Chapter Text
Six Months Ago
33-year-old twice Olympic Gold medallist and retired Figure Ice Skating Champion, Katsuki-Nikiforov Yuuri lay sprawled on his hotel bed, phone clutched in hand, eyes barely staying open from exhaustion. Four days. Four days of missed calls, brief text exchanges, and an aching emptiness building up. He hadn’t seen Viktor in over four months—not really, anyway. Sure, they FaceTimed, but it wasn’t the same. Since leaving St. Petersburg to coach Hanzo Tachibana—a rising star who urgently needed a coach when his former one got dismissed after found guilty of misconduct—it had felt like a lifetime without Viktor.
Viktor had practically pushed him to take the job, insisting that it would be a huge opportunity to grow as a coach, to make his mark. "We’ll make it work, my love" he’d said confidently. And Yuuri had trusted that, had trusted him. But the truth was, the separation wasn’t easy. No amount of confidence or FaceTime calls could make up for the missing pieces—their shared space, their routines, Viktor’s easy laugh filling the silence. They had never been this much time apart and for the record…it was becoming obvious that this was not going to repeat ever again.
One thing was clear: this whole long-distance experiment? Definitely not happening again.
Not after it had been proven they couldn't be apart from each other.
He tried to shake off the exhaustion. It was nearly 3 AM in Japan but only 9 P.M in St. Petersburg, and while he’d had a full day of meetings with the Japanese Federation, his mind wasn’t on work. It was on Viktor. Still on Viktor. The time difference didn’t help—he hadn’t slept much and it was starting to catch up with him, but he wasn’t about to miss this call. He’d promised himself that. No matter how long it took for Viktor to finally find a moment between the endless meetings, he’d be here, waiting. As the minutes stretched on, his eyelids started to feel heavier, and just as he thought he might drift off, the screen blinked to life.
His heart skipped a beat.
Without thinking, Yuuri quickly pressed the green button and sat up straighter, trying to shake off the weariness from his body.
Viktor’s familiar face appeared on the screen, but there was something different in his eyes—a tiredness that Yuuri had seen only a few times before. His sharp, vibrant blue eyes were softer, the wear of long hours of endless meetings evident beneath the surface. His silver hair, usually immaculately styled was a bit more tousled. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes, telling the story of a man who hadn’t had enough rest. His face had the faintest signs of stubble, a five o'clock shadow giving him a more rugged, but still charming, look. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, looking handsome as ever—his jawline sharp, lips full, and that familiar soft curve of his smile that Yuuri always adored. When Viktor smiled, Yuuri’s heart did a flip, and for a moment, he bit his lip while gazing at his husband’s face.
So hot. The Japanese sighed lovingly (and thirsting after his husband, thank you very much) in his thoughts. It wasn't that before Viktor didn't had this much of an effect in him. Even after all these years, sometimes only one wink could still do the work of getting him hard. But obviously, the distance and his current state of being touch-deprived were doing wonders on his ability to think straight only by looking at his man through the screen.
"Hey, Vitya." Yuuri greeted with a sleepy silly smile, his voice still warm despite the late hour.
Viktor, still looking a bit worn-out, grinned back.
"Hey, love. Sorry I’m late. I just got home. Those meetings ran a little longer than I expected. But I’m glad we’re finally catching up." He leaned back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. "I’ve been looking forward to this. I miss you."
Yuuri felt his chest tighten at the sight of Viktor, hearing the familiar warmth in his voice. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed to hear it until now.
"I’ve missed you too…" Yuuri replied, his voice soft. After a few seconds of silence, he stretched a little, trying to shake off the fatigue. "How’s everything with the Federation? And how's Yuri been doing?"
Viktor sighed, and Yuuri could see how his questions went inside his husband's brain by how some answers formed on his face. He could read him better, after much practice.
"The Federation... endless meetings..." He began, his voice weary, but he couldn't help the faint humor that threaded through. "Protocols, code of conduct. The most bureaucratic procedures you could imagine: you name it. It’s been all about making sure everything’s in line for the Olympics." Viktor chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. "The usual stuff, really. Nothing too exciting."
Yuuri raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious despite the uninterested tone in Viktor. "And here I thought you were dealing with something more... exciting. Like, maybe a new program or a cool exhibition?"
Viktor snorted and moved his head in disbelief.
"Nah, not yet. I’m just... trying to get through all the paperwork and all the ‘important’ decisions. It’s the boring part of coaching, love. But it’s necessary. If I could, I’d be on the rink with Yuri, but it’s all... politics and logistics right now."
