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The newscaster makes the announcement in a soft voice, as though saying Yuuri Katsuki’s name in something more than a whisper will break the illusion and everyone watching this ice skating competition will wake up from their dreams.
Victor sits at home and watches the Japanese man step out on the ice with a soft smile and nervous brown eyes, and he vibrates in place. His room is dim, as it always is, his puppy is panting tiredly on his lap, and the screen paints a blue glow over the half of his face that isn’t covered by the mop of his hair.
Yuuri is four years his senior, and he’s at the top of the world in the Juniors. He’s competing today and he’s coming for gold, and Victor’s little heart almost stops, watching the gorgeous figure Yuuri paints in black and blue with a flush over his cheeks.
His free skate is sweeping and lovely. When he lifts his arms and jumps, landing every single jump and seducing the very ice itself with his step sequence, Victor nearly cries.
He wonders if he could ever move like that.
//
Yakov catches Victor imitating the Japanese teenager and he scoffs. “Vitya,” he scolds in his rough voice, trying not to sound too harsh on his star pupil. “You keep missing your footing because you’re practicing someone else’s routine. I’ve told you a hundred times not to do quads. You’re still too young.”
Across the ocean, Yuuri Katsuki is about to make his senior debut at the Grand Prix, and there is not a soul alive who believes the young man is coming for less than gold and a new world record. He’d already broken the record at the Juniors last year, so now he has a reputation to maintain.
Victor is just enamored by his body, which is fluid and masterful. He wishes he had even an ounce of Katsuki’s bountiful grace. “I want to dance,” Victor murmurs, playing with the ends of his long, long hair. “I want to make music with my body, Yakov.”
Endless visions of Katsuki, with slicked-back black hair and soft brown eyes swim in his head when Victor closes his eyes. Yakov waits until Victor is close enough to put a hand on the young skater’s shoulder. “Victor. You can use Katsuki as an inspiration, but no more than that, boy. Focus on yourself.”
Victor’s not sure how to do that, when every time he leaps into the air, he thinks of Yuuri standing on the podium with a new flower crown and he wants to sing.
He dreams of skating at the same place as Yuuri, who is seventeen and who feels worlds away.
//
Victor fights a tumultuous battle to place in the Grand Prix. He’s had several ups and downs in his long career, golds and silvers and bronzes decorating his cabinets, but here, at this crucial stage, he finally has a chance to do what he’s always dreamed of.
By this point, Yuuri Katsuki, who is shy and demure once he steps off of the ice, has won five Grand Prix gold medals in a row. Victor swallows at the close of the event, sadly staring at his idol. At his apartment in St. Petersburg, his room is littered with Yuuri’s posters, lit in soft blues and skin-tight black nylons. Victor flubs and earns a personal low. Forget standing on the podium beside Yuuri - he’s at the bottom of the ranks, in sixth place, miles away from Yuuri even though they’re really only a couple hundred feet away from each other right now.
Yukachin had been sick just before the competition had started, Yakov and Lilia had started bickering violently again at the training rink, and overall Victor had just felt nauseous when he’d stepped onto the ice. His young rinkmate Yuri Plisetsky literally kicks his ass when he sniffles in the bathroom, and Victor tries to pull himself together.
His eyes are damp and downcast as Yakov berates both of his pupils. “Yuri,” a voice calls, and Victor looks up, blue eyes searching for his short blonde teammate.
Instead, there is a Japanese reporter standing nearby, acting incredibly friendly with Victor’s long-time idol. Victor feels a bit stupid for listing Yuuri as his biggest inspiration; as someone Victor had wanted to not only stand beside, but to showcase his best work to. Yuuri looks up when he feels Victor’s gaze on him and smiles sheepishly.
“Did you want to take a photo together?” The dark-haired man asks softly, his English crisp and well-practiced. Next to him, his coach, Celestino, and the reporter, Morooka, all grin knowingly.
Victor squeaks, flushes, and stalks out, leaving Yakov and Plisetsky yelling behind him as he goes.
//
Victor wakes in a haze the morning after the banquet. Something is written on his arms in squiggly English, but Victor’s eyes are crossing and he’s never been very good at reading the Roman alphabet.
He sighs and washes it off, entirely unsure what he’s supposed to be looking at.
Victor falls into a slump for weeks, eating poorly and performing even more abysmally at Nationals. After he wipes out there and earns an earful from Yakov and the team, Victor starts skating something purely for the sake of doing it.
Back when he’d first been trying to make his mark, he’d frequently take bits and pieces from Yuuri Katsuki’s self-choreographed routines and rearrange them, make them his own. Now, he’s abandoned that hope entirely, quite frankly losing hope in his career as a competitive skater. Instead, this is just for himself.
