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There’s no one there to pick him up at the airport. Viktor’s Japanese is far better now than it was when he first arrived in Hasetsu — but it’s a bit disorienting to step off the shuttle bus from Fukuoka Airport’s international terminal, unwashed and sleep-crusted, and make his way through the domestic terminal to the train station as the signs around him slowly become legible. It doesn’t matter that there are English translations next to the kanji. He is alone and used to travelling and still thinking in Russian. Viktor heads straight from the airport to the Hasetsu clinic whose address Mari gave him, suitcase and all, because there are only twenty-four hours in a day and he needs to watch Yuuri’s free skate. He doesn’t think much. He spends a painful ten minutes deciphering the street map he picks up at the station. Viktor is not good at directions; that’s why he chooses to hail a taxi most of the time; he doesn’t feel like making conversation with a taxi driver right now.
Makkachin’s asleep by the time Viktor reaches the clinic. Viktor sits down on the sofa beside him, buries his face in Makkachin’s fur and breathes.
‘We tried to keep him awake until you got here, but the medicine made him too sleepy,’ Mari explains. Hair tied back, the shadows underneath her eyes very dark, she studies Viktor narrowly with her hands on her hips. ‘He’s okay. The vet said we can take him home tomorrow.’
The vet and her receptionist are kindly middle-aged ladies who don’t seem to know what to do with Viktor bursting into their clinic at nine o’clock at night. He’s been on a plane for eleven hours. He’s been on a train for two. Viktor needs to use the bathroom. Before that, however, he straightens and leaves one hand resting on Makkachin’s head, nodding at Hiroko and Toshiya across the room.
‘How much is it?’ Viktor asks. He’s too tired to worry about the nuances of being polite in Japanese. Anyway, as a foreigner he can get away with being blunter than most people would like.
‘Oh, no,’ says Hiroko at once, the corners of her eyes crinkling. ‘We’ll foot the bill —’
‘No,’ Viktor says. He wipes his eyes. Reaches for his wallet. ‘I’ll pay.’
Toshiya and Hiroko look at each other. They are very fond of Viktor — it seems that whatever Yuuri loves, his parents love, be it skating or pork cutlet bowls or Viktor. Viktor has never had to deal with in-laws before. Toshiya scratches the back of his head in mild, amiable consternation.
‘Ah… Why don’t you just take it out of your coaching fee, Vicchan?’
‘There’s no coaching fee.’
You: Good luck!!
Yuri Plisetsky: yeah
Yuri Plisetsky: btw
Yuri Plisetsky: he’s fine
You: typing…
You: Thank you
In the car, Toshiya yawns loudly so many times that Hiroko tells him to pull over and let her take the wheel. Viktor’s using his Japanese phone number, which means he doesn’t have to worry about data charges now that he’s back in Hasetsu. Still, he surprises himself with how much battery life he uses up checking Instagram on the car ride back.
He waves off Hiroko’s offer of dinner — even she is falling asleep on her feet when they reach home — and goes up to his room alone. Mari doesn’t offer to move his luggage for him and Viktor doesn’t ask. It’s only one suitcase, at any rate.
Viktor’s presence has brought so many visitors to the inn that Hiroko and Toshiya can’t seem to get used to it, even after all this time. Yuuri, too, is constantly surprised to find himself being hero-worshipped by young children. Somehow Yuuri manages to be less approachable than Viktor ever was. About a month ago, a camera crew came to Hasetsu Ice Castle to film their documentary on figure skating in Japan, just in time to catch Yuuri nervously signing autographs for a group skating class. As Yuuri handed off the last scrap of paper and looked around for the owner of his borrowed pen, a small, pigtailed girl asked him, ‘When are you marrying Viktor?’ Yuuri, flustered and exasperated, snapped: ‘Not yet!’ and then the camera cut to Viktor dying of laughter in the background.
