The beginning of a panic forced itself upon Yuuri’s thoughts, obnoxiously pointing out how the last time he saw Viktor was at the ice rink yesterday. Did he even get back home that night?
Of course, Yuuri didn’t know the answer. He was dead asleep at that time, which he immediately started regretting. Suddenly, a slightly crumpled sheet of paper caught his attention. It laid on the bedside table, right on the side where Viktor usually slept. Yuuri sighed in relief as he noticed the crumpled surface of the pillow next to him – at least it meant his fiancé managed to get home safely the night before.
Yuuri grabbed his glasses and reached for the paper. The note was short, although definitely written in a hurry. He could clearly see the black smudges at the right side of the paper, Viktor’s normally neat handwriting a bit sloppy. Yuuri wondered what was so urgent that Viktor didn’t even let the ink dry properly, but the note didn’t help much.
“Let’s meet at the rink at 8 AM. Makkachin has already been fed, so don’t let him trick you into thinking otherwise. Viktor.”
Yuuri smirked at the reminder, knowing too well from his own experience how cunning Makkachin could be when he wanted something. But who would be able to resist his charm, really? The poodle acted as if he was fully aware of the fact that he had his owners wrapped around his soft, fluffy paw. Neither of said owners minded it.
After finishing every possible mundane thing a morning routine could consist of, there was still an hour left before Yuuri had to show up at the rink. The swelling of his ankle seemed less severe than yesterday, which put his anxiety at peace. It didn’t mean his leg was fully capable of skating, though. If Yuuri wasn’t plagued with the thought of burdening his already overworked Viktor, he would have never considered stepping on the ice in his current state. He would even proceed to scold anyone who tried to skate with a condition similar to his. By “anyone” he meant a certain angry Russian teenager that was more than known for his less than responsible decision making. It reminded Yuuri of the story Viktor told him a few weeks ago. Like every other athlete, Yuri Plisetsky injured himself during training at some point in his life. The problem was that, despite Yakov screaming at him to get off the ice, he refused to listen and insisted on continuing the practice. It got to the point where Mila had to manhandle Yuri to get him off the ice. And Viktor obviously had the footage. Yuuri’s favorite piece was the short video of Mila lifting the Ice Tiger and moving towards the barrier of the rink, while Yuri tried to scratch her eyes off, all accompanied by Yakov’s threats about making them do pair skating. A truly dysfunctional family they were, but what a lovely one.
Yuuri walked up to the window and opened it to air out the apartment. Chills run down his spine from the sharp wind blow, so he grasped the closest piece of clothing in his range and wrapped it around his shoulders. The fabric felt warm against Yuuri’s cold skin and it smelled oddly comforting. It took him a second to acknowledge he was wearing Viktor’s Team Russia jacket, but the realization made him clutch to the garment even more strongly. Yuuri inhaled the sweet scent and kneeled down to pet Makkachin, the poodle content with his excellent choice.
Even though the morning seemed peaceful, there were still two things on Yuuri’s mind. First and most obvious – will his ankle get better soon enough for him to compete at full strength? According to the fact how quickly its condition was improving, Yuuri genuinely hoped so. The second matter was a bit more complicated. He worried about Viktor’s increasing absences, the prolonged stays at the rink chosen over coming back home. The apartment felt empty without his laughter, but all Yuuri could do was hope the situation wouldn’t be permanent.
Makkachin woofed at him, demanding more belly rubs. Yuuri obliged.
“You’re so spoiled,” he accused, pretending to be serious. The façade fell apart the moment Makkachin gave him literal puppy eyes. Yuuri grinned. “At this point, I’m not sure if you’re taking after Viktor or if he’s taking after you.”
Surprisingly, Makkachin didn’t answer.
***
Viktor arrived at the rink two hours earlier than usual. If Yakov knew all about his additional ice escapades, he would have a sore throat for the next week after the yelling and screaming he’d do.
“If you don’t rest properly, you don’t get to skate,” was one of his major rules as a coach. Every time someone proceeded to break it, Yakov went berserk. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, though.
