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As far as he could remember, Victor had always been a part of his life. From watching him perform on television, from listening to the radio coverage of his events, from seeing him compete at the same rinks Yuuri would go on to tackle himself. And always, always, he was the summit of the mountain-- cold, unreachable, distant. The smiles and the warmth he gave to his fans was something Yuuri knew never extended to him.
But they did always say Victor liked his surprises.
And what else had been more surprising than that visit to Yuuri’s own onsen? And the practices and the shows and support and all of the ways Victor had been there, in the warm, breathing flesh, no longer an image on a television screen. Such a constant, driving force, pushing himself into all the nooks and crannies of Yuuri’s life until Yuuri couldn’t ever possibly imagine life without him anymore.
But this hadn’t always been the case.
So as he sat there, on a lazy Saturday afternoon, taking a break from practice underneath the heated table, Yuuri put his head down on the wood surface and took a moment to just think, letting his shoulders down and the muted noise of the television fill the area.
Yuuri was fully aware of his own shortcomings. He knew he flustered easily, that he was too readily unnerved, that he could never hope to be as carelessly seductive as Victor or as charming as Phichit. He knew this, that he was never born on the ice, that his body was all too eager to return to the warmth of the land and the softness of the grass. He knew all this, and agonized over it probably too much.
And the question, what he’d been asking himself over and over again, like a bad song stuck permanently in his head on repeat, was why me?
Oh, he’d seen the gossip magazines online, heard the various spiteful comments. Victor was bored, Victor was looking for something new to pursue, Victor would leave again after the skating season to return to the spotlight of the millions and the adoration of the world. Even Minako had been quizzical at first. He really loved and admired her, and he knew she cared for him, but the first reaction had been--well, first she’d squealed without end about seeing her precious Victor in the flesh. But after that, she’d shot a questioning look, eyebrows raised, at Yuuri when Victor had been introducing himself to the Katsuki family.
Why?
Why, indeed, he thought to himself.
Victor burst into the room then, a bundle of energy and excitement, packaged into one skating legend. “Yuuri, Yuuri, they’re holding some kind of event at Hasetsu Castle today! You need to take me there!” Maccachin barked in agreement, whump-whump-whumping his tail against Yuuri’s back and whining incessantly. Yuuri rolled his head to the side and just looked at them for a few moments, watching them. Only a few months ago, he’d been running after them like everyone else, desperately clinging to whatever he could get a hold of. Now, both the dog and the man were dragging him around like a tourist guide, eager to visit this and that constantly.
He couldn’t say he hated the feeling.
“Alright,” he conceded. He got up and rubbed his face, a little groggy.
“Ah, sorry, did I wake you up? I’ll let you get back to sleep. Maccachin, down, boy!”
“No, no, it’s fine. I was just thinking some things over. Let’s go!”
Yuuri leaves the room and the question for another time.
He asked the question much later then, while they’re preparing for the regional competition. He’s still struggling with the music-- he liked the idea of skating to the theme of his life, even if both Celestino and Victor seemed lukewarm to the idea, but the music’s not strong enough. He knew his weaknesses now, and he knew his strengths now.
He knew now that his step sequences and his spins were the most enthralling parts of his programs. He knew that his performance scores tended to make up for his technical scores, that the quadruple lutz he’d been trying to land in practice would be overshadowed by how he presented himself, how well he could show his eros and his appeal to the rest of the world. But this was all after Victor had guided him through the process, had tried to encourage him to pour a little bit more of his soul into his routine and imagine just how to connect with the audience (and sure, maybe Yuuri had to see himself as the woman in the story, and sure, that really wasn’t what Victor was encouraging initially, but all the same).
How had his performance, on the middle of an empty ice skating rink, with no one watching except his friend and her kids, somehow inspired the greatest skater of his generation? Yuuri was still a little baffled, and he guessed it showed when he asked.
They had been alone in the hot spring when Yuuri had asked, discussing his program and the ways he could bring his skating to greater heights.
Victor had hummed a little, probably a little taken aback by such a swift change in subject, but he took it in stride, like everything else. He thought for a moment, tapping his lip absentmindedly the way Yuuri had seen him do often.
