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His hands are warm, and perhaps that wasn’t what Yuuri was expecting or maybe it was everything he was expecting he doesn’t know he doesn’t know he doesn’t know. Victor is crying, and Yuuri isn’t used to this. He isn’t used to Victor crying, and he’s never seen him cry, and Yuuri loves this man so much, but he doesn’t know what to do.
This must be how Victor felt when Yuuri started to cry that first time.
“Victor….” he tries again, but Victor doesn’t say anything. Yuuri’s hand grasps onto Victor’s wrist, and Victor is angry, Yuuri knows this. He’s so angry at something that Yuuri cannot even comprehend why is this beautiful man angry at him?
“So damn selfish….” Victor mutters again, repeating his earlier sentiment, and Yuuri freezes. “Why are you being so selfish?”
“I-I don’t understand, Victor. I’m doing this for you. You want to go back out into that world, I-I can tell. Aren’t you happy that you aren’t burdened with me anymore?”
“You aren’t a burden, Yuuri!” Victor exclaims. Yuuri pulls back his hand, but Victor doesn’t let him, holding on tighter. “You are absolutely not a burden to me, Yuuri. How could you even think that?”
Yuuri shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve this man he doesn’t deserve this man he does not deserve this man he doesn’t—
“Stop that,” Victor says, interrupting his thoughts, and Yuuri looks down, ashamed. “Stop thinking that about yourself.”
Yuuri doesn’t look back up at him. He’s already disappointing Victor so much. He messed up so badly, and no matter how amazing he does tomorrow, it won’t matter it doesn’t matter he doesn’t matter. Yuuri can’t bear to look at him.
Victor is grabbing his chin and Yuuri finds himself staring into oceans for eyes. Victor has that determined look on his face—the one he gets when he’s trying to teach Yuuri something or when he’s talking about something that nobody else seems to get. The kind of look that Yuuri would see in interviews with Victor. The kind of look Victor gets when talking to those same interviewers about Yuuri winning gold.
“Yuuri, you’re absolutely stunning.”
Yuuri shuts his eyes. He’s not he’s not he’s not he’s not—
“Yuuri,” Victor says, as his fingers start to trace Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri can’t find it in himself to move away from Victor, but he can’t find it in himself to move any closer either. “You are. The way you move out there, Yuuri… you don’t even realize.”
“I’m nothing compared to you, Victor. I’m not impressive, and I’m not anyone important either. I’m just another skater, and I messed up today, Victor, because I am just an ordinary skater who has no place even being in the final for the Grand Prix,” Yuuri says.
Victor frowns, and leans in closer, his eyes a mere two or three inches away, his lips so close, his breaths hitting what seems to be every muscle, every nerve of Yuuri’s body, face, soul.
“You are absolutely not an ordinary skater,” Victor says angrily. “And you aren’t an ordinary person either.”
Yuuri is shaking, and Victor is angry, but his eyes aren’t angry. His eyes are determined, his eyes are oceans, his eyes are storms, his eyes are love love love love—no, that can’t be.
“Yuuri, perhaps… maybe I am considering going back into that world,” Victor says, and Yuuri knew he was going to say it, but it still hurts nonetheless. Yuuri can’t breathe. “Maybe… I am considering skating competitively again. What makes you think I still can’t help you? What makes you think I’d want to end anything with you?” He’s so so close to Yuuri. So close so close so close.
“Y-you don’t need me, Victor. You don’t. Don’t say you do,” Yuuri says, finally pushing back from Victor. He can’t be that close to him. Victor continues to look at him. “You did just fine without me in your life, Victor. You don’t need me.”
Victor doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but then his lips are opening, his breath is catching, and then he does. “You’re right. Logically, I don’t need you.”
Yuuri hears his heart break, but of course he knows this. He knows this already he isn’t important he’s nothing significant why would Victor Nikiforov ever need him?
“But I want you. I want you so badly, Yuuri. I want to be by your side, I want to skate with you, I want to skate against you, I want to skate for you, I want to skate ahead of you, I want to skate behind you, I want to be with you.”
Yuuri hasn’t been sure about what to call their relationship. Love. Yes. Love. Boyfriends? That never seemed like a powerful enough word. Fiancés? Even that doesn’t cover what they are, who they are for each other.
Lovers? Perhaps. Perhaps that, but even so, it’s more than that. They’re more than that.
Yuuri hasn’t known what to call them, and he’s been too afraid to call them anything, too afraid that Victor will just so easily leave him, too afraid that Victor didn’t consider them as anything serious, too afraid of his own doubts and insecurities and he knows how much his own mind is against him, but it’s still so hard to go against that.
It’s still so hard to go against what he’s convinced himself to believe.
“Yuuri,” Victor says, and he’s close again, and then he’s right there right there, one hand resting on the back of Yuuri’s neck and the other neck travelling down the expanse of his back, and his nerves are lightning storms.
“I’m sure you know that I love you, Yuuri. I know you know that, but I also know you might need to be reminded of that.”
The hand on his neck travels higher and it pulls lightly on Yuuri’s hair, and the hand on his back travels lower and Yuuri can’t breathe.
He also cannot allow for Victor to distract him like this.
Yuuri pulls back once again, and Victor looks so hurt, so confused, so lost and dejected, and it’d be almost funny to see such a dejected expression on Victor’s face if it wasn’t Yuuri who caused it and if Yuuri didn’t utterly love him so.
“I want you to be free of being my coach, Victor. I want you to skate if you want to skate,” Yuuri forces himself to say.
Victor frowns. “I love being your coach, Yuuri. I love being with you in any way. And I don’t want you to retire. I don’t want you to retire when you have yet to reach your peak. You will go so far, Yuuri, and I want to be there with you every step of the way. Whether that’s as your coach, your competition, your lover, or all or none.”
The words sound so sweet. The words could soak him in water, but Yuuri can’t allow himself to be fooled. He’ll end up getting cavities. He’ll end up drowning. He’ll end up making even more of a fool of himself.
“Please don’t fight me on this. I want to end this, Victor. I want you to stop coaching me,” Yuuri finally states, resolute, and Victor’s eyes widen at the fierceness in his tone. Yuuri can’t focus on that. Yuuri can’t focus on that. Yuuri cannot focus on those little things about Victor that he loves and adores.
Standing up, he leaves the room, allowing Victor time to consider his own words more.
When the door shuts, he swears he leaves his whole heart behind, and as he starts to walk away, he briefly hopes that Victor knows Yuuri still loves him, can still feel his heart beating for him, still understands that this doesn’t change their relationship.
He hopes that Victor understands that Yuuri is being selfish because he wants Victor to be happy. He wants Victor to never come to resent him. He wants Victor to find himself again on the ice. He wants Victor to do everything and anything he wants to do.
Yuuri can’t be the one to hold him back.
(And back in the room, Victor cries.)