Viktor laced his skates tightly but made sure it was not tight enough to bruise. Quite an amateur mistake that would be. He began with a few laps around the rink because, according to Yakov, you also don’t get to skate if you don’t warm up before it. Generally, there were a lot of conditions under which no one could get even near the ice on his watch.
With the little sleep Viktor got, it was challenging to concentrate. Nearly impossible even. But then he reminded himself how close Worlds were and decided to push himself harder. The quicker he mastered the quad axel, the sooner he would have more time for his Yuuri.
Viktor didn’t expect to exhaust himself so fast. His kneels acted like they were about to give in under his weight, but he couldn’t allow them to do so. Not now.
“What are you doing here so early, Vitya?” a loud voice came from behind him as he immediately realized who it belonged to.
“Hello, Yakov!” he greeted the man, giving him a wide, innocent smile. “I just got here to get my phone because I left it at the rink yesterday. Then I noticed the practice is soon to start, so I’m warming up.”
Yakov glared at him, looking for any signs that he might be lying.
“Thank Katsuki for finally teaching you something about committing to the sport,” he replied, pleased with the excuse.
Viktor sighed in relief.
“I will.”
It didn’t take much time for Yuuri to arrive at the rink – 8 AM sharp, the man punctual as always. He greeted Viktor and Yakov, blushing timidly when his fiancé winked at him flirtatiously, and walked into the locker room. The other skaters were yet nowhere to be seen. Yuuri changed into his workout attire and folded his regular clothes neatly. This rink only needed one Yuri with a habit of throwing everything he was wearing all over the floor, lockers, and who knows what else.
When Yuuri walked out of the room, he noticed a few more people at the rink. Yuri greeted him with a nod and passed him in the doorframe, his bag landing in an unidentified location. He was slightly worried for the teenager – since the last crying incident he grew more reserved for the couple. He didn’t act particularly mean or snappy – or at least not towards Yuuri – but it seemed clear something bothered him.
“Yurio?” he called out his name and walked back into the locker room.
The teen didn’t turn his head, simply continuing to look for something in his bag.
“That’s not my name,” he stated.
Yuuri sat on the bench next to him, trying to sound collected.
“Yuri,” he corrected himself, attempting to make eye contact. “Is something wrong? You’ve been quiet lately.”
“No,” Yuri answered immediately, his tone rather sharp and unpleasant. It reminded Yuuri more of the kid who yelled at him in Sochi, not the one who comforted him the last time he cried. He put a hand on his shoulder, the simple gesture somehow forcing Yuri to look up. “What do you want, Katsudon?”
“I want you to know that if something’s bothering you, you can always talk to me. Is it about me and Viktor? You hadn’t been acting this way before that incident.” Yuuri tried to approach the topic delicately, not wanting Yuri to shut him out.
He huffed angrily in response.
“I don’t get it why you just let it slide, that’s it,” Yuri responded and rolled his eyes. “It’s no big deal.”
“Viktor is under a lot of stress right now and I know he didn’t mean to lash out at me. It just... happened. But he apologized and I forgave him. That’s how relationships are sometimes.”
Yuri’s stern look got softer, his eyes averting again. It was the expression Yuuri saw him wear only once before, right under the waterfall when they were preparing themselves for skating in Hasetsu. It impersonated the rare state of vulnerability that Yuri disliked showing, the fragile side of him he covered up – it meant agape.
“I don’t want you to end up like Yakov and Lilia,” he lowered his voice, not certain whether that was a conscious decision. “But if that old man keeps acting like that, I won’t blame you for leaving him.”
Yuuri froze for a second, no word escaping his mouth. He couldn’t comprehend why anyone would think that he might be capable of letting Viktor go – Yuuri always thought it was more likely to be the other way around, especially when the man finally got bored of him and his never-ending insecurities.
“I won’t leave Viktor,” he reassured the younger skater and pulled him into a tight hug.
“What are you–” Yuri yelled but stopped midsentence. He took a deep breath and simply returned the hug, letting them stay in silence for a while.
