Chapter Text
Yuri isn’t exactly good at, like…expressing himself. He can feel himself scowl at even the mere thought. Feelings are just gross, is all, and anger is warm and easy and good, and so he gets angry and people think that’s all there is to him and most of the time he doesn’t really mind.
But. He does mind when it comes to Yuuri Katsuki. He’s always minded when it comes to him. And now Yuuri thinks he hates him, and there aren’t really words to express how much he minds, other than, perhaps, a long string of heartfelt and rather imaginative cussing.
Rewind a bit. It’s the Grand Prix Final, and Yuuri is totally bombing.
Or, rewind even further. Yuri has never been one to do anything less than wholeheartedly, so when he decides to skate professionally, he gets completely into it. He spends his nights watching Youtube videos of old routines, he spends his days practicing, and when he’s not practicing, he’s reading articles about current standings in the ice skating world. Who’s up-and-coming, who’s on their last legs, whatever.
It’s in this way that he hears about Yuuri for the first time. It’s just a passing mention in an article about junior skaters to watch, but Yuri is interested by the name—same as his!— so he Googles further. Yuuri Katsuki, one of the up-and-comers in the junior division, Japanese, known for his expressive spins and step sequences. Out of curiosity and pure dedication to his craft, Yuri inputs his name into Youtube.
And, oh. Oh. Yuri is only eight. He doesn’t know what love is, doesn’t know if he believes it exists at all, not after his parents. But he thinks if love were anything, if it existed, it would be Yuuri Katsuki’s skating.
So he keeps on skating, keeps refining his craft, gets himself a top coach. He even gets a promise from Victor Nikiforov that he’ll choreograph his senior debut. And he never says it, never tells a soul, but it’s all for the day that he meets Yuuri on the same playing field, all for the day that he’ll be able to compete and show Yuuri how much his love has grown. And then Yuuri will say, Yuri, look at how hard you’ve tried, how much you’ve sacrificed, how good you’ve been for me, and then he’ll look down at Yuri with those beautiful expressive eyes and say, I know you’re only fifteen, but there’s something about you, and then Yuri will say, is it this? and he’ll go on his toes and ki—
Yuri pauses in his daydream. Okay. Maybe the last bit is…less likely. But the point is Yuuri’s going to see him, really see him, like nobody else does, and Yuuri will fall just as love with Yuri’s skating as Yuri did with Yuuri’s, and eventually they’re going to get married and adopt three cats. At minimum.
But. But. It’s the Grand Prix Finals, and Yuri won in his division, but it’s the senior division men’s free skate today, and Yuuri is, as previously mentioned, totally bombing. His jumps are horrible, and his performance in general is just completely lackluster. His theme is supposed to be joy or something, but he mostly just looks miserable. He’s totally ruining Yuri’s dream meeting, which involved Yuuri at least on the podium, and that pisses Yuri off.
Well, okay. He’s waited too long for this to give up now. Slight adjustment. He’ll find Yuuri after his imminent loss, and he’ll comfort him, and Yuuri will say, thank you for your kindness, you’re so mature for only being fifteen, and Yuri will say want me to show you how mature I can be and he’ll lean over and—
Yeah. Good plan. He nods, satisfied. Time to go find Yuuri.
He isn’t exactly expecting to find Yuuri crying in the bathroom, of all places, but it isn’t exactly outside of the narrative, so.
He kicks the door to the bathroom stall.
Nice. Good start.
Yuuri excuses himself and opens the door, still sniffling slightly. He looks awful, but he’s still beautiful.
Yuri stares at him, drinking everything in, then points. “Hey. I’m competing in the senior division next year.” He racks his brain for something to say, something that will show Yuuri how much he cares, will motivate him to do better next year. “We don’t need two Yuris in the same bracket.” Okay, maybe a bit harsh, but— “Incompetents like you should just retire already.” Crap! That is not caring and mature at all! “Moron!”
Well, frick. He gets the heck out of dodge after that, mentally kicking himself as hard as he can. Maybe…maybe Yuuri will find being insulted motivational? Y…yeah. Yeah, that’s right. That’s definitely how these things work.
But he knows inside that he just messed up monumentally. That was not at all how he wanted their first meeting to go. He wanted…he wanted to be soft, and tender, and kind, but…that’s not him. Not really.
Maybe he’s not meant to be close to Yuuri at all. Maybe he just doesn’t deserve it. Because Yuuri deserves someone who can be kind to him, who can wipe away his tears, and…he closes his eyes. Yeah. Maybe it’s for the best.
He lets himself be lectured by Victor and Yakov and keeps his head down, pretending like he’s not acutely aware of Yuuri nearby, and heads to his hotel room to get changed for the banquet. Suits, ugh. These things are always boring.
He’s almost surprised Yuuri comes, but he doesn’t have the courage to confront him again. It’s not like it will go any better. He still keeps an eye out, though, raising an eyebrow at the incredible amount of champagne Yuuri is consuming. He doesn’t look so good for it, either; he’s starting to sway and get red and—and come over to Yuri, crap—
“Yuri. Yuri Plisetsky,” Yuuri slurs, and Yuri makes a small squeaking noise. “You think I’m incompetent, huh? That I should retire? Well—well—well maybe you’re right—”
Yuri’s eyes widen. No! That’s the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen! Crap, crap, crap—
“And maybe you hate me, but—”
Quadruple crap! He wants to scream it, wants to scream out, no, I don’t hate you, I love you, love me back—
“But, but—” Yuuri’s eyes sharpen, and he suddenly smirks. “But can you dance?”
What.
Yuuri has dropped to the floor and is spinning, and, what. Seriously. What.
“You scared?” Yuuri taunts. “Scared…to dance?”
Yuri scowls. He’s not scared of anything. Hesitantly, he starts to dance along with Yuuri. Yuuri whoops triumphantly and starts dancing harder—harder moves, more intense choreography.
Still what, but it’s actually sort of fun. He makes a mental note to track down the photos of this later. Maybe it’s not ideal circumstances, but he is still dancing with his idol.
Yuuri is clearly better than him at breakdancing, and eventually Yuri stops, tired. Yuuri pouts, then brightens when he sees a pole set up in the middle of the room, which—is this some kind of fever dream, because why is there a pole there, and why is Yuuri running towards it, and why is he…stripping, and…
Yuri’s eyes bulge nearly out of his head as he gapes. Yuuri is pole dancing. Christophe Giacometti eventually joins in, too, but Yuri’s eyes are solely on Yuuri, and Yuuri’s powerful thighs, and Yuuri’s briefs that leave exactly nothing to the imagination—
He is definitely going to get pictures of this too, he thinks dazedly. For…science. Mmhmm.
Yuuri eventually gets bored of the pole dancing too, and he walks around aimlessly for a while before going over to—Yuri again? But no, Yuri is standing next to Victor, and Yuuri is talking to Victor, not him, and (holy crap) grinding on Victor, not him, and asking him to a dance off, and slurring something about his family having hot springs, and how he needs to come, and how if Yuuri wins the dance off, will Victor (not him) be his coach?
Yuri watches them dance together, he watches Yuuri’s face crinkle up in a laugh as he dips Victor, and his heart hurts.
They look like they’re in love.
And it’s not fair, because Yuri came first, it’s Yuri who’s always been watching—
He shuffles on the floor and folds into himself.
Watching. He’ll always only be watching. Because he’s Yuri Plisetsky, and he’s never been able to express himself, and anger is easy and people think anger is all there is to him.
It would be so much easier if that were true.