Chapter Text
When Viktor wakes up, it’s the kind of morning where he remembers.
It’s mornings like these, where the sun falls into a slumber in the comfort of clouds, blue-grey streaks broken by the blinds, that his stomach knots. Where the light meets the bedsheets and shadows split down the center, a dropping falls down his body and makes his toes heavy. If there’s one thing Viktor knows about the feeling crawling under his skin is that it’s familiar, and he doesn’t like it.
Mornings like these bring him back to the parts of Saint Petersburg he wishes he could forget. It was under skies just the same as these that he used to be shouted at, and with the same liminal feeling that worn skates strangled the bruises on his feet. It sends a shuddering into his bones and shoves a bitter taste onto his tongue, and for as long as Viktor can remember he’s been wishing mornings like these would never come again.
His thoughts are interrupted by a fanning of fingers against his cheekbone. Viktor’s eyes open, slowly, and meet Yuuri’s. The heaviness in his body dissipates, and the memories vanish under the man’s touch. A grin tugs at the sides of his mouth as Yuuri’s fingers work their way behind his ear and sift through his hair.
“Good morning,” Viktor greets quietly, hands lifting his fiancé’s shirt at the hem and pressing against his lower spine.
“Your hands are cold,” Yuuri replies. He lowers his head and lets their noses bump against each other.
“Mm. Thanks for warming them up for me.” Viktor’s touch falls into a curving motion against the warm skin. Yuuri’s breath comes out in a laugh. They stay like that for a while, hands exploring each other, and they only stop when a yawn escapes Viktor’s mouth.
Yuuri exhales, “Let’s head to practice.”
Hot air hits them as they enter the rink, Viktor leading Yuuri through to the ice. Mila, Georgi, and Yurio are waiting for them when they arrive. Yurio is leaning up against the dasher boards, Mila over his shoulder as he furrows his eyebrows at his phone.
“Morning, everybody!” Viktor announces cheerfully, bag swinging on his shoulder with his stride. Yuuri follows with a meek ‘hello’ and grips the strap of his duffel.
Mila immediately perks up. “Yuuri! So good to have you here!” Her eyes sparkle with anticipation, and she pulls him into a small hug before letting go.
“Thanks,” Yuuri rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “I look forward to it.”
A loud thud echoes in the open space. Yurio, foot planted on the ground, rolls his eyes with crossed arms. “Stop making a big deal of it. It’s not like you’ve never seen Katsudon before.”
Yuuri chuckles as Yurio is ushered into a lecture. The whole rink is surrounded by a sort of warmth; even through the chilled air around the ice, the Russian group weaves a feeling of contentment into the space. Each personality clashes in lively conversation, and Yuuri lets his shoulders fall with relief.
With Viktor’s return for the season, they decide that Yakov will coach him first and Yuuri will join him afterward. Viktor slips on his skates and loops the laces around his fingers.
“Good luck.” Yuuri grins before Viktor leaves the bench. A small crease forms between his brows, a determined curve pulling at his cheeks.
It’s been a long time since Viktor has skated for himself. The last time he can remember, he was too short to reach the top of the boards. Those times, he smiled for so long the corners of his mouth hurt and his feet ached from skating so long he had no choice but to stop. It was an exhilarating sting, and each time he felt it course through his body he yearned for more. He’s sure that this time it’ll be the same.
His skates glide across the ice with a feeling Viktor is well acquainted with. Every now and then, the blades catch on deep-cut lines, forcing a bump into his legs but never quite slowing the movement. Arms falling into a swing, Viktor allows himself to feel the drift brushing through his hair, ruffling his loose shirt, and skates. For the first time in a long time, he lets go and feels everything there is to feel in skating. His body follows a waltz it makes up as it goes along, and all his thoughts melt into the thin sheet of water over the ice.
Yakov lets him skate. Early in the new year, before programs and music clutter a skater’s mind and force them into a chaotic practice period, there is time to let them skate and feel what skating is like. Viktor, returning to the figure skating world after a year, recalls the freedom of the sport. His legs will get used to the tension, his feet, the pressure, and it will become natural again.
When Yuuri joins him on the ice, his eyes are gleaming. “That was beautiful,” he says excitedly, gliding into Viktor and falling into his rhythm. Viktor’s hands wrap around the crook of his elbows, their forearms locking. Skating together, Viktor backward and Yuuri forwards, they beam under the dark tones of sunlight peeking out between the clouds and streaming through the large windows.
Yurio lets out a ‘tch’ from the sidelines, narrowing his eyes with displeasure and looking back at his phone. Viktor’s eyes shut and absorb the heat of Yuuri’s palms against his elbows, body curving around in circles and figure-eights with Yuuri floating along with him. They spend Yuuri’s practice just like that, parting for moments at a time to let him practice a jump, but eventually folding back into each other. It’s natural, and it feels the way it should be. For a time, they get to know the ice without competing.
“Alright, off the ice, you two!” Yakov shouts into the rink after a while, and they return to the bench. Yuuri wipes sweat from his forehead and unties his skates. They pack their gear again and part for the afternoon, the rest of the skaters ushering them off with friendly goodbyes.
On their walk home, fingers laced underneath thick gloves, their shoulders press against each other and they bob into a stroll.
“I guess it’s time to start thinking about programs, huh?” Yuuri remarks as they pass.
Viktor glances at him. “Do you want to pick pieces for both programs yourself?”
Yuuri nods. “I think so. I’ve only ever chosen for myself once, so…” He tilts his head a little, looking up at Viktor. “What about you?”
“Mm. I always have.” Viktor looks back at him and smiles.
Yuuri looks down, chin tucking into his scarf. He watches their feet step in unison over the compact snow. “I can’t wait to see your skating this year…” The words escape him as quickly as they form. Viktor squeezes his hand in response.
When they get home, Yuuri collapses onto the couch, Makkachin hopping onto the cushions with him in excitement. Viktor hangs up their jackets and stores their bags away, taking his phone out of a coat pocket.
727-391-4681
Missed calls (4)
Viktor’s forehead creases. He calls the number back, holding his phone up to his ear.
“Hm? Who are you calling?” Yuuri peeks his head over the top of the couch.
Viktor shrugs. “I don’t know. Someone who kept…” He trails off as soon as the sound stops.
“I heard you’re returning this year.”
As soon as that disembodied voice reaches his speaker, Viktor goes numb.