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Yuuri’s still in his training wear when Phichit corners him outside the GPF venue, throwing an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and nearly sending both of them falling to the ground.
"Yuuri," he chirps, his voice in Yuuri’s ear burying what Yuuri’s half-sure was a surprised wow from Victor behind them. "Wanna walk back to the hotel with me? Just like old times? I don’t know where Ciao Ciao went."
Phichit’s bright-eyed as always, but the look he gives Yuuri is pointed, knowing. It had taken Yuuri years to adjust to that look, to being known, to letting someone in enough for them to be able to say something like that, a question asking are you okay? as much as it is an invitation to spend time together.
Yuuri feels the guilt, abrupt—the guilt of worrying Phichit on a night like this, of all times, of having Phichit watch out for him even here, even now—but before he can open his mouth to decline, Victor’s already making the decision for him:
"I’ll take the cab ahead to the hotel, then," he’s saying—to Phichit mostly, equally bright-eyed. He looks like a gracious coach, like this, like Celestino shooing off Phichit and Yuuri to have free time after long practices. "I wanted to take a shower, anyway."
Phichit waves at the cab as it leaves them standing there on the curb outside the CCIB. "Oh—oops. Was that a good idea? Do you guys usually shower together?"
Yuuri elbows Phichit before he can think about it, spluttering. "Phichit-kun!"
Phichit’s laughing, grabbing Yuuri by the elbow and wrapping their arms around each other’s instead. By the time he steers Yuuri towards the direction of hotel, however, his face has softened, has turned thoughtful, and Yuuri pretends, at first, not to hear him when he asks, "What’s going on, Yuuri?"
Yuuri opens his mouth—then closes it, almost biting down on his tongue. Quietly, he asks, "What do you mean?"
It's instinct, to deflect: not to refuse outright, but to try and raise up his defenses at least one more time. But Phichit has always been good at casually hopping over Yuuri’s walls, and he doesn’t take the bait.
"Yuuri," he says instead, not unkind. "You’ve had that look on your face since you congratulated me. Talk to me."
"Phichit-kun—"
Phichit pouts at him as they stop in front of the crossing lights. "You already chose sleep over me the other night, you can’t get out of having this conversation, too."
Yuuri watches the cars rush through the street they’re facing as the traffic light turns green, watches front lights and rear lights rush by in a blur of white. He and Phichit used to do this a lot in Detroit, walk back to their apartment just for some much-needed down-time, or take the long way home on purpose just so they can have a conversation that they won’t pick up within the walls of their own room. It’s a neat system, one that had gotten them through years of homesickness and frustration, and it calms Yuuri down now.
It’s nostalgia, maybe, or Phichit’s kind, knowing smile, or just an unconscious need to talk about it—but he starts talking as the pedestrian lights turn green. About the Eros routine, about Victor, about the ring, about skating.
Yuuri’s no stranger to the fact that he’s made up of impossibilities and contradictions—that there will always be parts of him that go against each other, that uncertainty will always be there, because he’s nothing if not adept at overthinking things. But it doesn’t make it any easier, being confronted by thought after thought after thought, thoughts that at some point go beyond what he does know is rational, thoughts that snake around him and haunt him until he’s forced to inhale as much air into his lungs and remind himself he’s not made of just thoughts.
It’s difficult as it is, when his heart has to fight with what his brain knows, but it’s more difficult competing as a skater like this, when it has to fight with his body, too, when fear has to knock heads with muscle memory. And Yuuri doesn’t trust that about himself, doesn’t trust himself to do the things he has to do, when so much of him is in conflict, when he can barely focus on anything past the perpetual cold in his chest and stomach because there’s too much going on.
It never ends; some days it’s better, when he can think through the fog and rationalize through things, when he can be semi-comfortable with what he feels and trust that, but some days, it’s harder, harder because he can’t afford to not trust himself, can’t afford to screw up like he’s done before, not when there’s so much hanging on what he expects of himself.
And he does—he does screw up, picks the wrong thing to focus on from the moment the music starts playing, fails at that, too. He loses himself in the wrong kind of eros, the dangerous, maddening kind, and forgets about everything else, feels the weight of the ring on his finger and lets his mind drift where it shouldn’t have.
It doesn’t get better from there, not when he sees Victor—sees Victor and is confronted with all that Victor’s leaving behind, and the choice that Yuuri, maybe, has been adamant about not giving him. It doesn’t get better from there, not when Yuuri hears Victor talk about Otabek and realizes it will be impossible to surprise Victor all the time, for the rest of their lives, that there will always be a deadline even if Yuuri doesn’t give it one.
