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Something Yuuri has noticed throughout his career, interacting with ‘gifted child come elite athlete’ types, is that, on the whole they are utterly rubbish at reading other people’s emotional and social cues, or at interacting like normal human beings. It has at times been bewildering, especially before he began to study the phenomenon seriously, but he can see it in just about every figure skater on the international circuit.
Viktor, for example, Yuuri thinks as he sits in his parents’ dining room and looks over at the man he loves. Viktor is well, Viktor; seeing only just beyond the tip of his perfectly pointed nose and coming on to people Way too strong. Viktor is overly dramatic and ego driven, has made an art out of toying with the emotions of others, and is eternally surprised that anyone else can feel emotions as well, and that they might have the ability to emotionally effect him. It amuses Viktor to cause young Yuri anger and distress and, on the rare occasions when Yuuri has made him cry, Viktor has seemed more shocked than upset, like a toddler or a puppy, realising for the first time that there are consequences and that they might not be the centre of the universe after all. Yuuri knows that Viktor is rarely malicious, but he hurts others nevertheless, and it is mostly because he never learnt to interact with people as equals. He has always been “Viktor Nikifirov; Living Legend!” even in his own mind, for better or worse. He is special, true, but in Yuuri’s mind, now that he has gotten to know the man behind the legend, Viktor is simply another example of a socially inept prodigy, just like the rest.
And speaking of the rest: Phichit lacks boundaries, to put it lightly, has the same egocentricity and odd naivety that comes from being told he is special from a very young age, not to mention the fact that he overshares in the extreme and expects everyone to want to know about his life.
Otabek Atlin has modelled himself on James Dean in order to seem like the strong, silent, mystery man, when really his social anxiety rivals Yuuri’s and he struggles to have even a casual conversation with most people. Yuuri has seen Otabek’s freeze response when faced with stress and has struggled not to laugh when the poor man’s response was to flick his shades down, flip up the collar of his leather jacket, and attempt to merge with the wall behind him. But even with his anxiety, Otabek has that unwavering determination to succeed, an ego driven belief that he will succeed, a belief that allows for no argument. It comes from being told he is special, but also -importantly- not special enough. There is an anger and stubbornness in Otabek that Viktor and Phichit lack but they share that same lack of social understanding.
Then there is Chris. Chris is… even thinking of Chris makes Yuuri blush. He’s the Disney child star of the skating world: he went from angelic innocence to sexed-up stud in a single season and most people are waiting for the inevitable spiral and crash. Will it be drugs, sex, or rock’n’roll that gets him? Yuuri is sure there are betting pools. Chris is all ego driven, oversharing self-assurance, with a habit of not seeing people as, well, people. That’s why he disregards the personal space and concerns of others, because he sees himself as a person and everyone else as things or obstacles or, at best, competition. It isn’t malicious but it is worrisome.
And then there’s Jean-Jacques LeRoy… Yuuri would rather not even think about that pompous so-and-so at all. His arrogance stinks up any room he steps in to. Yuuri doesn’t know if he was born a narcissist or if it was drilled in to him, but either way it means that LeRoy rarely sees anyone around him at all, aside from how he might be able to use them. Other people are tools and props to JJ and he will step over others (without his blade guards on) to be at the top, to be the king of the castle. Unlike most others in their strange skating world, LeRoy can be, and is, malicious and enjoys the harm he causes. While Victor teases Yuri and thinks it is innocent and simply funny to get a rise out of the boy, LeRoy teases Yuri with self-aware cruelty. He pokes at sore points just because he can, to mess with his competition, and just to be an ass. Yuuri suspects that eventually Jean-Jacques will crash and burn, sooner rather than later based on what Yuuri has seen. He just hopes that he and Yuri have front row seats for the event. He hopes they have access to popcorn.
Essentially, the world’s top figure skaters are very different people but what they’ve had in common is uncommon upbringings which have led to similar outcomes. They’ve lived lives among adults rather than children and peers; lived lives surrounded by demanding adults with adult expectations; lived lives filled with criticism yes, but in most cases an enormous amount of praise as well. They have all been told they are special. It’s a recipe that makes for rather odd and ill-adjusted adults.