Before that, Yuuri had never realized how much the other Yuri actually rooted for him and Viktor. But now, when he thought of that, it made a lot of sense. They were one of the closest parental figures the boy might have had – excluding Yuri’s grandpa, maybe the only ones. Yakov and Lilia didn’t stand as a couple anymore and his closest relative raised him completely alone. Yuuri hugged him even tighter, thinking how hard it must have been.
“You’re going to suffocate me and that’s not the fair way to steal my gold medal this season, Katsudon!” Yuri complained with a smile on his face as Yuuri finally let him go. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. Yuuri squeaked in surprise when he grabbed him by the calf and rolled up his sweatpants.
Yuuri gulped. His ankle didn’t look its best if he had to be honest, but the uncomfortable pain wasn’t as frequent as earlier.
“What the fuck? Don’t tell me that idiot is letting you skate like this,” Yuri’s grip on the upper part of Yuuri’s calf tightened, his tone growing angrier.
“Uhm...”
“Fuck, he is, isn’t he? Of course, he is,” he clenched his jaw in an enraged manner.
“It’s not like that!” Yuuri defended Viktor. “He... I didn’t tell him about it. I don’t want to skip practice because of something so stupid.”
Yuri let go of his leg, eyes widening in shock.
“What?! So, you’re the idiot this time, great!” he snarked. “If you don’t get it fixed now, you’ll only miss even more practices later on. Either you tell Viktor about it or I’ll do it.”
“No, please don’t–”
Yuuri’s pleading didn’t help at all as Yuri had already walked out of the locker room. He could hear him screaming at Viktor, then Yakov screaming at him, and then Yuri screaming back at Yakov for screaming at him. Yuuri buried his face in his palms, cursing the injury for happening in the first place. If only he was a better skater and landed that damned jump properly.
Just when he was about to let the darkest thoughts consume his mind, Viktor stormed into the locker room, followed by Yuri. He had a first aid kit in his hand once again, reminding Yuuri of the time the injury happened.
“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” Viktor asked in a hurry as he took out a cooling spray and bandages.
Yuuri trembled, too many emotions attacking him at once. He didn’t know what to do.
“Yakov has already contacted a doctor,” Yuri chipped in, disregarding whatever Viktor had said. He couldn’t care less.
Yuuri barely contained a shriek when the cooling spray made contact with his skin.
“You could have warned me,” he complained quietly, not really sure whether Viktor was mad at him or not.
“And you could have talked to me,” Viktor talked back.
“You both could have been less stupid,” Yuri concluded, leaning against the wall. “But seriously, do you two even do something other than sucking face? Because you act like you’ve never had a damn conversation before.”
Yuuri looked at Viktor. Viktor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
He hated when the Ice Kitten was right.
***
Besides the scolding Yuuri received, the doctor's visit went smoothly. After further examination, the woman in an outrageously clean, white uniform informed them it was most likely not even a sprain. Yuuri needed to get his ankle X-rayed to be completely sure, though. Other than that, all he was left with was resting.
“I hope she’s right and it’s nothing serious, zolotse,” said Viktor as they left the room where the doctor was. “But we still need to do some talking. A lot of talking, to be precise.”
Yuuri nodded in agreement. There was no other way to fix things.
Fifteen minutes later, they were already inside their apartment. Viktor had already offered to carry him on the way home, but Yuuri was too flustered with the idea to allow him to do so. It resulted in Viktor pouting and basically forcing him to lay on the couch as soon as they passed the doorframe.
“You rest and I’ll make us hot chocolate,” he announced, heading right to the kitchen.
“But our diets–”
“No buts, Yuuri! Some situations require drastic methods!”
Yuuri didn’t argue with him. He relaxed on the comfy piece of furniture and snuggled to Makkachin, who happened to be lying next to him. The dog wagged his tail, pleased with the attention.
Viktor came back to the living room with two steaming mugs in his hands and gave one of them to Yuuri. They both took a nervous sip.
“So,” Viktor broke the silence first, trying to sound as confident as he could. “Why didn’t you tell me about your ankle?”
Yuuri bit his lip, trying to cover the bottom part of his face with the mug. It didn’t help – he could still feel Viktor’s gaze burning holes in him, waiting for the answer.