Victor runs himself ragged, heart light for what feels like the first time in months. He runs through the rigors of Katsuki’s free skate and grins like a child every time he nails the seductive step sequences his idol is renowned for.
After he spends weeks polishing it, about ready to move on from this and start thinking about what he’s going to do with his own work, Mila pulls up her phone and grins like a naughty cat.
The Russian Cyrillic reads: Victor Nikiforov Tries to Skate Katsuki’s Grand Prix Free Skate.
Victor’s heart stops cold at the sight. The red-head beams at the view counter, which is well over a four-hundred-thousand now. “You’re very popular, Victor. Everyone’s really digging the haircut.”
“Why,” is all he manages to croak out, feeling miserable that thousands of people had to watch him butcher his favorite skater’s award-winning program.
“You looked like you were having fun,” Mila murmurs softly, looking just a little guilty. “Yuri convinced me to post it.”
“Don’t rat me out now, you witch!” The teenager scowls deeply, sliding to a stop against the signboards at the rink. “You were gonna do it anyways!”
Victor slinks away from the ice, finding that his phone is buzzing out of control. He eventually turns it off so that he can cuddle up to Yukachin in silence and fall asleep.
//
Victor turns his phone on with a heavy heart in the morning, not looking forward to the media backlash he’s doubtlessly being subjected to because of the video upload. He’d turned all of his social media notifications off the night previous, but he has an inbox full of emails he’s not interested in reading.
Before he sighs and turns his phone back off, his eyes catch on a subject line that widens his pupils.
Katsuki, Y - Becoming Your Coach.
Victor can barely breathe as he shakily clicks on the message and decides to skim over the words.
Hello Victor, the young man reads, heart thumping out of control in his chest. I hear that you’re interested in learning how I dance on the ice. I was inspired by your video, and since I am considering retirement this season, how would you like for me to become your coach?
Looking forward to hearing back from you,
Katsuki Yuuri.
Victor runs the text through a translator to make sure he’s understanding everything he reads. He feels a flush rising on his cheeks and he wants to collapse. He can’t imagine the world of ice skating without Yuuri, and all he’d ever wanted was to stand beside him on the podium.
“Me, inspiring him?” Victor breathes shakily, fingers hovering on the reply button. “How?” Before he can talk himself out of it, he selfishly replies, Maybe you could visit St. Petersburg and try things out before you decide.
He doesn’t want Yuuri to retire, but his throat feels dry at the thought of his idol training him even once.
//
Yuuri arrives in a drab sweatshirt and polyester pants, a strangely homely image in comparison to his usual flair on television. Victor gasps as the smaller man waves, wearing a small smile. It’s April in St. Petersburg, and, miraculously, the day is rather warm.
“Hello, Victor.” Yuuri comes up with a large suitcase in tow, bowing his head like he’s the one who needs to be trained instead of vice versa. “Starting today, I’d like to be your coach.”
Victor pinches his own cheek to make sure he’s not dreaming, somehow managing not to say a word in response.
//
“Your step sequence is sloppy,” Yuuri reminds him in a calm tone and Victor glares at the older man, blue eyes swimming as he sweats. “C’mon, let’s run through the dance portion once more.”
“I need…to breathe,” Victor pants, wiping his brow and pushing his hair out of his face. “How many times have we done this, Yuuri?”
“It’s only been thirteen times.” Yuuri tentatively reaches out and cards a hand through Victor’s hair. Victor is already too flushed from exertion to color in embarrassment, so he reflexively touches the crown of his own head, feeling nervous. “Don’t forget, you made an appointment with a composer to build the music for your own program. I’m just making your vision come to life.”
“I know,” Victor breathes shakily, curling his fingers against his legs. “I know.”
Yuuri pats Victor on the back. “One more time.”
“Okay.”
//
Victor’s rinkmates hoot and holler at them when the two of them step onto the ice, and although the young Russian is somewhat embarrassed by their words, Yuuri seems adept at tuning them out.
After months of practice, months of living together in Victor’s run-down apartment and casually drifting closer together, Victor is finally starting to see Yuuri as more than just the beautiful man from his posters. As the Russian qualifiers creep closer in Autumn, Victor finds Yuuri sitting at the kitchen table after they leave the rink, cradling a cup of hot tea in his hands.
Victor yawns as he sits next to the brunette, yearning to decrease the distance of being teacher and pupil. Yuuri smiles next to him, his hand shaking just a bit as he carefully places it on top of Victor’s palm. “I’m not very good at this, am I?”