Viktor stands in front of the quiet shrine to Vicchan. This is the first time he’s seen it. The photograph is badly faded and the scent of flowers hangs heavy in the air. Even so, Viktor can make out Yuuri’s familiar features: softer, rounder in his childhood, a different haircut. The place feels personal and sacred. Like Viktor shouldn’t be here. Viktor wonders if Makkachin would’ve gotten along with Yuuri’s dog. Makkachin is a friendly creature, and very warm-hearted.
‘Well,’ Viktor says aloud, into the throbbing nighttime silence. He massages the bridge of his nose.
Phichit Chulanont changed the subject to “yuuri look here”
Phichit Chulanont added you
Phichit Chulanont added Ji Guang Hong
Phichit Chulanont added Sara Crispino
Phichit Chulanont: YUURI YOU WON’T SEE THIS UNTIL AFTER YOUR FS BUT I’M CHEERING FOR YOU ☆✧✼✿★
Ji Guang Hong: 加油!! Beautiful skating :)
Phichit Chulanont: COME TO GRAND PRIX FINAL SO I CAN KICK YOUR ASS ❤❤❤❤
Kenjiro Minami: GOOD LUCK YUURI!!!!!!!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
Leo de la Iglesia: hey man we haven’t talked much but i believe in you! stay strong, you can do it! (b^_^)b
Phichit Chulanont: MAKE ME PROUD SON
Ji Guang Hong: phichit hes 23 ur like 20
Phichit Chulanont: he’s my son
You: Why am I here
Sara Crispino: Yuuri! Ganbatte! :) :)
You: I don’t know how group chats work
Ji Guang Hong: ur the bf
Phichit Chulanont: ur the bf
Leo de la Iglesia: ur the bf
You: Is this Yuuri’s fan club
Kenjiro Minami: yes and I’m the president
Phichit Chulanont: wOW EXCUSE YOU
Phichit Chulanont: its obviously me wtf
You: I’m sorry, no you’re not
Phichit Chulanont: oh u wanna fight??? let’s fight
Minako invites him over to livestream the Rostelecom free skate event. Viktor tucks his scarf more closely around his neck as he waits for her to open the door. He has been to Minako’s house only once, when he came looking for Yuuri shortly after touching down in Japan all those months ago. Viktor is no longer the kind of person who shows up on people’s doorsteps uninvited and expects them to take him in. He wonders if Yuuri’s noticed. He doesn’t think Yuuri minds either way.
Minako’s clearly had a few drinks already. She bangs the door open and greets Viktor with a brief nod, wryly knowing, because they both have dishevelled hair. Her laptop’s been set up for the livestream and two bottles of sake sit on the kitchen counter.
‘Hiroko and Toshiya love Yuuri, but they don’t understand how being a figure skater works,’ she says, ushering Viktor into her living room. ‘They paid for his ballet and skating lessons when he was a child, and they watch all his performances on TV, and… and, of course, they can tell he’s made a mistake when he falls, but that’s the extent of their familiarity with the sport. It’s not the kind of support Yuuri needs. It’s not enough any more.’
Viktor nods. He sheds his coat and hangs it up by the door. ‘I know.’
Viktor has never gotten a chance to watch the other skaters’ programs in full. When he was with Yuuri, he was helping Yuuri warm up, and when he was competing he was busy warming up. It didn’t occur to him to regret missing them. He was always better than the skaters he didn’t see.
‘Oh, there’s your Russian friend!’ exclaims Minako when the camera lands on Mila. She’s red in the cheeks but her eyes are as sharp as usual, and through the windows of the living room, the sky looks wine-dark and comfortable. ‘I like her.’
Viktor hums noncommittally. It’s sweet how Mila and Georgi have come to support Yurio during his free skate. Yurio probably hasn’t considered the possibility that Viktor might be watching him, too, from the warm insides of a house in Japan. Yurio doesn’t care who’s in the audience. He cares about bringing the prize money home to his family.
Minako runs the back of her hand over her eyes and tosses back the remnants of her sake with a grunt. Viktor was planning to watch the free skate when it was broadcast on the inn’s television, but he’d be a few hours late — and he doesn’t have the heart to fight with customers over changing the channel. He’s grateful for the chance to watch with somebody else who knows about figure skating, and it is nice to speak English to Minako, to use the technical terms Viktor can’t translate into Japanese. She is one of the few people Lilia respects.