There was a slight pause before Viktor sighed deeply and leaned back again, his shoulders slumping. His expression became more serious. There was a hint of concern. Yuuri's question about Yuri seemed to hit a nerve.
"Yuri... he’s been acting a little strange lately. More in his head, you know? Like there’s something going on with him, but he just won’t talk about it. I’ve tried, but he brushes it off. He's not really opening up like he used to."
Yuuri frowned.
"Do you think it's the pressure of the Grand Prix Season and the Olympics being so close?" Yuuri asked, knowing how much it weighed on everyone, but especially on Yuri, who had always seemed to have his ambition upfront.
Viktor shook his head, his brow furrowing. "I don't think it's just the pressure... It’s like... he’s carrying something, and he’s not sharing it. It's not about skating, it’s something personal. I don’t know what it is, but it’s eating at him. I just wish he'd talk to me."
Yuuri could hear it in Viktor’s voice: frustration. There was so much you can do for someone who was going through a rough time but didn't wanted to talk about it. But also, Yuuri knew how deeply Viktor cared for Yuri. They were more than Coach/trainee, and even friends—they were family. "Have you tried talking to him outside of the rink? Like, just hanging out? Maybe he needs to know you’re there for him, not just as a coach, but as a friend."
Viktor nodded slowly, his expression softening. "I have. I’ve tried to lighten the mood, but sometimes he just... shuts down. It’s frustrating. I want to help, but...I don’t know how." He sighed again. "Maybe I’m not seeing something. Maybe he doesn’t want to burden anyone with whatever it is he’s going through."
Yuuri’s heart ached a little at the thought of Yuri struggling in silence. He understood that feeling all too well—the urge to keep things bottled up, to handle everything alone so nobody could label you as “weak” or “vulnerable.” Growing up, he had done that too. In his late teens and early twenties, before Viktor danced his way into his life, keeping people at arm’s length was his default. It was safer that way, or so he thought. Show no fear, share no weakness—it felt like the only way to stay strong, to keep himself together. And honestly, he’d gotten good at it.
It took years for him to realize that letting someone in didn’t make him any less. Viktor had shown him that, bit by bit, until he finally understood that opening up wasn’t just okay—it was freeing. Viktor never pushed, he just… stayed, making it feel safe to let those walls down. Now, he could see Yuri hiding behind a similar wall.
"I think he just needs time?" Yuuri said softly, his voice full of understanding. "But he’ll come around. Yuri always does."
"I hope you’re right, Yuuri. I really do." Viktor smiled a little, but for a fraction of second, his eyes clouded while running a hand through his hair and looking at something in the distance.
There was a silence between them, but it was the kind of quiet that felt full of understanding, a space where words weren’t necessary but still meant everything. Viktor didn’t speak right away—he just let out a long, slow breath. Yuuri could see something shift in his husband’s expression, the briefest flicker as if, for a split second, Viktor was about to slip back into that old, polished version of himself. The one who wore that perfect smile, who made everything look so effortless, even when it wasn’t.
It was a look Yuuri knew well, one that Viktor had learned to put on long before they’d even met. Years of trial, error, and sheer willpower had taught Viktor how to hide everything he didn’t want the world to see. Yuuri had been by his side long enough to know that habit was hard to shake. They’d spent countless nights—sometimes with the help of a therapist—unpacking those layers Viktor had built up, learning how to let go of the need to prove he could handle everything. But sometimes, when things got intense, that mask still crept up, even if just for a second.
"And you know I’m always here for you too. Whenever you need to talk, or... when you just need to stop being ‘Coach Viktor’ and be my husband for a little while." Yuuri gave him a small smile, reassuring him as best he could across the distance.
Viktor chuckled softly, but there was something bittersweet about it. "I know, love. I know." He leaned back further into the couch, looking exhausted but still managing to smile.
Viktor’s eyes softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"You know…," Viktor said, his voice dropping a little. "I’ve been thinking about the last Olympics a lot lately, actually. I don't think I've ever said this to you, but... I wish we had more time together. The last Olympics felt like a blur. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it, but... I just wish we could’ve celebrated your win properly, you know?"
Yuuri felt his heart twist at Viktor’s words. He really hadn't thought about that again—but hearing Viktor voice it so plainly, like a weight he’d been keeping to himself too, made everything bubble up to the surface. They had shoved it down a pile of things to talk about. Maybe it had been too disappointing for both of them and it had been easier not to talk it out. Maybe it was the pandemic, the stress of the Olympics, and that whole year of feeling like he was floating, disconnected. Everything was so weird—like, he had his gold medal, he had the victory... but at the same time, the loneliness in his Olympic dorm hit harder than anything. He had been so isolated—locked in, surrounded by officials and rules, just the bare minimum human contact. No comfort. No Viktor. And in the end, the moment just slipped away.