“I didn’t want to stress you out,” he blushed. Now he felt even more guilty. “You’re coaching me, competing, and don’t even have the time to come back home because you stay at the rink for so long. I know there’s already so much on your shoulders, so I didn’t want to be another deadweight, and, God, I’m rambling. The injury isn’t major, so I would be fine anyway.”
Yuuri took a sip of the hot chocolate, trying to calm his nerves. He was prepared for Viktor to yell at him for being reckless, scold him, or do whatever else he felt like doing. Yuuri still didn’t expect him to sit beside him, cling to his trembling body, and be the same anxious mess as him.
“I... I’m so sorry, Yuuri,” he mumbled. “I don’t want you to feel like your problems could ever be a deadweight for me. Like you could be a deadweight. You’re the most wonderful person I know. I’ve said it before, but I’ll make everything up to you, I promise. I wanted... No, I want to surprise you once more, solnyshko. I just need time.”
Yuuri leaned into Viktor’s touch, both men clutching to each other for dear life and if someone saw them at that moment, it would be impossible to tell where Yuuri ended and Viktor began.
“I’ll give you all the time you need, Vitya.” Viktor visibly melted at the diminutive, lips curling into a smile. “Just, please, talk to me. I want to know what you’re feeling.”
“Okay.”
***
“And now, representing Russia, Viktor Nikiforov!”
The crowd went mad, cheering even louder than usual. Viktor was in his element and the moment he stepped on the ice, he could swear he became one with it. The music started with the first clash of his skates against the unforgivingly hard surface. Viktor’s flawless movements left nothing to be desired; for the first time in ages he thought he had everything he could have asked for. His Yuuri, his home, called out for him, the siren-like chanting leading him towards its source. And Viktor, the naïve sailor, let himself fall into the trap. For once he allowed himself to be devoured completely, not regretting the decision in the slightest.
His program was almost impossible to perform perfectly in terms of technical difficulty. Viktor wasn’t bothered. The music that made him spill blood, sweat, and tears during the practice, now came to him naturally, like he had been performing to it for his entire life. He could see his Yuuri standing in the front row, his mouth agape, clearly enchanted with his dance. That’s the only thing that mattered.
And then, before Viktor could even realize, came the most important part of the routine. He breathed deeply, inhaling the freezing air into his lungs, and flew into the air. It was as if his whole career tempted him to never come back to the ground, keep getting higher and higher, to finally finish like Icarus – burning, yet never letting himself be forgotten.
He could barely count the rotations and just when he was about to indulge the desire, he reminded himself of his Yuuri waiting for him. His lovely, beautiful Yuuri.
The world screamed at him to never land, but it didn’t seem right. It screeched to end his tale with a legendary finish. And Viktor?
Viktor landed the jump.
“I cannot believe it!” yelled the commentator. “Ladies and gentlemen, the history has been made right in front of your eyes! Viktor Nikiforov landed a quad axel!”
The crowd went mad, everyone shouting his name, clapping in the rhythm of the song. It didn’t matter to him in the slightest.
Viktor ended his performance with his signature smile, completely ignoring all the noise. He frantically skated – almost ran – back to the barrier. His Yuuri was waiting for him, eyes still wide open.
Just when he was about to step off the ice, Yuuri threw himself at him, yet not managing to knock him down. All Viktor could think about were Yuuri’s soft lips on his, his smaller body clinging to Viktor’s chest.
“Was that why you stayed at the rink for so long?” he asked, not waiting for answers. “You’ll be the death of me someday!”
Viktor smiled widely.
“I wanted to find another way to surprise you more than you’ve surprised me, Yuuri,” he replied simply, the cheesy, overused line still sounding romantic when falling from his lips.
Yuuri’s eyes watered, small sobs escaping his body. The scene seemed so delicate in its nature, yet he couldn’t imagine anything breaking it in any possible way.
“Gross! Go suck face somewhere else, you old people disgust me!”
Maybe not every moment was meant to have an audience. Yuuri and Viktor stepped off the ice, not able to take eyes off each other. Viktor never suspected that in order to make history he would simply have to come back home.