‘You’re not drinking as much as you usually do,’ she observes.
‘I should be sober for Yuuri’s program.’
‘True. Pity he’s going second last, then.’ Minako yawns, not bothering to cover her mouth, and squints at the laptop screen. ‘Well, we can get drunk afterwards! What’s the point otherwise? You can sleep on my couch. Text Yuuri’s parents and tell them you’ll be out the whole night, or Toshiya will get worried.’
Yurio is formidable and he’s wearing his hair long. Viktor approves. He taps a finger against his mouth, considering the sight before them, and Minako purses her lips in silent appreciation.
The parallels are a little too obvious to be funny. Yurio shares Viktor’s fondness for difficult classical music, although “Stay Close to Me” is the sort of program only an older skater could execute well; the sharp beauty of the step sequence, the soaring ferocity of the jumps, makes something pull tight in Viktor’s chest. He knows Yurio’s going to land all his quads before Yurio performs them. That momentum is all too recognisable. He misses skating, and he misses being young, and it’s wildly intoxicating to be fifteen and hear the crowd screaming your name and they should be chanting Yuuri’s name instead of Viktor’s so maybe it’s a good thing Viktor isn’t there.
Viktor doesn’t need to see the scores to know Yurio will make the podium. He’s been through this countless times. He picks up his phone and sends a quick congratulatory text, then switches his phone off. He doesn’t want Yakov calling him if Yuuri doesn’t do well in his free skate.
He doesn’t want to go back to skating. He hopes Yakov has realised it’s a lost cause. Viktor is good at playing the distant mentor figure, casually reinforcing Yakov’s advice while pretending to contradict it, leaning down to shake hands with junior skaters whose faces he promptly forgets. It is the role perhaps closest to his real personality. The admiration isn’t entirely fake; he means it when he praises Yurio, always. He’s the simplest kind of liar in the world — he conceals what he’s thinking but he never expresses feelings he doesn’t mean. That’s why Viktor’s been feeling out of place in Hasetsu. He is Yuuri’s coach and Yuuri isn’t here. He has very little in the way of a proper, clear-cut relationship with his Japanese hosts. He’s past the point of play-acting the eccentric foreign guest. Yuuri’s family and the Nishigoris and Minako welcome Viktor back like one of their own and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Minako has so many trophies that her bookshelves glitter in Viktor’s peripheral vision. ‘Minako!’ he calls when it’s Yuuri’s turn, and she comes hurrying out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her shirt. ‘Okay,’ she says firmly as she catches a glimpse of his face, and pours them both another round of drinks.
Yuuri steps out onto the ice and skates a smooth loop around the rink before settling into his starting pose. Viktor presses his fist to his mouth.
‘Do you enjoy teaching?’ he asks Minako.
Minako smiles. ‘Always.’
The program is not Yuuri’s best but it’s good enough. Viktor exhales in relief and rubs his eyes. He’s seen the videos of Yuuri’s frantic catastrophe at last year’s GPF, the dismal performance at nationals — and then he made a note of what to consider and put them out of his mind, because Yuuri doesn’t like remembering his failures and so Viktor doesn’t try. Yuuri’s come a long way. Viktor hopes… well, he’s not entirely sure what he’s hoping for.
He downs the last of his sake and reaches for a refill. Leaning back in her chair beside him, Minako lets out a long sigh. She groaned and fidgeted and hissed come on! at the screen every time Yuuri messed up a jump, but by the halfway mark she was too caught up in the flow of the program to worry; and Viktor has trained himself out of wincing. He’s happier than he could have been. It’s a good program. Lilia would be proud. Yakov is proud. Viktor can tell.
‘So,’ Minako says, rolling up her sleeves to begin drinking in earnest as Jean-Jacques gets ready for his skate. ‘You’ll see him in Barcelona?’
‘No.’ Viktor shakes his head. ‘He’s coming back to Japan first.’
