Work Text:
The thing with Viktor is that once he’s set his mind on something, there is a very very minuscule chance of him not following through on said thing.
Add quad flips to his program six months before the Junior Grand Prix series because ‘no-one else is doing them’? Ask anyone who was there: he came, he flipped, he conquered (and, less importantly, Yakov yelled at him the whole time for it).
Take a year off and jump on a plane halfway around the world because the cute Japanese skater from last year’s banquet skated his program? He’s got the stamps on his passport and the shiny ring on his finger to show for that.
Decide not to decide between coaching and competing and resolve to do both this year instead? Well, this last one’s a bit of a work in progress, but Viktor is still sure it will be fine. Granted, his criterion for ‘success’ involves having himself and/or Yuuri, preferably both, on the podium at Worlds, but if that doesn’t happen then it can only mean the apocalypse is coming, and by then nothing will matter anyway.
In any case, the timing of Valentine’s Day is unfortunate this year: it falls a few short days away from when they’ll have to fly out for the Four Continents. After his record-breaking silver at the Grand Prix and subsequent absolute domination of the Japanese Nationals, Yuuri is a favorite to win the tournament this February. He’s been an absolute workhorse these past few weeks, hungry for the win -- Viktor couldn’t be prouder of him as a coach, nor more excited to face him on the ice at Worlds in March.
Still, he has a short-term concern that will need to be addressed before anything else: he wants to do something for Yuuri, partly as a Valentine’s Day gift, partly as a prelude to Worlds, and partly ‘just because’. It’s somewhere between dwelling on the abstract thought of Yuuri’s hunger as a competitor, and watching the younger skater on Facetime with his mother back home, that an idea starts to form.
An idea starts to form, and it latches.
“The Japanese do this holiday a bit differently, no?” Georgi comments in the locker room, when Viktor excitedly blurts out his plan to the first non-Yuuri person he can find. “Something about chocolates? And something about another day in March?”
“It doesn’t have to be just about that. It can be… I don’t know. It can be ‘I care about you, you deserve this, thank you for your hard work’?”
“Hmmm. I suppose so.”
Georgi doesn’t look or sound terribly convinced though. Viktor lets the other man side-eye him at least until he finishes cleaning his skates, at which point he whirls around and squints. “What is it?”
“It’s just… I think you are forgetting a small, minor detail.”
“Which is?”
“Well, since when have you ever… actually cooked?”
---
Alright, so it’s no terrible secret that Viktor Nikiforov, the most decorated men’s singles figure skater to walk this earth, might be considered slightly less than proficient in some, shall we say, domestic endeavors. Specifically, culinary endeavors. Alas, for 27 years Viktor Nikiforov, skater extraordinaire and poster boy for countless ad campaigns that showered him with more money than he knew what to do with, lived on the existence of restaurants, takeout and the occasional frozen dinner.
Yuuri moving in with him was a bit of a blessing in that regard, because his talents in ‘broke college student cuisine’ as he and Phichit called it meant that Viktor could at least eat warm meals that had been prepared in his kitchen, and from something other than his microwave. Yuuri isn’t a fancy cook, mostly sticking to the basics: if it can’t be prepped in half an hour and cooked in much of the same, Viktor doubts he’s seen Yuuri make it. Not that he’s complaining, since a quick dinner means more time for after-dinner activities.
Regardless, he wants to show Yuuri that he appreciates it -- that he appreciates him, all of him, his life and love and piping-hot stews, and all the other wonderful things he brought here, to Viktor’s home. Presenting him not only with any dish, but his favorite and a surely-welcome taste of home, sounds like the perfect way to do it.
Georgi has a point, though. Viktor’s lack of… relevant experience could be a hindrance.
It’s okay, though. In the words of one Katsuki Yuuri who had just poked on the whorl of his coach’s hair and then promptly panicked about it, “everything’s okay!” Because Viktor is determined, and much like all of his previous instances of inspired madness, Viktor has a plan of action.
---
Step 1: Look up recipes for katsudon on your phone.
“There are so maaaany, Yura,” he whines, scrolling and scrolling through an endless list of results. Viktor’s half-draped over the railing while Yuri does his stretches at rink side. The only reason he can afford to be this careless is because it isn’t even 7 in the morning yet -- far too early for Yuuri to even be awake. Then again, Yuuri is usually the last to leave at night, so it all balances out in the end.
