Chapter Text
Victor had slipped in after public ice time was over, after the last of the beginner skating lessons were done for the day, and kindly asked Yuuko Nishigori, the young woman who worked at the rink, if he could have some private ice time.
He was surprised when she recognized him, professing that it’s not every day a world-famous figure skater came into their rink out of the blue and asked to skate. Victor didn’t think he was particularly world famous, but he supposed, if you were a skating fan already, he might be recognizable.
“You can use the rink while we’re closing up. That should give you about forty-five minutes? If you want more ice time than that, you’ll have to schedule it with us and pay for it in advance.”
Victor nodded, pleased that the woman spoke English well, because he didn’t know more than the most basic of Japanese.
He was still feeling the effects of jet lag, so once he’d laced up his skates he spent a good ten or so minutes just skating around the rink, orienting himself with the setting and breathing in the crisp cool air of a rink well loved.
And then, he began to skate. It was a program he knew down to his very bones, better than his own programs from that year, which to be honest, considering his last experience in competition, he’d rather forget anyway.
When Yuuri Katsuki skated, it was like he made music with his body. Victor thought that, even if he went out there and skated a program with no music playing, it would hardly make a difference, would hardly diminish its beauty. Yuuri was the music itself; it flowed through him and was expelled from his fingertips, from the silver of his blades flashing and gliding across the ice.
It took Victor’s breath away, but he hardly cared. Even if Victor could no longer breathe, he was sure he could survive on Yuuri’s skating alone; on the serenity of his smile, on the grace and poise he moved with.
If Victor could skate like that, if he could skate even half as well as that, he would be happy. If he could stand on the podium with Yuuri Katsuki, know that Yuuri had watched him skate, had been impressed by it, then it would have all been worth it; the pain in his leg that occasionally still ached to this day, the years of recovery from an injury that could easily have been career ending, the biting commentary and the cynicism the media had had about him; ‘just give up, Victor Nikiforov is over’ for season upon season. The Russian skating federation would rather be done with him, he knew it. There were new stars on the rise; junior world champion Yuri Plisetsky for one. And even Georgi Popovich, his longtime rink mate, had managed a top six finish at worlds in Victor’s absence just days before.
There was no music as he began the program; Yuuri’s program, the one he’d just won his fifth world title with, his fifth grand prix final gold medal. It was the program that Victor skated every single day because he loved skating, and this was the one thing that could remind him of it.
He heard the piano in his head as he skated, listening to the sound of his blades across fresh ice, allowing it to soothe him as he ran through the elements of this ridiculously difficult program that he loved so much. His jumps were coming easily, and he breathed a sigh of relief at that. The tiny amount of pain in his leg, he knew, was because it was still stiff from the plane ride.
Victor knew that even at his best, he lacked Yuuri’s grace. He’d been told growing up, back when he was fresh from his second junior world title, back when he was on the trajectory to shake up the senior world, that he was an excellent all-around skater. But Yuuri, Yuuri was art. It could have been his ballet background, but Victor had known other skaters with a similar background, and none of them moved like Yuuri.
He let the imaginary music carry him through the second half of the program, making the decision to downgrade a quadruple loop into a triple (he’d never managed to master that jump), and closed his eyes as he launched into the step sequence, the element Yuuri was most famous for and the thing Victor was least confident in. It was almost too much for him, Yuuri moved quick as lightning during this part and Victor thought that perhaps, if the music were playing, he may have fallen behind. But…
The last jump was a quadruple flip, and Victor was still amazed at how Yuuri put it at the end of his program, but laboriously, because he was tired, and he was feeling the burn in his chest and his legs, he launched into it, landing it cleanly and with a flourish.
He ended the program, his hand over his chest and his other arm reaching out toward the edge of the rink.
For a moment, he closed his eyes, imagining applause, imagining that he’d successfully skated a clean program in competition, and one as difficult as this.
When he opened them, there was no applause, but there was an audience.
Yuuri Katsuki stood at the edge of the rink, his eyes wide behind blue frames and his mouth wide open.
Victor almost fell over, only narrowly stopping himself from falling on his ass in front of Yuuri Katsuki himself. Sure, he knew this was Yuuri’s hometown. That’s why he’d come here. But Yuuri didn’t live in Hasetsu, he trained in Detroit, and how was he—to show up right now, of all times? Victor breathed heavily, exhausted and winded from the skate, as Yuuri made direct eye contact with him.
“You cut your hair,” Yuuri finally spoke, and that was what he’d said? Victor touched the back of his head, feeling the freshly shorn locks. It still felt strange to him. He’d had long hair since he was a preteen, but despite it being a big change, he didn’t think it was that high on the list of things Yuuri would want to comment on at the moment.
“I—I—yes?” Victor finally managed.
Yuuri let out a short laugh, and Victor swore that his cheeks pinked, just a little. “Sorry, I was surprised so I just… said the first thing that came to mind. That was weird.”