The younger man shakes his head desperately. “You are, though. You’re so much better for me than I could have ever imagined.” He’d had a brief competition with the blonde Yuri and, for once, Victor had won. By a landslide. “I’m so grateful.”
Yuuri pulls Victor’s hand up to his face, clasps it within both his own, closing his eyes like he’s offering a deity a prayer. “Thank you,” he whispers, lips ghosting over Victor’s pale skin. “I know you can win gold, Victor. You have the power to win anything you put your mind to, even if I’m not around.”
Victor’s heart stills at the thought. He hasn’t thought about the two of them moving apart, not after he’s found so much hope by Yuuri’s side. “We’re going to win gold together,” Victor says, leaning up to shyly kiss Yuuri’s cheek, staring in awe as a flush creeps onto the older man’s face. “I promise, Yuuri.”
He casts his dark brown eyes down and grins, still holding onto Victor tightly. “Yeah, we will.”
//
Victor dominates the Qualifiers, earning his personal best. He rushes to cry into Yuuri’s arms despite his nosebleed, and Yuuri welcomes him, uncaring that Victor’s getting blood all over his nice new suit.
He follows that up by topping his record again in China. The short program Yuuri choreographed for him, the one that he’d blusteringly admitted to the media was focused around the theme of Passion, is so startlingly different from all of his previous works that people have started calling him A Brand New Nikiforov.
Victor gets a phone call at the end of this performance. Unfortunately, he swiftly comes down from the high of hugging Yuuri close, the older man wrapping him in his arms shyly. “Yuuri,” he says, trying valiantly not to cry, “You need to go home.”
Yuuri looks as though he’s been slapped with those words and Victor guiltily averts his eyes. “What?”
The younger man hates himself as he balls his fists at himself and refuses to be selfish. “Your sister called me. She said that your mother’s not feeling well.” Yuuri’s face falls and his caramel-colored eyes are wide with shock. “You need to go and see her.”
Victor’s never been particularly close to any of his family members, but he’s followed media with Yuuri’s family plastered all over it for years. Yuuri is often seen posing with his sister, mother, and father from his small hometown, bowing at the altar of his deceased dog. The very dog that had inspired Victor to get his own, to name him after his idol. He knows how much they mean to his mentor, and Victor doesn’t want to take this opportunity away from Yuuri. His family needs him.
“But Victor,” Yuuri rasps, hands shaking against Victor’s arms, “What are you going to do for your free?”
He looks down, losing focus as the floor swims beneath his feet. After a moment, he looks up, scowling. “I’ll figure something out. Hurry, Yuuri.”
Yuuri clasps Victor’s hands, starting to cry. Tenderly, he kisses the taller skater on the cheek, letting his fingers linger on Victor’s sharply defined jaw. “I’m sorry. I should be with you.”
Victor presses Yuuri close for good luck, breathing him in with a shuddering inhale. “It’s okay. I’ll do my best.”
As soon as Yuuri rushes off to the airport, Victor runs to find his old coach. They still practice at Yakov’s rink, and the older man had been something like a parent to him through the years.
Victor steps into the warm, gruff circle of Yakov’s arms and cries into the shorter man’s shoulders. “Please,” he begs softly, not entirely sure what he’s begging for.
Yakov sighs and rubs Victor’s hair. “Get some rest. You’ll have a hard day ahead of you tomorrow.”
//
Yuuri’s mother holds his hand softly in the hospital, looking weary but overall on the path to recovery. “I’m happy,” she says. “You’ve always been a lonely boy, Yuuri.”
The man blinks away hot tears, leaning down to hug his mother. “I feel like such a weakling. I don’t feel much like myself these days. I miss skating, of course...but Victor is...” He trails off, lost for words.
“He’s in love with you,” Hiroko murmurs, lips soft and expression fond. “That boy wears his emotions all over his sleeves.”
Yuuri barks out a laugh. “I don’t know what to do, Mom.”
She pats his hand and smiles. “Do what your heart tells you to.” From the other side of the room, his father gives a thumbs up of agreement.
//
When Yuuri rushes to meet him at the airport gate, Yukachin licking hot at his heels, Victor weeps openly against the shorter skater.
“I wish I could be your coach forever,” Yuuri breathes, crying as his glasses dig into Victor’s shoulders. “I don’t want you to retire after this season.”
Victor had just barely clinched a spot at the Grand Prix, and he feels weary down to his bones, but all the same, he realizes Yuuri is getting at something deeper than just his career. “If continuing means that you’d stay beside me, I don’t want to retire either.” The words shock him, and obviously shock Yuuri as well, who laughs wetly in response.
“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Yuuri breathes, hiccuping on the last syllable.