Maybe. Yakov doesn’t yell about it, that’s what’s important.
“Quit bitching and just pick one, old man.”
“But how do I know which one to choose? I should have asked Mama Katsuki for hers, that’s Yuuri’s favorite, right? It would have been foolproof.”
Yuri gives him a look. “Just having the recipe doesn’t mean jack shit in terms of you getting something edible in the end.” At Viktor’s pout, Yuri rolls his eyes. “Besides, you know there’s an actual Japanese restaurant a few blocks from here, right?”
“That would be cheating!”
“Oh for fuck’s sake -- what are you even getting him katsudon for, anyway?? Bit premature considering he hasn’t won the Four Continents yet!”
“But,” Viktor breaks into a dazzling smile, “he’s won my heart?”
Yuri makes gagging sounds for a good two and a half minutes.
Viktor ignores Yakov’s yelling and pays closer attention to one of the recipes. It looks simple enough, it opens with a delectable picture of the finished product, and there’s something in the author’s blurb about ‘authentic’ and ‘Tokyo’. It’s not Hasetsu, but he supposes this will have to do.
By the time Yuuri strolls into the rink, Viktor has already made up his mind and bookmarked this recipe. For a moment he wonders what ‘Tonkatsu’ is and why the word shows up as a link on his screen; when he taps on the link, he’s taken to another recipe page, still under the same author. Ah, so this is for the pork cutlet, then. Of course, that makes sense. He needs to make a mental note of that:
Step 1.5: Remember that Tonkatsu involves a separate recipe on its own.
---
When the much-awaited day arrives, Viktor is ready:
Step 2: Make sure the fiancé is oblivious to everything.
“You’re taking the day off?”
Yuuri is squinting down at him with an unreadable look, and Viktor isn’t sure if he’s suspicious or just confused. He hopes it isn’t the first one though, otherwise he’s ruined. “Just one day, I promise,” Viktor assures him from underneath the pile of blankets and pillows he’s gathered around himself. “I don’t know if I picked this up from Georgi or what…” He punctuates that with an exaggerated sniffle. “I miss Hasetsu. Your lovely city’s weather has made me weak, Yuuri.” Only half a lie.
“Sorry. How do you know you’ll be better by tomorrow?” Yuuri sets his bag back down and sits on the edge of the bed. Somehow he snakes a hand through the blankets and pillows and finds Viktor’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever at least.” He sighs in relief. “That’s good.”
“Mmmm.” Fake-sickness or not, Yuuri’s hands always feel good against his skin, and he’ll never get tired of Yuuri’s touch. Viktor almost has half a mind to abandon the plan altogether, yank his Yuuri down and pull him close, kiss him… patience, there will be time for that later, he tells himself. This will all be worth it. “Or it could just be fatigue. I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow?”
Yuuri frowns. “I can take the day off too, just to make sure…”
No, no, no, that is the opposite of what he wants. “And lose a precious day of training less than a week before the Four Continents? I can’t allow that.”
“But -- ”
“What kind of coach would I be if I let my student lose precious ice time at this crucial moment, all because of something a few painkillers and some rest should remedy?”
“Well…” Yuuri brushes back some tendrils of hair that had fallen in front of Viktor’s face. He almost wants to purr. “If you’re sure...” He finally stands up, and leans down to press a quick kiss against Viktor’s lips. “Text me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all. I’m going to be doing ballet at Madam Baranovskaya’s for most of the day, but I’ll keep an eye out for any messages from you.”
Viktor smiles and nods, and offers a pathetic little wave as Yuuri leaves. He’s already running late, he thinks with a glance at the clock: it’s almost noon.
He waits exactly ten minutes, and then leaps out of bed.
---
Step 3: Obtain all the necessary ingredients.
There’s a handful of Asian supermarkets in St. Petersburg, and the closest one still takes him the better part of an hour to get to. He wasn’t kidding about the weather being harsher than Hasetsu’s, and the snow and ice make for some tricky walking.
What’s important is that he makes it. And what’s even more important: where can he find dashi stock?
“It looks like this,” he tells one of the store employees, pulling up a picture of a bottle on his phone. “I think? It’s stock made from some kind of kelp.” The man stares at him, and Viktor sighs. “No? Okay, then.”