He had said, taking Yuuri’s hands in his own, “I was drawn to you because of music... because the way your body sang as it danced with the music.”
It was a week since then, and Yuuri still wasn’t sure of what Victor had meant. At the surface level, he supposed it was a compliment. Poetic and beautiful, like all of Victor’s artistic expression, but its deeper meaning was proving a little more nebulous to grasp.
Yuuko had been somewhat helpful when he asked her.
“Lutz, stop grabbing your mom’s phone! Give it back!” he had heard as his call was picked up.
“Yuuri, how’s practice goin’?” chirruped one of the triplets into the phone before it was evidently snatched up.
“Hi, Yuuri, sorry that my girls bothered you!” Yuuko said, laughing into the phone. “You know how invested they are in your skating and all.”
“They’re not a bother at all. I just wanted to ask your advice on something really quickly, if you have the time...?” Yuuri’s voice trailed off as he heard booming shouting from the background noise of Yuuko’s end.
“Ah, looks like my husband’s home. Just give me a minute-- dear, dinner’s ready on the table, you can start without me!” A few thumps and shouts from what Yuuri guessed to be the triplets and Nishigori, then silence. “What did you need?”
“I--” Yuuri stopped, sighed, ran his fingers through his hair. “I just wanted to ask what about my skating you think I should focus on.”
A girlish giggle. “Isn’t this what your coach is for, Yuuri? Take advantage of Victor, if you know what I mean.”
“Please, Yuuko.” Yuuri had had enough teasing about Victor’s affectionate nature for a lifetime at this point. Even his mother had dropped some comments about the constant hugs and touches.
She must have caught onto the desperate note in Yuuri’s voice, as Yuuko’s tone became more serious. “When you skate, it’s like... how do I describe this? It’s like I’m hanging onto everything you do, because I can’t really wait to see what you do next. Everything you do is just so expressive and enthralling, even when you screw up.” She laughed, breathy and light-hearted. “That tends to happen a lot.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“But in the end, you come out stronger for it, you know? Ah, I know how to put it now. Whenever you skate, you take whatever’s around you-- your anxiety, the music, the crowd’s mood-- and you somehow relate it to yourself, you make it a part of you, as easily and naturally as breathing. It’s something I’ve always admired in your skating, you know.”
Yuuri smiled, cradling the phone in his hands. “Thank you, Yuuko.”
“I’m always happy to help. What brought this on suddenly, anyways?”
“Er, just a random thought. Go eat dinner with your family, sorry to hold you up for so long!”
“No problem, Yuuri. Tell me whenever you feel anxious, okay? The Nishigori family is always here for you!”
A click, and the line went dead. Yuuri ended the call, and fell back onto his bed.
Yuuko’s explanation had helped. He supposed he did internalize a lot of things, like he had at the catastrophe that was last year’s Grand Prix. Perhaps that was something that Victor had seen in his skating and thought that he could help Yuuri improve on, although Yuuri was hardly sure of why that’d be attractive in any way, shape, or form.
“Dinner’s ready!” his mom called from downstairs, and Yuuri rolled off the bed. “Well, whatever,” he murmured.
He’d think about it another day.
It was the day of the China Cup, and Yuuri could feel the stares all around him. Little (ouch), old (ouch) Yuuri, who was now the skating world’s worst villain.
Even walking into the area reserved for skaters and their coaches had been nerve-racking. Christophe, in all his up-close-and-personal glory, had been especially disparaging. Everyone seemed to be asking Victor when he was returning, when he was going to give up this act, when he was going to abandon his pet project.
And, as much as Victor smiled and said he’d stick with Yuuri to the end, Yuuri still couldn’t believe him. If Yuuri couldn’t find something compelling in himself, how could anyone else? If Victor could waltz straight into one Yuuri Katsuki’s life and turn it all upside down, what’s to say that he wouldn’t one day dance right back out?
Yuuri found the idea kind of disturbing. After months of being constantly together, of spending every waking hour on the ice or exploring the back streets and alleys of Hasetsu even Yuuri hadn’t been much in, of smiles and teasing and food and an easy, gentle camaraderie that never left Yuuri stumbling away, he’d gotten used to Victor and used to the imperfect man behind the legendary mask.
