Chapter Text
Yuri has loved to skate for has long as he can remember. He loves the feel of the chilled air on his flushed skin. He loves how moving forward requires only a simple flick of his blades. He loves absorbing the energy of the music into his very soul and painting the rink with it. But he hates the boxes he has forced himself into in order to compete in the sport that he loves. He has to wear skimpy dresses, that are beautiful, yes, but that are not him. He must keep his mouth shut and come when they call her name. He is denied the ability to compete with the other men.
Of course, much of this is a direct result of his own cowardice. He knows what his country thinks of people like him, and claiming his true place in the skating world would require him to open his mouth and speak. To let it all rush out. To tell the world that Yulia Plisetskaya, the Fairy of Russia, is actually Yuri Plisetsky, the closeted ice tiger.
But as Yuri’s senior debut grows nearer, the dysphoria gets worse and he eventually decides that now is as good a time as any, right?
He decides to tell Viktor first, since they had come out as bigender a few years before to a surprisingly small amount of backlash, and they were pretty much the only person guaranteed to have a positive response.
“Hey Vitya,” Yuri begins shakily.
“Hello, Yulia,” Viktor replies, smiling warmly from the bench where they sat unlacing their skates.
Yuri masks his wince at the name with a scowl and sits down on the bench next to Viktor.
“Kak dela?” asks Viktor.
Yuri braces himself and brushes hair from his shoulder. “Viktor, can I talk to you about something important?”
The smirk drops off Viktor’s face and their eyebrows draw together in concern. “Of course, Kitten. What is it?”
Not even taking the time to address that ridiculous pet name, Yuri takes a deep breath and jumps right into it. “I’m transgender.”
A slight pause, and then Viktor’s arms are around Yuri and they’re pulling him to their chest. “I’m so proud of you, Kitten. Thank you for telling me. I know this must have been hard but I promise I will be there for you every step of the way. I’ll never leave you. You prefer he/him pronouns, I’m assuming?”
Startled into tears, Yuri sits back and nods, wiping the tears from his cheeks with the sleeves of his jacket. “Yeah. And my name’s Yuri, not Yulia.”
Viktor’s eyes widen. “That’s the same name as the beautiful boy from the banquet!”
Yuri blushes. “Is it? I wouldn’t know.”
“Yuri,” Viktor says slowly. “You had a dance off with him. You have a poster of him in your room. You spent an entire week before the Grand Prix talking about how you can’t wait till next season when you’ll finally be able to compete in the senior division where you’ll be at all the same competitions as Yuuri-”
“Ok ok ok. So maybe my name choice was influenced slightly by Katsudon. But it’s also because of the similarity to my birth name.”
“Mhm,” Viktor says, clearly not buying it. “Well, Yuri, I think you and I need to do a little shopping. And I could see a possible chat with Yakov in our future if you’re up for it.”
“Huh?!” Yuri splutters. “Viktor! I don’t have money for shopping! And what would we be talking to Yakov about?”
“Well,” says Viktor warmly. “The shopping is to purchase clothes for you at my expense. I’m sure you’re tired of dressing as Yulia. And the chat with Yakov would be about getting you into the men’s division for your senior debut. If you’re ready for that, of course.”
Yuri can feel the hot lick of impending tears on the back of his eyelids as the warmth of Viktor’s complete and utter acceptance washes over him. “Ok. Whatever. Sure.” Thank you thank you thank you, he means.
Viktor nods at him in understanding, the twinkle returning to their blue eyes. “Alright, Yurochka. Let’s get to the mall before it closes.”
-----
It turns out that Yuri actually really likes wearing animal prints (particularly those of the cat variety) when they’re not printed on skirts and low-cut tops.
Viktor laughs delightedly when Yuri’s usual scowl is replaced with an unguarded grin as he races through the men’s section of the store grabbing clothes off the racks to try on.
By the time they leave both Yuri and Viktor are weighed down with several shopping bags each and Viktor’s wallet is considerably lighter (not that they’re complaining). Viktor even bought Yuri men’s workout clothes and paid for his hair cut. (“You sure you don’t want it shorter, Yurochka?” – “No, Vitya, I like it a little long.”)
The talk with Yakov ends up being surprisingly low-key. The coach pauses a moment, appearing deep in thought, and then says, “Well, Yuri, I suppose you'll be wanting to compete in the men's division, eh?”
Yuri’s eyes burn and he can feel the uncomfortably familiar sensation of an emotion taking hold of his ridiculous mind. Because Yakov, the famously gruff coach who scouted Yuri at a local competition when he was only six years old, called him Yuri.
Overcome with emotion and unable to help himself, Yuri throws his arms around the old man’s waist and buries his face in his coach’s parka. “Yes,” he whispers in delight. “I would be honored to compete in the senior men’s division.”
Yakov splutters, embarrassed but clearly pleased. “Right. Well, I’ll talk to the higher ups. They all owe me at least one favor by now. In the meantime, Vitya can familiarize you with the differences in technical requirements in the men’s division.”
Yuri feels full to the bursting point from all the support he’s getting, and when Viktor ruffles his hair affectionately and asks him if he wants to go to lunch, Yuri finds himself on the verge of tears for the third time that day.