He tries a couple more times, and then finally just pulls up a new browser tab on his phone. ‘Dashi stock substitute,’ he types.
Chicken stock it is.
He knows he’s off to a terrible start when he can’t find the mirin either. He makes it through several trips up and down the store aisles, circling back on himself once or twice, before considering if he’s to settle for some dry sherry and brown sugar. But at the last minute, he spots a single row of bottles -- shorter than the rest, easy to miss -- and thanks his lucky stars for the bright red caps.
From there, it’s easier to find the pork and the panko bread crumbs. He thinks they should still have soy sauce in the kitchen, since Yuuri uses it a lot for his stir-fry dishes. And they should definitely have onions back home.
Shouldn’t they? In his excitement to leave the apartment to go shopping, he realizes, he didn’t think to check what they had in store. In hindsight, he really should have done that.
Somehow, by the time he heads out with his purchases, the snow has gotten worse.
---
Step 4: Walk your dog before committing to any cooking, especially if this is your first serious time doing this, as you will probably be tied up in the kitchen for hours.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Viktor pouts. Makkachin’s face after a short half-hour stroll seems to say ‘that’s it?’ She shakes her fur in the foyer to retaliate, and Viktor sighs fondly even as he’s drenched.
Then he gives her a dog biscuit, because he can deny her nothing.
He takes a good 20 minutes to make the necessary arrangements so that his little endeavor runs as smoothly as possible: comfortable clothes, new apron, all the lights on in the kitchen, music from his free skate playing on loop from the adjacent living room. He sends a quick message to Yuuri that he’ll be ‘taking a nap’.
His heart swells at the response: ‘⊂(・ヮ・⊂) Feel better!’
Lastly, he also asks Yuri to give him a heads-up once Yuuri leaves for home. He decides to count ‘Fuck off old man’ as a ‘yes’.
“Okay Makkachin,” he calls out in sing-song. She perks her head up for a moment before resuming her task of gnawing on a chew toy. “Here goes nothing.”
---
ACTUAL STEP 1: In a small bowl, combine the dashi chicken stock, sugar, soy sauce and mirin making sure the sugar is completely dissolved.
Just a year ago, the cupboards in his kitchen were almost completely bare. Now that he tries to remember it, he probably only had a couple of plates, some mismatched glasses and mugs, and maybe two and a half sets of cutlery in there.
It was Yuuri who insisted on shopping for kitchenware together, four jet-lagged hours after moving in. Which is the only reason he actually has the bowls and measuring cups that he needs now.
It’s funny to think about it, how they’re not even technically married yet, but for all intents and purposes they’re already starting to act like it.
Step 2: Add the liquid mixture to a small frying pan over medium heat and bring to a simmer.
Viktor is 99% sure he knows what ‘bring to a simmer’ means, but he looks it up anyway just to be safe. There’s no shame in being sure.
There’s also no shame in incognito browsing, anyway.
Step 3: Add the sliced onions to the mixture and cook until onions are fragrant and start to turn translucent.
Oh, so he was supposed to slice the onions beforehand? That’s not a problem, he can just do it now.
Luckily, they do have enough onions to cover the recipe, if barely. The cutting board and Yuuri’s favorite knife are still in the drying rack from this morning’s breakfast, so it’s easy to find them.
He starts slicing the onions, the knife coming down with every other downbeat of his free skate music. Viktor hasn’t done a lot of knifework in his life at all, so he decides to go slowly. He’s not arrogant to the point of foolishness, there’s a reason he dedicated all afternoon to this task.
He wipes his smarting eyes on his sleeve after the first onion. He expected this much.
He finishes a second onion. It’s getting worse now, he’s still got a lot to do. Maybe this is the plateau though, and in that case, he can tolerate it.
Two and a half onions and oh God the pain is real and the tears might never stop. He abandons his onions, flushes his eyes out with water, and asks the internet for advice again.
Step 2.5: Place onions in the freezer for 15 minutes so that your eyes don’t sting (as much) when you slice them.
He chucks the rest of the onions into the freezer and puts a lid on the sauce before taking a break. When he checks his phone, there’s a message from Yuuri: ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Missing you :(‘, he types out. Guiltily, he realizes it’s one of the few non-lies he’s told Yuuri today. All for a good cause, he convinces himself. ‘Done for today?’
‘Soon. Do you want soup for dinner?’
