Chapter Text
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Prologue
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Victor Nikiforov took the ice at the Grand Prix Final, and the near two hundred thousand in attendance jumped to their feet in anticipation. He blew kisses to the audience as he warmed up, doing two full circuits before he glided to the center ice, and took position. He placed one foot behind the other and dipped his head down.
It was time to start the spell.
The music began, and Victor dipped his head back, raising his arm to cover his forehead dramatically. Even from the first slide of his skate over the ice, a streak of electric blue followed him. He built up speed quickly as his first jump came up nearly right away. He could feel the intense gaze of the audience, of the world, and it made his heart pound in time with the music. He moved his hand, and purple dispersed after him. He took to the air as if he could fly for a few scant seconds. When his blades hit the ice, an explosion of white and yellow sparks spread out.
Now, he had his tempo, he had his groove going. Some footwork, and blues, greens, and oranges spread out in the air as if they were watercolors spreading on paper. He first jump combo, and suddenly streaks of light were dancing behind him from his shoulders, his hips, and his feet. He brushed his hand over his forehead, and turned. Bright red spilled behind him. He went into his spin, and a rainbow blossomed around him. Into the next footwork section, leading up to another jump.
He could feel the intensity rising. The colors were mixing and spreading, and he felt like he could feel every heartbeat in the whole stadium. He took to the air, another quad jump. Every heart in the audience jumped with him, and when he landed, fireworks shot up from the ground to dazzle the sky. They wouldn't be the last. Another spin, and the light around him was white with intensity. A triple triple jump combo, and another set of fireworks went off. He was at the edge of the rink, and pulled back to the center, his arms waving, swirling colors all around. Every jump now brought fireworks so the rink was bright enough that Victor wasn't able to see the huge crowd, but he could feel them, he could feel them.
When he went into his final spin, it was as if he himself had become the firework as brilliant colors streaked up from his body, bursting into the sky. When he finished, another burst.
He stood there, panting, watching the sky. Shimmering sparkles rained down from the colors still exploding above him. They were too flimsy to be considered tangible, but they covered the entire audience.
It had gone exactly as he'd planned.
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Yuri took a deep breath. He stared out the window of the plane, but there was nothing to see, nothing at all. Coach Celestino was sitting next to him, but he had given up on trying to talk to Yuri ages ago. Yuri wanted to empty his mind, but it was impossible. Everything crowded together, and all his thoughts spilled one after another, pushing each other out of the way, screaming at him. Underneath all his raging thoughts, he could hear himself reading the news headlines. Coach Celestino had been right, probably. He shouldn't have read them. But, it wasn't as if he didn't know what they were saying even without reading them, so.
[Will Katsuki Yuri continue after disastrous GPF showing?]
He couldn't blame them for wondering. This was supposed to be... his chance. This was supposed to be the time when he was able to finally, truly shine, the way he'd meant to shine all along. He wasn't a sorcerer for nothing, after all. What he was supposed to do with his life was create. Color, light. Happiness, faith, love. Instead.
He'd failed.
They were headed to Tokyo. The Japanese Nationals were in just two weeks. Shouldn't he just withdraw? His country needed more from him than another failure. Could he still manifest at all? Was he truly a sorcerer?
[Victor Nikiforov's 1199 score earns gold, does it offset Yuri Katsuki's 0 score performance?]
He'd dreamed of having his name in the same headline, the same article, as Victor Nikiforov. What skater hadn't? And now he had, and it made him wish he'd never done any magic at all. He'd turned his back on his idol. Victor Nikiforov, a man whose performances were probably playing somewhere in the world at all times, giving the world endless happiness and love, had offered to take a picture with him, and he'd just turned his back and walked away without saying a single word. Even if he was lucky enough to ever perform anywhere near Victor again, he wouldn't be able to face him. Humiliating.
And anyway, he couldn't, could he? The Yuri Plisetskys of the world were waiting to take his place, and he would just. Disappear.
He'd spent his whole life preparing for this, and he'd failed.
[Did nerves get the best of Yuri Katsuki once again?]
He hadn't even been there when Vicchan died. He still wasn't going home. His Vicchan... He was a failure as a son and as a sorcerer and even as a dog owner. He wished he could go back in time and... and... maybe give his past self a cold or the flu or something even worse. Anything. Anything to have prevented him from coming to the Grand Prix Final.
Tears spilled down his cheeks, but they were falling on their own, and Yuri wasn't sobbing. As long as he kept his face turned toward the blackness outside the window, no one else had to be burdened by them.
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