These days it isn’t just a curiosity for Yuuri, not just something he thinks about to keep his own nerves at bay when faced with his competitors, or to figure out their weaknesses. No, because now he’s using his degree in sports medicine as a springboard to his PhD in sports psychology, and he’s thinking of focusing on this exact phenomenon: the way professional athletes are moulded by circumstance to be truly odd ducks. And because for the last year he has been watching first hand exactly what can happen when a child, a prodigy, has spent all of his sixteen years of life being poked, prodded, pushed, yelled at, exhausted, half-starved, kept isolated in some ways whilst being given too much freedom in others, and constantly berated for not being good enough. Yuri. Yurio. Yuri Plisetsky. The child worries him.
It’s been eighteen months since he was accosted in the men’s bathroom after his first, humiliating Grand Prix Final, by a furious, terrifying, fourteen-year-old (nearly fifteen, asshole!) Yuri Plisetsky and he has witnessed a lot of behaviour over those months that worry him, and has formed many opinions on how children should and should not be treated in professional sport, figure skating or otherwise. He’s written over fifteen thousand words on the topic so far. Yuri would probably be very angry and insulted if he knew.
Because here’s the thing - Yuri Plisetsky has anger issues, impulse control issues, abandonment issues, treats his body like it’s a tool that belongs to others rather than his own personal being, is mature beyond his years one minute and ridiculously childish the next, and has a less than healthy relationship with food. Yuuri saw all of these problems, and more, when his reluctant namesake first turned up in Hasetsu, a loud and bratty child, demanding to have his surrogate big brother back. Yuuri can look back now and recognise the hurt and betrayal in the boy’s eyes but at the time he’d been too overwhelmed by the presence of Victor (charming, bumbling, ex-child prodigy Viktor) in his life to recognise exactly what was happening to current child prodigy Yurio.
He remembers at the time thinking that Yuri’s eating habits were atrocious. He had zero table manners and ate like he was eternally ravenous and Yuuri, at the time, had been jealous. If he ate like that he’d turn in to the dreaded ‘piggy’ that Yuri teased him about constantly. Yuri hadn’t seemed to mind the gentle teasing of the Katsuki family over his eating though, he’d just shovelled the food in like he was worried it would be taken away from him at any moment.
Now Yuuri can see that this is exactly what the teen had been worried about. He saw how thin Yuri had been by the GPF in Barcelona, he’d counted the boy’s ribs during his exhibition skate. It had been distressing, and worse was the lack of concern anyone else seemed to have for him. It worries Yuuri still.
Yuuri has a binge eating disorder; he’s made his peace with that fact, that it is a facet of who his is, just like his anxiety disorder, and he actually enjoys his therapy. He wonders what Yuri’s diagnosis would be, with regards to his eating and his explosive temper. He wonders what the boy is hiding behind his wall of anger. He’s not sure he’s brave enough to chip away at that wall.
Now, sitting opposite his young namesake, Yuuri can see the hunger in those green eyes as Yuri holds himself back from eating. His knuckles are white and obvious and what’s left of his finger nails are digging in to the wood of the table between them. His hands are like claws, the bones way too obvious. Yuuri has to wonder what was said to force such restraint in to a soul so naturally impulsive and reckless. He has to wonder what was done to make Yuri seem to suddenly Fear food. Because that’s what Yuuri sees: a desperate hunger and a desperate fear. Yuuri has seen plenty of athletes who have been cowed and whose spirits have been defeated. He has seen young athletes who have shut down and athletes who fear failure to an extreme extent. Yuuri knows from his studies and research that young athletes competing at the highest levels are at a huge risk of eating disorders and self-harm behaviours. His reading tells him it is as high as 13.5% for eating disorders, as opposed to 4% in the general population. He knows that even the most confident skaters, even Christophe, have pale scars on the skin of their thighs from their lowest moments, marks from their attempts to punish themselves, to relieve the emotional turmoil and feelings of failure.