There are a number of things Yuuri doesn't trust himself to do: interacting with people he has no idea how to talk to, not overfeeding Phichit's hamsters, seeing his figure skating dreams through before he really has to retire—and, most of all, bringing with it fear like nothing else Yuuri has felt before, retaining Victor Nikiforov's love and attention.
There is, of course, the part of Yuuri that loves Victor—has always loved Victor, even though that love has changed in the past year, has taken on new shapes and made a nest out of Yuuri's chest like its home has been there this whole time. This part will willingly let himself be hated as the person that took Victor away if it means he gets to keep this love that he’s discovering for the first time, if it means he gets to have this happiness, for as long as he’s allowed. This part doesn’t care about anything else but dancing for Victor, with Victor, because what matters most is getting Victor to look at him and see him.
But he’d lost track of that part, earlier, because another part of him doesn’t want to be the person that took away Victor’s old life. It’s fine, being the person to steal Victor away from the world, but he isn’t selfish enough to be okay, not at all, with stealing Victor’s world from him. It’s a scary, paralyzing thought, only bolstered by the fear that someday it will be Victor that leaves as easily as he’d arrived, that someday he’ll look away and it will be over, that all the love Yuuri has felt will disappear just like that, no matter how hard Yuuri tries to rationalize that no, he won't, Victor wouldn't leave him.
It’s a lot of things, all at once, a lot of contradictions coming together, too much and too fast, and it almost hurts, saying it all out loud, hearing his own breath hitch as he describes Victor’s face to Phichit, who remains quiet throughout it all.
Phichit hums when he’s done, and Yuuri realizes belatedly that he’s rubbing circles on top of Yuuri’s thumb, bare without gloves. An old habit, too, one that Yuuri welcomes. Phichit’s quiet for a while.
And then, "He jumped with you, you know."
Yuuri frowns, doesn’t even bother stopping it from taking over his face.
"When you tried the 4F," Phichit says, as they stop in front of another pedestrian light. "He jumped with you. I’m up after you, so I was getting ready rinkside, and Victor—Yuuri, you should—you should see the way he looks at you."
Yuuri isn’t completely blind to that, he knows what Victor’s eyes look like when he’s watching Yuuri. He revels in it, loves being seen. But it makes it worse, knowing that could go away, too; Yuuri isn’t selfish enough to stubbornly take away what Victor loves, but he isn’t selfless enough, either, to stand by and wait to get heartbroken.
But Phichit says, "No, no, no, no," as they start walking again. His arm tightens around Yuuri’s, and his fingers still. "Yuuri, I love you. You know that, right? And I mean it with love when I say that you do this thing, where you get so caught up in your head and what you’re feeling that you don’t look at things from other people’s perspectives."
Yuuri can see their hotel now, just a couple more blocks away. Victor’s probably already in the shower. The thought of coming back to that makes Yuuri’s stomach clench further, and when he turns to Phichit, confused, he must look a lot more helpless than he wants to be.
Phichit doesn’t point it out. "What do you want, Yuuri?"
Yuuri’s answer hasn’t changed, not since he’d asked to keep eating katsudon with Victor. That’s still all he wants—the easiness in his chest when he’s around Victor, the love that he doesn’t have to rein in, the way he can focus on Victor and Victor alone and know it will be okay no matter what. He wants Victor to keep loving him, but he also wants to keep loving Victor, to keep this space in his heart that all this time may have been reserved for the feelings he’d only figured out when Victor came into his life.
At the end of the day, it isn’t about skating: it’s about being happy with Victor, with being loved and content and happy and understood, not just loved the way his family loves him unconditionally, not just supported blindly. It’s intoxicating, Victor’s attention, but more than that, Yuuri wants the faith that Victor has in him, the part of Yuuri that made Victor want to stay, and the feelings they have for each other that compelled Victor to say, in front of everyone; these are engagement rings.
It’s so new, but it also feels familiar in its warmth, and half of Yuuri knows Victor will never coldly leave him—but the other half is afraid that he’s making that assumption selfishly, as callous as Victor scolded him for being when they’d met Minami. It’s hard, to keep it all in balance, knowing that at the centre of it all is one desire and only one: Victor.
He doesn’t say any of this out loud, but when he comes to, refocuses back on what they’re doing, they’re almost at the hotel, and Phichit’s cheerily humming what sounds like Terra Incognita under his breath. Always multi-tasking, but always looking out for Yuuri. When he sees Yuuri turn to him, he smiles. "And Victor? What does Victor want?"
