Work Text:
Viktor has always, always loved surprises, but he hates this one.
He hates it so much he can't even find the strength to slap on smile #84 or #30 or #95. Viktor Nikiforov, miracle machine of flesh and blood, shuts down. Defaults to expression #0; trial version, yet unreleased. Un-beta’d.
The problem is, Viktor is not prepared this time. Viktor is not expecting the unexpected, Viktor is wondering if they should go down to the lobby for breakfast tomorrow or get room-service, Viktor has just taken a shower and the night is still young and his hair is dripping periodically, stray water droplets that plip-plop onto the towel around his shoulders.
So his hair is wet. So his eyes are wet, too. So this is a surprise he wishes he could wrap back up in pretty packaging paper and return to its sender.
“After the final, let’s end this.”
“...huh?”
Viktor takes it back. He's never asking for anything from anyone ever again. Just give him this, give him the next season, give him life and love and Yuuri, sunshine, gray clouds, the quiet after a whisper that sounds like a shout.
Give him Yuuri. Make him stay. God, please, if you're out there, if you listen to the wishes of lovely, lonely men, make him stay.
“You've done more than enough for me, Viktor,” Yuuri continues decisively.
Viktor can't read the expression in his eyes.
“Thanks to you, I was able to give everything I had to my last season.”
He doesn't like where this is going.
Yuuri dips forward into a bow, hands on his knees and face angled away from him.
He says thank you for everything, Viktor, but it sounds like I’m leaving now.
He says thank you for being my coach but really, really, it sounds like good-bye.
After a while Yuuri glances back at him and now it's Viktor who can't meet his eyes. He stares very hard at the dip in the bed where Yuuri’s weight has settled in and maps the spiderweb of creases in the sheets. What a lovely shade of beige. What smooth fabric. He, uh, really didn't mean to start crying, but now he can't stop.
“Viktor?” Yuuri breathes, soft with worry.
You don't get to call my name so gently right after effectively shattering all my hopes and dreams for the future. “Ah, I didn't expect Katsuki Yuuri to be such a selfish human being,” he replies, for lack of a better way to put it.
Yuuri is handling this with much more dignity than expected. “Right. I made this selfish decision on my own. I'm retiring.” He swallows.
See, when Yuuri cries it's like the world is ending tomorrow, but when Viktor cries it's a stuttering symphony of sound, silk-soft silence punctuated by the pitter-patter, pitter-patter of tears like raindrops in a pond. It's a subdued Broadway musical. Viktor cries sapphires and rubies and pearls and oh, is he beautiful, he's pouting like a child but he's the kindest thing Yuuri’s ever seen. It makes Yuuri want to wrap him up in a towel and hold him tighter than his biggest dream and tell him, I'll stay, I’ll stay, I’ll stay.
Instead, he leans forward, brushing the tips of his fingers along the sweep of Viktor’s bangs, across his forehead.
Viktor frowns. “What are you doing, Yuuri?”
Yuuri’s touch is so gentle it borders on hesitant, as if Viktor is something fragile, something soft. I'm the five time reigning world champion of figure skating! Viktor wants to tell him. I won't break that easily!
They're not going to talk about the redness in his eyes or the thin crescent-curve of his lips. Viktor’s not going to give in that fast. He swears it.
Yuuri’s voice is full of quiet wonderment. “Oh, I'm just surprised to see you cry.”
That's the final straw. Viktor reaches up and pushes Yuuri’s hand away because it's nice and offensive and his actions are speaking louder than his words right now and that's rude.
“I'm mad, okay?” He says, louder than he means to.
Yuuri balks. “You’re the one who said it was only until the Grand Prix Final!”
“I thought you needed my help more!”
“Aren't you going to make a comeback? You don't have to worry about me—”
“How can you tell me to return to the ice while saying you're retiring?”
Don't leave me alone, don't leave me, don't.
They decide to make their own decisions after the free skate.
//
It turns out no one’s retiring.
Yuuri thinks Viktor looks absolutely stunning when he cries, and wants to tell him that despite not knowing if it'll be taken as an insult or a compliment.
He resolves to do so after the final, but then both of them end up crying (again) and he forgets all about it.
In another world, maybe Yuuri never learns enough about healthy communication and salvaging relationships to talk to Viktor about it. In another world, maybe Viktor doesn't cry because he's so caught off guard he's angry, because he's hurt, because he’s twenty-seven but feelings are still so, so new to him.
In this one, Yuuri breaks Viktor’s free skate record and wins silver, and they finish the exhibition routine to the sound of thunderous applause. It sounds like the whole world is here, lifting them up on its shoulders so they can see beyond the indigo-colored horizon. It sounds right. Yuuri says I'm staying, I'm staying, I'm staying, and Viktor's heart flutters like he's sixteen all over again.
For the first time in his life, Viktor skates like he's in love.