Yuuri knows firsthand how easy it is to fall victim to self destructive patterns, and he mostly escaped the high pressure world of the junior competitions. He was lucky. He was able to attend a regular school. Viktor never went to school and is forever curious and awe-struck about Yuuri’s highschool experience. Yuri has never been to school either and scowls with deep, green-eyed jealousy whenever Yuuri’s teenage years are mentioned. Even so - even with his normal upbringing - Yuuri fell victim to the need to release the tension that hums beneath his skin by hurting himself. Sometimes living under constant pressure demands it, he recognises that now, even if he hates it. The key has been to find safer ways to do it.
So Yuuri recognises the way Yuri scrapes his tattered fingernails across his thighs, the bitten nubs catching on the fabric of his jeans. If Yuri hasn’t started harming yet he’s close to it and Yuuri wants to prevent that if he can. He wants to prevent the sort of escalation a personality like Yuri’s could demand. He wants to see Yuri safe, to do what he can for a vulnerable child in his life. Not that he thinks Yuri will make it easy for him.
Yuuri knows he’s a worrier by nature, he has a diagnosis of Social Anxiety Disorder to be exact, but he thinks that even if he didn’t he’d worry for Yuri. The urge to coddle the teen is strong, but Yuri has no understanding of such care and rejects it at every turn. He wraps himself in anger and violence and hits out before he can be hurt, and he pushes whenever he can because he Knows just how little control he has in his world. But Yuuri has also seen the little boy inside Yuri, the one who shared his joy at his grandfather’s piroshki and smiled so brightly and genuinely as he told Yuuri about the one grown-up in his life who he trusted enough to love.
It hurts to know that Yuri was forced to leave his beloved Deda at the tender age of ten in order to follow his dream. It seems like the start of a tragic fable, the sort that Russia has too many of. The tiny boy with no parents, only a loving grandfather, no permanent home and no one he would dare to call his friend.
Yuuri wonders if skating is still the other Yuri’s dream and passion and love, the way it was when he was ten and looked no older than eight. He wonders if the ice still brings him joy or if it has become only duty. The boy sitting opposite him in the dining room of his parents’ onsen looks exhausted and so very close to breaking. He’s only sixteen. His eyes seem to have lived far longer. It makes Yuuri blink behind his glasses, hoping no one has noticed the sudden rush of emotion.
Yuri is fresh from Worlds, having defeated both Yuuri and Viktor, having just ground JJ beneath his toe pick - he should be elated and strutting like a peacock around his home rink. Instead he’s run away again, back to Hasetsu, and Yuuri can see that he’s struggling to figure out how to interact in a family setting, and how to relate to people who treat him just like a normal teenager: hormonal and emotional and worthy of love.
Yuuri pushes one of the many dishes his mother has made for dinner - to celebrate Their Yurio’s visit - across the table, and then pretends not to notice that Yuri takes a massive portion and eats so fast it’s like he doesn’t chew at all. There are grains of sticky rice clinging to the teenager’s cheeks and the new, bristling hairs that have sprouted above his top lip. His cheek bones are ridiculously visible and Yuuri knows that such signs of malnutrition make his entire family uncomfortable. He just hopes that Yuri doesn’t take their attempts to feed him and care for him the wrong way. Yuri, whilst being a master in his given field, is absolutely clueless when it comes to regular life, including reading the intentions of people whose only motive is kindness. He is used to being used and can’t quite believe that the Katsuki family have no desire to do that to him.
Looking carefully out of the corner of his eye Yuuri watches as Yuri holds the bowl close to his chest, childishly, as if refusing to share what’s been offered him, and scowling deeply when Mama Katsuki laughs and ruffles his hair on her way to the kitchen to make more. Across the room, sitting with Minako and a half empty bottle of saki, Viktor claps his hands and thanks his soon to be mother-in-law for providing such good food, displaying behaviour on a par with Yuri’s as far as immaturity, but coming from a completely different direction. His smile makes Yuuri’s heart fizz pleasantly in his chest and he cannot help but feel pride and love for the man who once admitted that he had been so lonely he thought he would never find companionship or family. Not for the first time Yuuri is grateful for his family, and thanks his ancestors for watching over each successive generation and ensuring that Yuuri was gifted with loving parents and a sibling who would go to war for him.