Yuuri tries not to let the day replay in his head. He doesn’t quite succeed. For a moment, he’s back at the bottom of the stairs, staring at Victor’s back and wondering, in a moment of irrationality, if some day he’ll have to look at that and know Victor won’t return. In a murmur, he says, "To go back to skating."
Phichit winces—doesn’t even bother to try and hide it. "Did he tell you that?"
Yuuri’s heart feels too heavy. "He didn’t have to—"
"Uh-uh." Phichit holds up a finger, smiling. "Not what I asked. Did he tell you that?"
Yuuri swallows. "No."
Phichit shrugs. Yuuri feels it, full-bodied, through the fabric of both of their coats. "There we go."
"I—"
"It never, ever, ever hurts to ask," Phichit says, oddly sage from someone who takes and uploads pictures as he pleases. But Phichit’s cheer has always been the front gate to a stubborn maturity that Yuuri has always, always appreciated, has always relied on despite their age gap, and Yuuri does feel a little reprimanded despite how sweetly Phichit smiles at him. "I know the kind of things you assume, Yuuri. Unless you talk it out, unless you say it out loud, you’ll just keep burying yourself further and further into worst case scenarios, you know?"
Yuuri knows, only that knowledge hasn’t stopped him from overthinking each time.
They stop in front of the front doors of their hotel. Phichit’s still not done. "We’re talking about the guy that flew across the world to live with you. He could have left at any time—no, don’t interrupt me—but he didn’t. He chose to be with you, Yuuri. You didn’t, like, drag him from Russia to Japan. You’re adults, there are choices made from both sides, yeah? Don’t make Victor’s choice for him."
Yuuri doesn’t have anything to say to that. Phichit doesn’t wait for one, dragging them both into the hotel.
He looks at Phichit—Phichit who could have gone back to his hotel room early and gotten more rest, could have sneaked in a few more practices tonight, but chose instead to approach Yuuri and talk to him. Phichit who would hate to lose as much as Yuuri would, who is as determined to get that gold as Yuuri is, but still effortlessly balanced that with the fact that he is Yuuri’s best friend.
"I’m sorry," Yuuri says quietly, while they wait for the elevator. "That you had to—"
"Nope," Phichit says, so abrupt despite being cheerful that it almost sounds like he’s snapping instead. "Try again."
Yuuri can’t help it; he manages a smile. "Thank you. For listening."
"Good." Phichit smiles back. "You’re always welcome."
"You still didn’t have to, though," Yuuri can’t help but say.
"I did, though? Scenario one: you go back like this and don’t get sleep and screw up your free skate tomorrow. Scenario two: you talk to Victor like this and you two get all emotional and both of you will be on edge tomorrow." Phichit ticks it both off on one hand. "Either way, it would be a shame to win my gold medal tomorrow thanks to one of my rivals being in bad shape because of a lover’s tiff. That’s not very fair."
"Your gold medal, huh," Yuuri says. He doesn’t have to force the smile now.
"As much as I’d love to be your best man ASAP, Yuuri," Phichit sings, waggling his eyebrows. "You know I do have other priorities, too."
It feels cathartic, to laugh at that, even if the reminder of the ring on his finger and the promise it belongs to sits heavy on Yuuri’s chest.
"Besides," Phichit says, as the elevator doors slide open and he finally lets Yuuri’s arm go. "The world will thank me tomorrow, when they see you skate that song for Victor."
Yuuri doesn’t know how to respond that, but he doesn’t have to; Phichit nudges him into the elevator alone, already waving his phone. "I’m going to call Ciao Ciao and check where he went, so—"
Just before the door closes, though, he adds, "Talk to Victor, yeah? Good night!"
The sudden silence of the elevator, in such heavy contrast to being around Phichit, feels like a slap against Yuuri’s cheek. He takes a deep breath, and it’s shaky, but his words are ready by the time he lets himself into the hotel room. He doesn’t hear the shower running, but the beds are empty and the light is still on in the bathroom.
Tentatively, he knocks.
Victor responds halfway through the second one. "Yuuri?"
"Yeah, I—I just got back." His voice cracks a little bit near the end, and Yuuri clears his throat. "Are you almost done?"
Yuuri barely registers Victor’s muffled affirmation through the certainty that hits him—that he wants this, Yuuri wants this. He wants hotel rooms shared with Victor, coming back to Victor, being with Victor. It’s something he’s always been sure of, from the moment it became reality—only now it isn’t up to him, because Phichit was right, Yuuri can’t make the choice for someone else.
So he lowers his hand and says into the quiet of hotel room. "Victor?"
"Hm?" It’s surprisingly loud, even through the door.
"When you’re done, can we talk?"