"I feel the same way." Yuuri whispered. "I wanted to spend more time with you, to celebrate everything. But... it was just hard, you know? With the restrictions, the intimacy ban..."
Viktor’s face softened, and for a second, Yuuri could see the weight in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He leaned forward slightly, like he was about to say something, and Yuuri could finally see how tired he really was. It wasn’t fair. He wished he could just reach through the screen and hold him.
"I know." Viktor said softly. "I kept telling myself that we’d make up for it later, but... the whole thing felt so...rushed."
Yuuri swallowed hard, the weight of his emotions threatening to crash over him. It was like trying to hold back a flood with just his hands. He bit his lip, trying to shake off the memory of the one thing who had bugged him the most, but it kept nagging at him, tugging at his chest like a damn anchor. It wasn’t fair and also it wasn't logic, and he felt childishly selfish (and guilty) given all that was happening in the world. He was so damn tired of pretending everything was okay, when all he wanted to do was pull Viktor close and finally get that kiss they both deserved, in the moment they should have kissed.
"I didn’t even get to kiss you properly after I won…" he murmured, looking down at his hands.
There was a pause, and Yuuri could feel Viktor’s eyes on him, like he was trying to read him through the screen. He always did this—searching for what Yuuri wasn’t saying, trying to figure him out. Viktor sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly and did what he always did—put on the mask. That calm, perfect smile, the one that hid the frustration, the exhaustion, the sadness he kept buried. It was Viktor’s defense mechanism, and Yuuri could see right through it.
He was doing his best to seem okay, but Yuuri knew better. He always did.
Viktor's teasing tone cut through the stillness. "Though, I have to admit, I wouldn’t have minded trying those cardboard beds with you, just to see if they passed the Katsuki-Nikiforov Stamina Test."
Yuuri chuckled, despite the weight sitting heavy in his chest. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Viktor trying to lighten the mood—it was just…well, it wasn’t the first time Viktor had tried to cover up his emotions with that charm of his. Yuuri wasn’t exactly comfortable with it. He could feel the familiar tug at the corners of his lips, a small smile creeping through as he watched Viktor’s attempt at being playful. But, honestly? It was just easier to let it slide this time. It was late, after all. And they could spend hours dissecting every reason and every “why” behind their actions, but Yuuri wasn’t in the mood for that tonight. Not when it was the first time in four days they’d managed to talk without being interrupted or rushed. He didn’t want to make it uncomfortable, especially not now. Viktor was doing his best, even if it wasn’t the most honest version of himself. Yuuri knew that.
So, instead of calling it out, Yuuri just let it be—letting his eyes soften, letting the tension slip a little. Maybe they would talk about everything later. Right now, though, it was just nice to hear Viktor’s voice again.
"Oh, they definitely wouldn’t have passed the test." Yuuri teased.
"Yeah, you’re probably right…" Viktor said, his voice low with a hint of something else—something more intense. "Maybe we’ll have that celebration, soon…." He breathed.
Yuuri’s heart fluttered at the suggestion. "I’d like that." He whispered.
He missed Viktor so much—missed him in every way. The physical absence was the sharpest, the one that gnawed at him the most. He missed the way Viktor’s arms would wrap around him, pulling him close when the weight of the world felt too heavy to carry alone. Yuuri could almost feel the warmth of his touch now, the reassuring pressure of Viktor’s hands on his back as they would hold each other after a long day of skating, of coaching, of everything.
He missed the way Viktor’s lips felt on his, soft and gentle one moment, hungry and passionate the next, as if every kiss was a promise, an unspoken declaration of how deeply they were bound to one another. The memory of those kisses—especially the ones when they would melt into each other, no words, just the quiet sound of their breathing and the steady rhythm of their hearts—made Yuuri’s chest ache. He longed for that closeness, the way Viktor would tuck him under his chin, breathing him in like he couldn’t get enough. There were the small things, too—the way Viktor’s laughter would echo in the quiet of their shared apartment, how his voice would soften when he called Yuuri’s name, the way he’d sometimes hum absentmindedly while working, and how Yuuri would join in just to hear the familiar sound of Viktor’s voice, the sound of home.
Yuuri’s mind wandered as Viktor’s words slowly began to blur in the background, his thoughts drifting further and further away as he replayed the last time he felt Viktor’s arms around him, or the way their bodies fit together like they were made for it. Yuuri let out a quiet hum, going further into sleep.