Uh-oh. ‘Not very hungry. Don’t worry about me.’
‘Σ(゜ロ゜;) But you have to eat something!’
Viktor lets out a little laugh. He doesn’t want to argue with Yuuri about this though. And maybe a little soup won’t hurt, if that’s all it is.
‘Okay, soup sounds good. :) Not too much though!’
Back to his katsudon. The onions are much more cooperative now, Viktor is pleased to find, and he makes quick work of the rest of the batch. Now for the next step…
Step 4: Place the Tonkatsu --
Oh, shit.
---
~INTERMEZZO: TONKATSU~
Step 4.1: Trim the pork chops of any excess fat, leaving just a little on the edges. Make small cuts in the fatty areas of each chop. This prevents curling when cooking.
Right, good to know that, it’s like he’s learning something new every step of the way. That’s a good thing, Viktor tells himself as he makes cuts in the pork. It’s the same knife he used on the onions, but he’s not sure if it makes a difference. That, and he was too lazy to get another one. This is fine. So far, so good.
Step 4.2: Lightly season both sides of the pork chops with salt and pepper.
Viktor frowns. How much is ‘lightly’? Everything else in the recipe got actual measurements, why is this suddenly a matter of guessing now?
He decides to err on the side of caution. Yuuri can always add more later.
Actually, does it even matter if all this will be drenched in the mirin-stock sauce anyway? Viktor has so many questions.
Step 4.3: Get three shallow bowls and add flour to one, beaten egg to the second one and panko crumbs to the third one.
Wait, when was he supposed to have beaten an egg before this?
Doesn’t matter, a more pressing concern is that they don’t really have any shallow bowls -- much less three. He finds the bowls that they eat cereal in, and decides to use those. God, he’s already filled up the whole counter with stuff. Doing the dishes after this is promising to be an adventure on its own.
Step 4.4: Dust the pork chops in flour (making sure they’re completely covered) then dip in the beaten egg, coating the surface thoroughly. Finally coat in the panko breadcrumbs. Firmly press each side of the pork chops in the panko so it sticks and you get a nice even coating.
Okay, that is a lot of action for one step.
What Viktor quickly learns is that there’s no real, fast way to do this that’s also dignified. The first time, he drops the pork chop into the first bowl from too high up, and sends a cloud of flour into the air. So he adjusts, taking his time with the egg wash, and then with the breadcrumbs, turning it over and over until it’s thoroughly coated.
So are his fingers, at the end. He’s got panko caked under his nails.
It’s slow going, and he has to add more breadcrumbs to the bowl at some point, but the chops come out looking beautiful. He almost has half a mind to crow about them to Makkachin, but he’s not sure she won’t try to nab one off the counter.
He contents himself with a picture of his work so far.. He’ll think of a witty caption later.
Step 4.5: Fill a medium-sized, heavy bottom pot halfway with oil and heat over medium heat. When the oil reaches 340 degrees gently lower the cutlets into the oil.
..But this one, this is the step that gives him pause. For all that he’s already willing to indulge Yuuri with this, he’s not too sure how thrilled he is at feeding him fried food. Come to think of it, he’s not even sure that Yuuri, who once said no to his coach-endorsed offer of Shanghai crab with a straight face, would approve.
Is there a recipe for baked Tonkatsu somewhere?
Step 4.5-a: Find a recipe for baked Tonkatsu somewhere.
His phone buzzes as he’s typing in the search bar; he makes a mental note to check it later. For now, he skims over the results and clicks on the third one at random.
What do you know, you can make a sort-of baked Tonkatsu. The fact that the steps between seasoning the pork and getting them all coated and ready to fry are more or less the same is very, very welcome indeed.
Step 4.5-b: Adjust an oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 400F (200C). Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.
Viktor’s phone buzzes again as he’s fiddling with the rack. He’s not sure he’s actually seen Yuuri use this oven before; he usually makes things on the stovetop, unless they’re eating something like salad which doesn’t require even that. He’s also not sure how he’s supposed to know when the oven is done preheating. Is it supposed to make a sound? There’s a green light next to something helpfully labelled ‘PRE’, is that supposed to go off at some point?
So many questions. Viktor has five tabs open when a series of cheerful beeping puts him out of his misery. Remember, he tells himself as he wipes the sweat from his brow, you’re doing this for love!
Step 4.5-b(cont’d): Remember you’re doing this for love!