Victor felt his nerves, which had been taut as a bow string, loosen at that. “It’s okay. I just wanted a change, I guess.”
“I get that.” Yuuri paused and cleared his throat. “Victor Nikiforov.”
Victor nodded, a smile blooming on his face, because Yuuri had said his name, knew who he was.
“That was my program.” Yuuri’s grip tightened on the edge of the rink, and did he look nervous? He dropped his eyes to the ground. “You’re in my tiny hometown, which no one ever visits, and you’re skating my program?”
Victor grimaced inwardly. When he said it like that, it did sound like Victor was a bit of a weirdo. Victor just nodded, because what could he say now?
Yuuri lifted his hands from the barrier and squeezed them together, as if trying to stop himself from fidgeting. He let out a deep breath. “It was beautiful, Victor.”
He must have imagined the way that Yuuri’s eyes were shining when he lifted his head, must have been seeing things to think they looked like they were glittering with unshed tears.
“T-thank you,” Victor finally managed, breathless. He dared to skate closer to the edge of the rink, closer to Yuuri Katsuki, who was here and real and in front of him and thought he skated beautifully.
But Yuuri’s expression quickly shifted from one of amazement to one of--- irritation; anger?
Victor wasn’t sure, but his eyes grew wide and he skated a few steps backward.
“Why weren’t you at Worlds?” Yuuri asked, and he sounded upset; angry even. It wasn’t like Yakov’s anger when he was shouting, or Yuri Plisetsky’s anger… pretty much all the time. This was something else entirely; anger edged with hurt, frustration, betrayal?
“I-I did badly at nationals and didn’t qualify,” Victor replied, confused. Why was he eliciting this reaction from Yuuri?
“If you’d gone and skated like that, you would have been on the podium!” he raised his voice. “If you’d landed the quad loop, you might have even been able to beat me.”
“I don’t think I---“
“I had no idea you could skate like that! Giacometti is good, but what you just did was,” Yuuri took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, “it was incredible.”
Victor gulped, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. “You think so?” he asked, and it was quiet, but there was an edge of excitement to it.
Yuuri crossed his arms. “Sure, yeah. You would have placed above Chris and Otabek easily.”
“And you?”
Yuuri nodded, and there was something like a spark in his eye. Victor didn’t know what to think of it. “With a little bit of work, yeah.”
“You’re not just saying that because you’re underestimating yourself, are you?” Victor let out a short laugh. He knew from years of experience, of watching interview upon interview and reading every magazine that he could get his hands on, that Yuuri could be modest to a fault. He skated to the edge of the rink, closing the distance between the two of them until he was only a foot or so from Yuuri Katsuki.
It’s not as if it was the first time he’d ever seen him. They’d competed against each other several times before; at worlds, at the Grand Prix final, and at a couple of Grand Prix events throughout the years. But Yuuri was reserved, choosing to surround himself with only a few close friends, and although in general other skaters liked him and found him friendly, he wasn’t close to many of them. Victor had exchanged a few short snatches of conversation with Yuuri, but nothing lengthy, and certainly nothing like this; where it was just the two of them, alone.
“I’m not,” Yuuri replied.
Victor took a deep breath and placed his hands on the barrier of the rink, right next to Yuuri Katsuki. Their fingers were only inches apart, and Victor took a moment to imagine…
“I um, came to Hasetsu because it was your hometown,” Victor began. “After what happened at nationals, skating was difficult for me. But then… I decided to practice with your free skate from this year, and it really helped.”
Yuuri blinked, confused. The rink was so quiet, just the two of them, their breathing, and the fans that kept it cool.
Victor let out a brief shudder. “My coach, Yakov, thought I was obsessed, but he didn’t understand that this program was what was keeping my skating alive.” His lips quirked up in a small smile. “He told me to take a vacation.”
“So you came to Hasetsu?” Yuuri leveled him a look.
“You’ve always inspired me, Yuuri, from the first time I saw you when I was a child. I thought, if I could visit the place my inspiration found his inspiration, maybe that would help me.” Victor felt his cheeks flush despite himself.
He must have imagined the way Yuuri’s cheeks pinked as well. “I inspire you that much?”
“You don’t think it’s creepy?” Victor let out a nervous laugh.
Yuuri shook his head in the negative. “No. It’s… nice, actually.”
Victor’s face brightened at that, his smile wide and beaming. “Yuuri!”
“But I didn’t expect this, that’s for certain.”
“Well I didn’t expect you to be here. I thought you lived in Detroit.”
Yuuri pushed his glasses up and brushed a stray hair out of his face. “Oh I do, but since Worlds was in Tokyo this year, I decided to come back home afterward for the off season. I just got here, and I have a key to the rink so…” He let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, I just can’t believe you visited Hasetsu just because I’m from here.”
“And memorized your program,” Victor muttered.
“That too.”
Victor reached up, hesitant, and placed a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “It shouldn’t be that surprising. Do you have any idea how much you’ve inspired people?”