Brows furrowed, Yuuri pulls his notebook from his pocket and starts to jot down his thoughts. He’s been doing it a lot in the last year or so, and finds it helpful and grounding. Through his note taking he has been able to get a clearer understanding of his friends and competitors. It keeps his thesis moving forward and Yuuri gets huge satisfaction from his progress and his achievement.
But Yuri is looking at him suspiciously and his chewing has slowed right down. He truly does resemble a cornered cat, one of the creatures he seems to find unerringly no matter which city they happen to be in, and nearly always manages to charm. His hair is practically standing on end and Yuuri can almost see the tail whipping back and forth as the boy senses a threat.
Seeing the way Yuri interacts with animals is how Yuuri knows that the rudeness is mostly an act. Yuri is capable to caring for the small and vulnerable and never kicks down. He is generous and kind and selfless when it comes to animals, and even small children. The problem as Yuuri sees it is that Yuri has very little personal experience of being cared for. He has never seen himself as worthy of that care, he refuses to be small and vulnerable, and blocks from his mind the times in his life when he was. It is self-preservation. It is sad.
Putting the notebook away as casually as he can earns the desired result; Yuri returns to the food, though he chews more slowly and, when he thinks he’s not being observed, slides most of the food on his plate back on to the serving dish. It’s at odds with the impulsive side of professional athletes, though Yuuri definitely has seen Yuri act out impulsively (running away to Japan is a prime example). There are those in Yuri’s life who would call the act of refusing excess food a sign of maturity. Yakov and Lilia would likely approve, though they would surely scold him for putting food from his plate back on to a shared serving dish. They would call it unseemly and suggest that next time Yuri refrain from taking so much in the first place. There are few scenarios in which Yuuri can imagine the young skater not being scolded at the dinner table and there is little that Yuuri can do to change that, beyond floating the idea of Yuri moving in with him and Viktor when they all return to Russia in a few weeks. What he can do is gently praise and encourage Yuri to eat like a normal teenager. He doesn’t want his namesake to be teased like he has been over the years when his weight has escalated, but he can’t in good conscience stand by and let him get any thinner. Even if Yuri is taking Vitamin D and calcium supplements, at some point his minimal diet will effect his bones and something will break. Lilia and Yakov should know better but they also have a ballerina aesthetic they wish Yuri to conform to for as long as possible and in order to make him fit that mould and obey their instruction they seem willing to break him a little. Yuuri wants to bandage him up and fill him with carbohydratey comfort.
Yuri is sixteen years old. His body is changing, or at least trying to. Yuuri is watching the greatest skater currently competing transform from child prodigy to ill-adjusted adult right before his eyes, but watching feels wrong. Or rather, just watching feels wrong. Yuuri needs to Do something. He isn’t known for being a man of action and he has certainly had enough run-ins with ‘Very Not-Happy Yurio’ to know that poking the tiger isn’t wise, and he is absolutely terrified of Yakov, not to mention Lilia, but right now he feels the need to do or say something. Yuri needs help, he needs adults around him who want to help because he is worth helping, and not because he makes them look good or can be moulded to fit an aesthetic.
It is no surprise that Yuri has never had access to a Sports Psychologist, Viktor never did and Yuuri has been slowly untangling the damage done to his idol-come-romantic-companion in preparation for Viktor seeing a counsellor when they return to St Petersburg. Yuri needs the same support. From what Yuuri has seen of the Russian team, they could all benefit from a little counselling; Georgi had a breakdown on the ice at Russian Nationals and Mila seems to bounce around on a permanent high that Yuuri doesn’t quite believe, not to mention the rest of the female skaters who all seem to be under weight and over caffeinated just to keep up with the Rose of Russia, as Mila recently titled herself. They are a troublesome bunch, and a troubled bunch, and once Yuuri would have backed away from the mess whilst quietly hyperventilating and planning a life alone in the woods. Now he wants to send them out to soak in the hot springs and then off to the temple to learn to meditate and relax. He’ll send himself off as well because he is still a mess in so many ways and living with and loving the grinning whirlwind that is Viktor Nikifirov comes with a certain amount of anxiety and confusion and a general feeling that the world has tilted slightly off its axis and Yuuri is self-aware enough to know that sometimes a person needs to be forced to meditate and, as Yuri would say, ‘Calm the Fuck down!’ A few years ago Yuuri would have been ashamed of showing weakness, seeing it as weak to rely on meditation and massage and a psychologist and anti-anxiety meds. Now he understands what it means to rely on others, to embrace love and care and compassion. He wants to pay that forward and can’t think of anyone more in need of it than the Russian skaters who have embraced him so wholeheartedly, even if Yuri pretends to feel nothing but anger and disdain.