Victor was occasionally pig-headed, despite all of his jabs at Yuuri’s weight-- he’d eat or drink to the point of passing out, making Yuuri carry him home from wherever they’d gone exploring late at night. He’d wake up Yuuri from naps after practice to watch whatever interesting video he’d seen on the internet (Yuuri learned this was how Victor had originally found the video of the “Stay Close to Me” routine).
But there were upsides to his imperfections. Even Victor had his little moments of forgetfulness. Once, he’d forgotten that no, Yuuri did speak English fairly well, and had spent an entire afternoon trying to translate everything from English into broken Japanese. He’d once spent so long in the hot tubs that when he came out, all his skin was wrinkly, and he’d despaired in front of the mirror for an hour. He sometimes read people wrong, but he was always so overjoyed, so delighted whenever Yuuri pulled something difficult off that Yuuri almost felt addicted to the rush of adrenaline whenever he saw that wonder-filled look in Victor’s eyes.
No, Yuuri thought as he stepped gingerly onto the ice, tuning out the shouts from the crowd. It’d be better to be hated for this than to give up someone so important to him.
Victor took his hand, rubbed a circle in it gently. “You don’t have to use cutlet bowls or women as stand-ins for this program anymore, right? Seduce with everything that you are. I’m here for you.”
Yuuri nodded, then grasped Victor’s hand more tightly and touched his forehead to Victor’s, uncaring if anyone else were watching. Let him be hated, let him be despised, but he wasn’t going to let anyone else take anything else away from him. “Please don’t ever take your eyes off me,” he murmured, tensing his hands. He tore away, and pushed off the wall and into the middle of the rink.
Cry more, whiners, about how he stole Victor away, about how he wasted Victor’s time, about how Victor would leave soon. How could he ever steal someone away who came willingly to him in the first place?
(Even if Yuuri himself didn’t know yet why, Victor was his.)
It was a year since the Grand Prix, since Yuuri had stood triumphantly in front of the skating world, holding his medal high triumphantly, flashing silver in the light of the cameras and the glint of the ice. While perhaps his brash vow at the news conference had gone unfulfilled, he’d more than made it up to himself. After the award ceremony, he had leapt straight into Victor’s open, waiting arms, and Victor had whirled him around like he weighed nothing.
“You always manage to find ways to surprise me so much, Yuuri!” Victor laughed as he set Yuuri down, who was somewhat wobbly.
Yuuri, still somewhat on a high from the adrenaline, giggled as he found his footing. “Really? Every time?”
“Every time, my love. It’s just so hard to one-up everything you manage to do and achieve. So, there’s something else I wanted to try this time around...”
Victor got down on one knee, and the world around Yuuri seemed to stop, the shouts, the screams (Minako?): all of it seemed to disappear as Victor pulled out a small box from his coat and carefully took his gloves off.
“Victor--?”
“You give me the greatest joy I’ve ever known when you skate, when you sit with me and we watch the stars, when we spend evenings together, just petting Maccachin and you lean on me, you make me feel like the luckiest person alive. Katsuki Yuuri, will you do me the greatest honor and join me for the rest of my life?” Victor opened the box.
Yuuri couldn’t even respond for a good minute, hands pressed tightly into his face, tears flying from his eyes.
Someone yelled from behind, “Say ‘yes,’ you idiot!” Yuuri vaguely registered the owner as Yurio, but was almost hyper-focused on the little, sparkling ring in Victor’s hand.
“Yuuri?” Victor prompted gently. “Are you... okay? Is this bad timing or something, actually it probably is, you don’t like being pressured and oh God, I really should have thought this through--” The smile on Victor’s face twitched a little as he noticed all the skaters and coaches nearby watching the proposal.
Yuuri answered by squeezing Victor with all his heart, so tightly he could heard a few bones creak. “Of course,” he whispered, choked up by tears and emotion and so much goodness swelling his heart he thought it was a miracle it didn’t burst. “Of course, I will.”
