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Love has softened Viktor. It has rounded out the sharp edges of the curve of his mouth, blunted his cutting teeth. Yuri thinks that ought to make him weak, ought to make him spineless and a loser, but instead Viktor smiles and there are crow’s feet around his eyes. He laughs and it’s loud, strong, real. He never laughed like that before.
“You’ve changed, Vitya,” Yuri says, watching Viktor’s pale skin glow in warm yellow lights of Hasetsu Ice Castle.
“Hm?” asks Viktor, too distracted looking at Yuuri landing a perfect triple Salchow.
Yuri rolls his eyes.
“Nothing,” he says, and skates away to work on the new short program Viktor choreographed for him.
*
Yuri has his own bedroom in their new house, a big Japanese-style building with tatami mats and wooden floors, sliding doors, a small garden and too many rooms for just two men and a dog. Viktor says they need it for visitors. Yuuri says they need it for more dogs.
In any case, his room is close to the kitchen. It has a bed and a big chest of drawers and empty shelves and windows that overlook the garden and a sign that says Yurio, in katakana, at the door. It’s next to Viktor’s office.
“I’m important now,” Viktor said, when Yuri laughed in his face the first time he saw the office. “I’m a coach,” Viktor continued, counting on his fingers. “Choreographer. Rink owner,” he spread his hands. “A businessman.”
“You’re an asshole, is what you are,” Yuri growled, and Yuuri, frowning, said “Language.”
One night Yuri watches a drama he doesn’t understand but still makes him cry, Makkachin asleep on his knee, and when he turns off the TV it’s past one in the morning. He hears noises coming from inside when he passes by Yuuri and Viktor’s bedroom, and for one terrifying second he thinks they’re having sex.
He’s ready to bolt, go to Yuuko’s house to sleep in the triplet’s room (they’ve had sleepovers twice now. They braided his hair and the four of them watched skating videos together. He taught them how to curse in Russian) before he realizes they are just talking.
“I know he can do it,” Yuuri says. Yuri gets his ears a little closer to the door. It’s whatever, they’re always sticking their noses in his business anyway. “But should he do it? He’s only sixteen.”
They’re talking about him. Yuri feels his blood boil.
“It’s the principle of the thing, darling. He wants to be the best,” Viktor sighs. “He’s your only real competition anyway.”
“Still, four quads? His body is still developing, I don’t know.”
“Alright,” Viktor says. “We’ll check with him if he wants to, okay?”
Of course I want to, Yuri thinks. With Viktor gone the doors are wide open, and having a free skate with four quads is just what he needs to stand out among the rising number of talented skaters. He doesn’t care about being Russia’s pride and joy, but he cares about prize money, and sponsorship deals, and making his grandpa proud.
“Of course he’ll want to,” Yuuri says. “But okay. We’ll talk about it.”
Yuri goes to his bedroom, closes the door quietly, falls asleep when the sun is about to rise.
*
He’s been in Hasetsu for three weeks. He’ll leave in a couple of weeks for Stars on Ice, because he needs to make money in the off season. He can speak enough Japanese to order in restaurants and make small talk with old ladies and the triplets.
Viktor’s renovating Ice Castle. Since he bought it, he’s been all crazy with plans and worksheets, taking Yuri and Yuuri with him to choose paint and wallpaper. It’s a bore. Yuri never refuses to go with them.
He’s at Minako’s ballet studio training furiously, muscles heavy and aching. He’s not graceful enough, his back not straight. Lilia would call him a disgrace.
“Hey, kid,” Minako says. She’s been watching him in silence for twenty minutes, a small frown between her eyebrows. Lilia likes her, and so does Yakov, by extension. “Take a break. Have some water. Cool down.”
She needs to say it two more times before he actually listens to her. He sits on the floor, panting and sweating, and she brings him a bottle of water.
“He won Four Continents and Worlds,” she says, eye-level with him. Her eyes are deep and brown and very smart. “But he won’t retire anytime soon.”
He clicks his tongue. These people know him too well. This town got under his skin and stayed.
He wishes his grandpa were here, too.
*
They get married at Yuutopia in the spring, the garden decorated with an altar and rows of chairs, flowers blossoming everywhere - red camellias, peonies, so many roses. They say their vows in English, Russian and Japanese. Literally everyone cries.
“What the fuck,” Yuri whispers, wiping away tears, trying not to sob.
Otabek, dressed in a very dashing grey suit, squeezes his shoulder.
“It’s okay to cry,” he says.
At the reception party, Yuuri gets drunk and breakdances alone in the middle of the dance floor. Phichit films the whole thing. It’s like a revival of the banquet from two years ago.
Viktor finds Yuri alone in a corner, munching on a piece of cake.
“Yurio!” he says, cheerful. He waves his left hand right in Yuri’s face, the ringer gleaming in the soft artificial light. “Why don’t you go have another dance-off?”
“As if,” Yuri scowls. Viktor smiles with no teeth. He leans against the wall next to Yuri, elbow to elbow. They watch Yuuri be joined by Chris and Mila.
“Here lies Viktor Nikiforov. He left behind a brilliant skating career to marry an idiot,” Viktor elbows him weakly in the ribs. Yuri hisses. “No one but the skating otaku ever really loved him,” he touches the palms of his hands together, raises them to the front of his face. “Amem.”
Viktor’s grin is wicked, his eyes shining. Yuri is terrified of him, of what he knows Viktor is now capable of, the things he would do for love.
“And that,” Viktor says, pointing at him. “Is exactly why I left. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to dance with my husband.”
Viktor walks away. He gets close to Yuuri and touches his face, and Yuuri smiles like he’s drunk not only on whisky and sake, but also love. Viktor smiles back.
Yuri thinks it’s a good look on him.