Viktor could tell Yuuri was slowly losing the battle against sleep. His voice was quieter, words trailing off, and his eyelids were drooping. Viktor’s smile softened, watching his husband drift, even from miles away. He could tell Yuuri was worn out, and it tugged at his heart.
"Yuuri… solnyshko..." He said tenderly. "...you should get some rest. You’ve been working so hard. Sleep, love."
Yuuri let out a small sigh, and for a moment his mind began to drift.
"Yeah, I think... I think I’ll do that... my babygirl …" Yuuri murmured.
Viktor froze. His mind went blank for a second, and his heartbeat seemed to skip. His eyes widened, and he felt the heat rise in his cheeks before he even had time to process what had just happened.
Did Yuuri—did he really just—?
He blinked a few times, unsure if his brain was playing tricks on him. He’d heard it, right? That little slip of a word? His stomach flipped, and for a moment, he couldn’t find his voice. Viktor’s pulse was racing, and he couldn’t help but smile wider, his heart fluttering. He hadn’t been expecting that—especially not after all the distance, all the waiting. But hearing it—he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or just melt at how casually it had slipped out of his husband’s lips.
And Yuuri, half asleep, didn’t even realize the impact of what he’d said.
"What did you just call me?" Viktor managed to ask, his voice lighter than usual, but full of curiosity, a teasing edge hiding the surprise in his tone."...babygirl?"
Yuuri’s eyes shot wide open, and the instant he realized what he’d just said, his entire body went rigid. His brain short-circuited, and for a split second, he just stared at the screen, as if willing himself to disappear.
His face turned the deepest shade of red, and he quickly fumbled for something—anything—to say to make the situation less awkward. “W-what? No! I—uh—uh, I didn’t mean to—I mean, I was just…” He flailed with his hands for a second, as if the motion would somehow make the whole thing disappear. But of course, it didn’t. His heart was racing, and he could practically feel the heat from his cheeks all the way to his ears.
He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more in his panic.
Viktor just smirked wider, clearly enjoying Yuuri’s discomfort way more than he should. “Sure, sure,” Viktor teased, voice dropping a little lower. “You sure about that, love? To me sounded like quite the slip-up.”
Yuuri buried his face in his hands, groaning. He couldn’t even look at Viktor right now. This was so embarrassing. "You're the worst," he muttered, half laughing, half dying inside.
Viktor just chuckled softly, clearly loving every second of it.
"You know, I think I kinda like it." Viktor kept going, now biting his lower lip, then his grin only widened and leaned in with a playful gleam in his eyes. "Oh, this is exactly what I needed to cheer me up... especially tonight. I'll think about it some more when I’m all alone in our cold bed." He added a mischievous wink that nearly undid Yuuri entirely.
Yuuri felt his face heat up even more. "V-Viktor..."
"Just keep in mind, next time I need cheering up—remind me who’s your babygirl, okay?" Viktor’s tone was soft, but he couldn’t resist clicking his tongue playfully, enjoying Yuuri’s flustered silence to the fullest.
Yuuri’s flustered silence was all Viktor needed to know. He let the moment hang in the air, savoring the cute vulnerability in his husband’s reaction. The shift from earlier sadness to playful teasing was like a light switch being flipped, and Viktor couldn’t help but enjoy the teasing. But, he would also make sure to keep his promise—when they finally reunited, he wouldn’t let any of the missed moments slip away again.
"You should get some rest, love. You’ve been working hard. I’ll be here when you wake up. We’ll talk more then." Viktor’s expression softened, his tone gentle.
"Goodnight, Vitya. I love you." Yuuri smiled, already feeling the pull of sleep and his eyelids dropped.
"I love you too, solnyshko ." Viktor whispered.
February 2026
34-year-old twice Olympic Gold medallist and retired Figure Ice Skating Champion, Katsuki-Nikiforov Yuuri opened his eyes while on a plane to London with a layover to Milan. The last few hours had been a whirlwind after the Japanese Olympic team was stranded in Shanghai. An unexplainable mishap, someone failing to secure their arrival to the Milano-Cortina Winter Olympic Games. And Yuuri had to scramble to find the closest flight so he could arrive in Milan tonight.
The tiredness and traces of his stress and anxiety remnants tugged at him, but then—out of nowhere—a revelation struck him like lightning, as if everything suddenly clicked into place.
He quickly unlocked his cellphone, fingers grazing the smooth surface as his pulse quickened.
Katsuki-Nikiforov Yuuri:
Hey, babygirl 💕 Holding up okay? Or are you already missing me too much?
And this is how it all started.