‘I know! I meant —’ she takes another sip, ‘— oh, this is good stuff — you’re going to the Grand Prix Final together. Right?’
Viktor thinks of the Russian audience and their banners — of the exhibition gala, the inevitable flurry of backstage selfies — of Michele Crispino taking Yuuri’s place on the podium. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment.
‘If he’ll have me.’
Minako says, ‘Are you stupid?’
Phichit Chulanont: NO U STOP THAT
Phichit Chulanont: UR ALL PRECIOUS BEANS
Lee Seung-gil: i resent that
Kenjiro Minami: thank you omg
You: im taller than yuuri
You: im. a long bean
Leo de la Iglesia: i can’t believe viktor nikiforov, russia’s living legend, 27 years old
Leo de la Iglesia: types exactly like guang hong when he’s drunk
Ji Guang Hong: IM SO HAPPY
Phichit Chulanont: wtf its like 4am where you are GO TO SLEEP
They say at the same time, ‘Don’t say you’re sorry,’ and then Yuuri laughs a little shakily and takes off his glasses to clean them, keeping his arms draped over Viktor’s shoulders. Viktor is quite sure Yuuri is using the edge of Viktor’s scarf to wipe his glasses. He’s not going to turn around to look. He doesn’t want to loosen his arms around Yuuri’s waist anytime soon.
Viktor says, ‘It couldn’t be helped,’ just as Yuuri hisses into his ear, ‘It’s not your fault.’ Viktor snaps, ‘And it’s not your fault!’ and Yuuri continues over him, ‘It turned out okay in the end,’ and Viktor laughs and Yuuri rests his forehead on Viktor’s shoulder briefly and leaves Viktor’s sleeve wet.
They don’t use terms of affection very often; Yuuri says Viktor’s name like an endearment, and Viktor says Yuuri’s name like a prayer. He says it again, now. Waits for Yuuri to pull away. Viktor is completely unashamed of how much he likes the difference in their heights, the difference in their colouring, how well they fit together — how Viktor can tuck his chin on top of Yuuri’s head if he chooses. He’s just tall enough to do it perfectly.
They’re not alone, of course. There are strangers all around them in the terminal. But it’s okay.
Yuuri sniffs, squeezes Viktor tighter, and then steps back, just far enough so they can see each other’s faces properly. ‘What did you do while I was gone?’
It’s such a lopsided question that Viktor has to smile. ‘Oh,’ he says. He reaches down to pet Makkachin, who stood up on his hind legs and began pawing at both of them as soon as Yuuri’s voice hitched for the first time. ‘I… I think I took a bunch of selfies with Minako last night? I can’t really remember. I had a lot to drink.’
Yuuri smiles. ‘I’m sure she’ll send them to me soon.’
He takes Viktor’s hand as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. They’re halfway to the entrance before Yuuri remembers his luggage and rushes back to the carousel in a panic. Viktor goes into Starbucks to get coffee while Yuuri waits for his luggage, because some things about Viktor will never change.
Viktor has to work up the nerve to do this. They’re already at the station, waiting for the next train, when he asks at last: ‘What do you want me to be to you, besides your coach?’
Yuuri looks at Viktor for a long second. Then he closes his eyes and opens his arms. Yuuri is used enough to Viktor that he can read the tiniest cues, and nine times out of ten his eyes are falling shut even before Viktor goes in for a kiss or a hug — and he looks so trusting, waiting for Viktor to come to him. Viktor does, of course.
Yuuri says into his collar, ‘Just you.’
‘Ah,’ says Viktor. He reconsiders.
‘I know we are technically boyfriends,’ says Yuuri sharply, pulling back, ‘but you know, if I said that you’d start wondering what a boyfriend should do, and I don’t want that.’
There’s heat in his cheeks and his eyes are soft and clear. He reaches out and touches Viktor’s nose with a cool fingertip, very gently. Smiles. Asks, ‘What are you like when you aren’t putting on an act?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Oh, Vitya,’ Yuuri says. ‘But I do. I see it every day.’