Step 4.5-c:
Place the pork on the prepared baking sheet. Bake until the pork is no longer pink inside, about 20 minutes.
Viktor doesn’t even try to figure out the timer on the oven this time. He just checks the clock on the microwave and -- holy shit, is that really the time??
The pork has been cooking for about ten minutes, and Viktor has been trying to find more eggs for about five, when his phone buzzes again. And again.
“Hello?” The phone is sandwiched between his ear and shoulder as he opens cupboard door after cupboard door.
“Finally. What the fuck old man, I was starting to think maybe you burned down your kitchen and died.”
“Not yet,” Viktor forces himself to sing into the phone. “Check again in some 20 minutes though. May or may not be kidding.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “You’re still not done?”
“Why -- “
“Check your fucking texts!”
Yuri ends the call before he can protest, so he decides to do just that.
[30 minutes ago]: ‘Piggy’s heading out.’
[25 minutes ago]: ‘Piggy’s on his way. Btw if you didn’t completely fail, I call dibs on leftovers.’
Oh, no.
Oh, no no.
He’s spent countless days in the ballet studio in Lilia’s house, enough to know how much time it takes to get from there to here. That is, not much time at all. Still! He refuses to give up now, not when he’s so close!
Okay, maybe not so close, but he actually got the pork chops into the oven and that’s something, right?
He glances over at the many buttons and labels on his oven. By any chance, does one of them cast ‘miracle’?
Step 4.5-c-1: Locate the manufacturer’s manual for your convection oven. Verify if it has a ‘speed bake’ mode or some similar function that might drastically reduce baking time.
Close enough. He presses it with all the hope and yearning of a desperate man. Oh God Yuuri’s going to be here any minute and the kitchen is a mess. Viktor is a mess.
He decides to spend his nervous energy by at least setting the table --
But wait, he was looking for more eggs, wasn’t he? Damn it. He should have picked some up at the store when he was there --
Why didn’t Yuuri text him to let him know he was coming home? He usually does --
Hang on. When had he removed the lid from that frying pan with the sauce and the onions? He doesn’t remember doing it -- but it doesn’t matter now, because there’s not much but onion left. Swearing, he shuts off that burner and moves the pan.
… Where is that infernal sound coming from??
Step 4.5-c-1**: A note of caution regarding the ‘speed bake’ option mentioned in the step above: there is a small chance that you pressed some other button instead of the intended one. Adjust accordingly. For example, if you accidentally set the oven to ‘Broil’, you will want to keep a constant eye on the food inside the oven to ensure that it does not burn up.
Viktor yanks open the oven door. He winces as a blast of heat and smoke smacks him in the face, and coughs out a few selections of Russian profanity. Makkachin’s barking from a room away.
To his dismay, the pork chops are now a rather... unfortunate… color.
And because the universe apparently decides he hasn’t been punished for his hubris enough, the next second his ears are assaulted by a shrill, otherworldly BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Step 4.???: It seems your overhead smoke detector has gone off. Obtain a chair to stand on and some decently-sized flat object which you can use to fan the smoke away from the detector.
Step 4.??? (note): Maybe turn off the oven and stovetop entirely before you do this.
---
This is how Katsuki Yuuri, the love of his life, the apple of his eye, the fire of his loins et cetera, ad infinitum, finds Viktor when he walks into the door: standing precariously with one foot on a barstool and the other on top of his counter, frantically fanning at his smoke detector with a magazine from their coffee table.
It’s… well, it’s not the scenario he envisioned, that’s for sure. In his earlier moments of self-delusion, Viktor might have had visions of candles on the dining table, sparkling wine, and piping hot bowls of katsudon that would make Yuuri’s face light up the room. To his credit, his imaginary scenario didn’t necessarily involve a spotless kitchen as well, but he didn’t envision it was ever going to get this bad. He thinks he must present quite the sight himself, with flour and panko all over his clothes and hair.
Neither of them says anything for a few, long seconds. Yuuri looks like he’s still struggling to process what exactly he’s meant to do with everything he’s seeing right now. There’s a flush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and his mouth hangs half-open.
No, don’t say anything yet! He can still fix this! He can…
Oh. Did he ever make rice?
Step 5: Nope. It’s all over now, save for the shoutings.