Victor laughed then, deep from the pit of his stomach, and all the people around them burst into cheers and applause.
“Get soooome!” drawled the Canadian skater, who had an arm draped loosely around Yurio’s shoulders.
“Woo-hoo! I’m happy for you, Yuuri!”
Yuuri didn’t even bother looking up, as happy as he was in the moment. Nothing in the world would have enticed him out of that hug then, not even the gold medal hanging on Phichit’s chest.
Now, a year later, Yuuri was seriously considering a variety of ploys to get him out of the octopus hold Victor had him in.
“Victor...” he whined. “I need to get up-- I’m talking to Celestino today about coaching.”
“That can wait,” the man muttered, his arms and legs wrapped all around Yuuri. “‘s too cold for you to leave bed.”
Yuuri waited for a moment then, relaxing in the warmth of the apartment he shared with Victor in Detroit. Being this deep into the winter, the sun had just barely risen, even if it was already seven o’clock, and he was a bit loathe to head out into the cold. Even energetic Maccachin was curled up near the bed for warmth, tickling his feet. Still, he knew he couldn’t stay in the apartment forever. He tickled Victor in his weak spot (right underneath the rib cage) and sprang out of bed before Victor could recover. In his bare feet, he padded to the closet door.
“Ugh, do you have to go?” Victor complained, finally sitting upright in bed, his green robe falling off his shoulders (Victor claimed he liked the Yutopia Akatsuki robes so much that he brought one to Detroit).
“If you or I want breakfast, then I need to make it, don’t I?” Yuuri shot back, shrugging on his pants. “Wake up, you can’t just lie in bed all day.”
“I can if you stay in it with me?” Victor tried.
Yuuri only laughed and headed off to the kitchen. “That would have probably worked a year ago, but not now.”
In the kitchen, he set the water to boil for his tea and the toaster to heat up his bread. Like always, he’d probably have time for a quick meal and a shower before fighting through traffic to reach the rink where he coached with Celestino now. Behind him, the soft thuds of bare feet sounded, a chair scraped across the kitchen tile, and Victor plopped into the seat. Yuuri brought over the toast and jam, making sure to leave it out of Maccachin’s reach. “No more bread or buns for you,” he told the dog firmly.
“I’m sure he’s--haaaaaah-- learned his lesson,” Victor yawned, before perking up. “Ooh, is this Trader Joe’s jam? I thought we ran out.”
“Picked some up last week,” Yuri answered absent-mindedly as he peeled a banana. “Oh, that’s right.”
“Hm?” Victor looked up from petting the poodle.
“I wanted to ask, because I never got the chance before to, but why did you pick me, out of everyone in the world you could have coached two years ago? I mean, surely other people would have been easier to work with.”
Victor mulled over the question for a few moments, rolling a piece of his hair between his fingers. “Well,” he began thoughtfully, “I suppose I just saw a lot of untapped talent in your movements, in your creativity. That’d be the easiest way to put it-- that I liked the way you moved, but I thought you could reach even better heights if you tried and had the right mentor.”
“Are you really that altruistic, Victor?” Yuuri teased.
“Maybe not,” he admitted. “There was definitely an element of attraction there; you were adorable in that video. Plus, I think skating that well is sexy, after all.” He winked.
“Oh, you.”
They ate in comfortable silence, both giving each other little smiles when they made eye contact. Yuuri finished first and rose, but Victor grabbed his hand.
“Actually, why’d you ask all of a sudden anyways? It’s been a while since I thought about those things,” Victor asked.
Yuri took a moment, and looked around their apartment, walls lined with posters of Victor and Yuuri both, along with pictures the two of them took while traveling, surrounded by the paintings Victor had begun to create in his free time. The sunlight sneaked its way into the living room through the blinds and onto the carpet in little stripes of white. Skating equipment was scattered everywhere, only somewhat tidied into half-formed piles hastily formed here and there. The warm smell of toast floated on the air, and Yuuri couldn’t imagine life anywhere else.
“No, it was just a stray thought I had.”
Yuuri threaded his fingers through Victor’s. He couldn’t imagine life without Victor at this point either.