“What? What?! What are you looking at, Pork Cutlet Bowl? Quit staring at me, will you!”
“Yurio! Stop being rude!”
Yuuri jumped, first at Yuri’s loud exclamation, and then again when Victor retaliates with his own shout, scolding his young teammate and swinging the now empty sake bottle in the general direction of the dinner table.
“That’s! Not! My! Name!” Yuri screams back, banging his fists to emphasise each word. He lets out a frustrated shriek and Yuuri can see from his vantage point that Yuri’s hands are shaking horribly. “Katsudon! Why are you looking at me?!”
“I…” Yuuri blinks, taking in the way Yuri’s chest is heaving, hearing the exhaustion in each breath. “I was just thinking about how I’m sitting opposite the greatest international figure skater currently competing,” he says softly, feeling the blush colouring his cheeks because he knows how silly he must sound. “I was thinking what a privilege it is to see you go from child prodigy to a master of the sport, a legend, it’s-“
He stops when he sees the way Yuri is looking at him, first with shock and then with suspicion. Yuri doesn’t trust compliments, even if he can probably tell that Yuuri isn’t teasing or lying to him. Yuri told him once that the best compliment he got from Lilia was that he had decent teeth, after she’d complained at how sloppy and inflexible he was. For someone as proud of his flexibility as Yuri is, that must have hurt, but Yuri had tried to focus on the compliment, and the fact that Lilia had promised to turn him in to a prima and had done so. It isn’t any wonder that Yuri doesn’t trust when people give compliments, he’s too busy waiting for the insults and degradations which he assumes will follow.
“… shut up…” Yuri mutters eventually, a frown between his brows. He pushes himself back from the table and raises himself to his feet, chewing on his lip like he’s thinking about what to do next - whether he should scream and kick and chuck a tantrum - but in the end he just folds his arms and mutters something about going to bed so he doesn’t have to hang out with a bunch of fossils.
Once his stomping footsteps have faded from the staircase Yuuri takes out his notebook and pencil once more, pursing his lips as he thinks over what to write. He’s not sure whether he’s made things better or worse. Professional athletes are an odd bunch, and figure skaters seem to be odder than most. It might be the fact that it’s an uncommon sport, so anyone who competes at the highest level is already uncommon and ridiculously driven to succeed, and then add to that the artistic nature of the sport which attracts those with an artistic temperament, which inevitably leads to drama. Factor in the need to be light, strong, and to look good in skin tight costumes… Minako had been right when she’d once called figure skating ballet with blades - the competition is almost literally cutthroat. It is no wonder that Yuri is as hard and battle worn as he is; it’s probably odder that they aren’t all raging balls of fire.
Yuuri glances over at his soon-to-be husband who seems to have fallen asleep sitting up, with his robe falling from one shoulder, looking good enough to eat. Viktor is most definitely an odd duck, a truly eccentric former child prodigy who’s currently more like a toddler as he tries to figure out the strange changing world around him. Yuuri’s looking forward to getting back to St Petersburg and getting Viktor in to formal therapy in preparation for his retirement and, he realises, he’s looking forward to his own life beyond competitive figure skating as well, because he intends to bully Yakov in to setting up sports psychology services for all of his weird Russian ducks. And even if Yakov says no Yuuri intends to find a way for Yuri to access some kind of support. Yuri is too important to risk, not because he’s a record breaking skater, but because he’s a kid who’s been broken and reset a few too many times, because he’s a teenager running on anger and the smell of food rather than carbs and sweets and real fuel. And because he’s Yuri and he deserves all of the care and love and kindness that Yuuri can give. It might not make him a well adjusted adult but it might give him a little joy, and that might be enough.