“Oh, Yuuri,” he groans. He drops down from the stool and buries his face in his hands, promptly getting flour on his face. “I have no words. I just wanted to surprise you. I promise I’ll clean this all up -- ”
“Were you cooking?” Yuuri blurts out. He cranes his neck to peer at the oven over Viktor’s shoulder. “So when you said you were sick…”
“Lies,” he admits readily. “With good intentions, I promise, but good intentions only get you so far.” Makkachin bounds in through the kitchen to greet Yuuri, and tracks paw-prints of flour in her wake. “I suppose I deserved this,” he adds in lament.
“Don’t say that,” Yuuri chuckles. “I’m… I’m touched. And I am surprised. Really.”
Viktor suspends his dramatics for a moment to scrutinize the look on Yuuri’s face. His eyes seem to have grown even wider since the initial shock of walking into their catastrophe of a kitchen, which doesn’t make any sense. And…
“Wait.” He finally notices the huge plastic bags in Yuuri’s hands, too big and too many for to hold just soup. “What are you carrying?”
Somehow, the adorable flush on Yuuri’s cheeks only deepens. “I, uh…” He avoids Viktor’s eyes as he unloads container after container on the counter: boiled eggs, some kind of barbecued sliced meat, loose herbs in little bags, and… several different thermoses? “You said you were feeling sick and that, the weather was bad and um, that you missed Hasetsu. You didn’t exactly say ‘no’ to soup, so I… I made ramen?”
Viktor stares at him. Yuuri stares at a package of noodles. “You… made ramen.”
“W-well, it’s not going to be anywhere close to what you got back home… I didn’t exactly have 18 hours to burn, so. The pork’s from a Chinese takeout place. The eggs might have ended up cooking a bit longer than I wanted. Uh, and the noodles are a bit mushy because I got distracted when Yurio kept yelling -- “
“Yurio helped you with this??”
Yuuri finally laughs. “Sure, but only after I promised him half of the finished product. And to take the full blame if we ever ended up trashing Lilia’s kitchen.”
“I… I thought you said you were going there for ballet training.”
“Not a lie! We did all this after.” Yuuri scratches at the back of his head, and offers a sheepish smile. “It’s funny, huh? We both wanted to surprise each other.”
“But ended up thinking of the same thing anyway,” Viktor breathes. And then he can’t take it anymore, because he pulls Yuuri close to him, ignoring his still-freezing skin and the indignant yelp as he gets flour on Yuuri too.
The thing with Viktor is that once he’s set his mind on something, there is a very very minuscule chance of him not following through on said thing. To his credit, it can never be said that he gave up on this brave culinary adventure, not really anyway, even though the results turned out… less than ideal.
But did they, really? He’s not so sure anymore, not when he’s got Yuuri in his arms and a perfect close-up view of that pretty blush on his face that still hasn’t gone away. He’s not sure he can ask for much more than this.
Viktor presses a kiss against his cheek to try to make the blush even worse. It works. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Yuuri smiles, and buries his face into his neck. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“For what it’s worth, I am truly, truly sorry about the current state of our kitchen.”
“I’m just glad you’re not actually sick.”
“... I have so much to clean up.”
“Maybe I’ll help you.”
“Maybe,” Viktor echoes. He squeezes him tighter and wonders how he ever got so lucky. “Hungry?”
---
The Tonkatsu is hopeless, gone, like it barreled full-throttle towards ‘inedible’ under that broiler and then kept going, possibly screaming its own name. With the rest of the ingredients and some leftover chicken breast in the fridge, Yuuri manages to make something quite palatable. He also makes rice.
Meanwhile, beside him, Viktor heats up the ramen broth. Which really just involves moving it all from the thermoses to a pot, and staring at the pot while it sits on the stove. But he’s got this.
He even stirs it once or twice, to feel useful.
---
Later that week, Yuuri takes gold by a margin of 2.57 points from JJ at the Four Continents.
Viktor had already pinned all the Japanese restaurants in a five-kilometer radius that serve katsudon by the time they landed. Right after the awards ceremony, Viktor drags Yuuri to the nearest one, and Yuuri finally gets his hands on a proper pork cutlet bowl -- with actual dashi stock! -- for dinner.
---
A few hours after dinner, Viktor gets to eat some katsudon too.
“Vkusno”, he murmurs playfully into warm skin, earning a laugh and a kick for his troubles. All is well with the world.