The younger man picks up his idol’s hand and kisses his ring finger, feeling unspeakably bold now that they’ve been reunited. “I just know what I want.”
“Let’s win gold together, Victor,” Yuuri hums, breath hot on Victor’s scarf-covered neck.
“Let’s,” Victor agrees, kissing Yuuri softly at the baggage claim.
//
The night before his Free Skate in Barcelona, Victor clasps both of Yuuri’s hands and pulls in a deep breath. “Yuuri,” he whispers, paying attention to the older man’s hitching gasp. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Yuuri is hyperventilating now and Victor panics because he’s making his idol lose control. “Sorry?”
“I need you out there,” Victor breathes softly, closing his eyes. Images of Yuuri charming the audience with his sweeping arms and graceful steps flash through his mind, even though the man himself has become human to Victor. “I don’t know what to look at if you’re not standing in front of me.”
Dryly, Yuuri laughs, threatening to cry. “That’s a messed up way of asking me to come back to the competition.” He glares at Victor and pulls away, folding his arms across his chest with a sniffle. “What are you going to do if I say no?”
“I’ll retire,” Victor replies softly, even though his heart is screaming that he has so much fight left in him.
“You’re an idiot,” Yuuri deadpans, tears falling fast and hot as Victor reaches for him. He slaps Victor’s hand away. “Don’t talk like that. You’re going to win tomorrow, and then you’re going to do it again next season, and the season after that.”
“Say you’ll do it with me, Yuuri,” Victor demands, stepping into Yuuri’s space with tears hot in his eyes now too. “Please.”
“I can’t promise that,” Yuuri whispers, pushing Victor away and stalking out of their hotel room.
//
Victor breaks Yuuri’s world record for the short program, and then he does it again for the free. He looks at the shorter man with a challenge hot in his blue eyes, even though they’d just clung to each other right before the program started.
Yuuri glares back at him with tears in his eyes. He hugs Victor in the dressing room, changing into his exposition costume. “Fuck you,” Yuuri whispers, still crying a bit as he slides the leggings on. “As your coach, I couldn’t be prouder. As your rival, I literally want to throttle you right now.”
Victor laughs heartily, lacing Yuuri’s boots and kissing both of them while he’s on his knees. “I thought you would say that.” The two of them step onto the ice with matching uniforms, Victor charming and tall in magenta, Yuuri draped, as always, in his regal blues and blacks, hair slicked back and filed neatly behind his ears.
The make beautiful music together on the ice, blades cutting into the ice in tandem. Yuuri leads one stanza; Victor leads another. The constant back and forth is like a conversation, a private one. When Yuuri fondly touches Victor’s cheek, Victor bites his lips and grins back guilelessly, dipping his idol in his arms and he flushes hot when Yuuri lifts him high in the air.
When they get back to the hotel, they kiss while fighting for dominance, truly feeling like equals, even going so far as to exchange matching rings and showcase their love to the world.
Yuuri creates music with his body, has charmed the world by doing so for years, and Victor follows by painting a scene worthy of a full orchestra complimenting the dance.
//
[epilogue]
Yuuri looks up from his phone on a quiet day off and chuckles. Victor looks up from his computer and arches a brow. “What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking that you were cute,” Yuuri shrugs and Victor flushes, muttering under his breath. “The way you were pouting just now reminded me of last year’s Grand Prix banquet.”
“Huh?” Victor blinks at Yuuri.
Yuuri grins like a madman. “I knew you didn’t remember it.” He pulls up pictures on his phone and Victor groans, burying his face in shame. There is a picture of him, more than half-naked, pinning Yuuri to the floor. His idol is red-faced, staring at him, and Victor is even drooling. “You asked me to be your coach then, you know?”
“What?” Victor sputters, scandalized. “Lies!”
“You did,” Yuuri murmurs softly, running the hand bearing a ring through Victor’s hair. “You kept trying to kiss me, too. The other Yuri kept translating for me, because he said he was trying to embarrass you.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Victor whispers, voice small. “Oh, god, you must’ve hated me.”
“You were sweet,” Yuuri says, laughing when Victor groans again. “A little forward, maybe, but I took all of it as a compliment. It was overwhelming, you know! I wasn’t sure how serious you were, since you were super drunk, but then you skated my program.” Yuuri beams as Victor blushes and sits on his lap on the couch. “It was beautiful, you know.”
Embarrassed, Victor hides his face in Yuuri’s shoulder. “I love you so much for not hating me back then.”
Yuuri pats his back and chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. I love you too, dork.”
The two of them sit there and cry about the remainder of the photos for the rest of the day, and Victor throttles Yuri Plisetsky the next time they come to the rink.