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To Viktor, with love
The hotel room was dark and quiet. Lost in thought, Yuuri didn’t know how long he’d been standing there looking out the window at the night scenery without really seeing it. Suddenly there were arms sneaking around his waist and he smiled, leaning back and relaxing against his husband’s chest.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Viktor asked, meeting his gaze in the glass pane reflection.
“Tomorrow is my last time,” he said, still not quite believing it. His last competition. His last World Championships. His last free skate program. After tomorrow he was retiring as a figure skater. He may have made the decision months ago at the beginning of the season but the reality of it was only starting to sink in. “Vitya, I...” Viktor’s arms obediently loosened to let him turn around but stayed wrapped around him. Damn, Yuuri could lose himself staring into those precious blue eyes. He took a breath. “Tomorrow I would like to skate as Nikiforov-Katsuki, if it’s alright with you.” It was legally Yuuri’s surname but they’d agreed he would continue skating as Katsuki to avoid dealing with the media fallout. But he was retiring. Fallout didn’t matter anymore.
Emotions flickered in Viktor’s eyes, too fast for Yuuri to decipher, but as he was pulled into a deep loving kiss he decided to take it as a yes.
Viktor frowned as his bleary-eyed husband pushed away the untouched plate laden with food, looking a bit green.
“Solnyshko,” he said softly. No reaction. Ah, that bad. Thankfully, after all these years Viktor knew exactly how to deal with I-couldn’t-sleep-because-I-was-nervous-and-the-sight-of-food-disgusts-me Yuuri. “I’ll be right back, okay?” Silence was his answer, not that he expected anything else.
Luckily the smell of his favourite green tea blend never failed to help Yuuri snap out of it. (And if Viktor called the hotel a few days ahead to make sure they stocked up on it, well, nobody had to know.) He blinked and smiled at Viktor, elegant fingers closing around the warm mug. “Thank you.”
“Nervous?” Yuuri nodded, as Viktor knew he would. “Talk to me,” he asked.
His husband took a sip of the tea, which Viktor had made sure was of a drinkable temperature. “I remember skating Stay close to me for Yuuko. You know, that time when the triplets secretly recorded it and uploaded the video? I was woefully out of shape and my emotions were a mess but it was still one of my best performances. Back then I was so... completely unconcerned about making mistakes,” he sighed. “Yuu-chan and I learned figure skating together. She saw me struggling with my first toe loops, I saw her ungraceful attempts at a combination spin. We saw each other fumble and fall more times than you can imagine. She was my first real friend and she understood me like no one ever had. Did you know I was hoping to pursue pair skating with her?”
Viktor felt his eyebrows rise. “You’ve never mentioned it.” He squashed the irrational feeling of jealousy, reminding himself that Yuuko Nishigori was a happily married mother of three, and more importantly, Yuuri Nikiforov-Katsuki was happily married to him.
“Yeah. But what I’m trying to say is that with her I wasn’t skating to impress the judges. I didn’t have to worry about things like technical score or performance score, I didn’t care about botched landings. I mean, it was just Yuuko-chan. I was mostly skating to make her smile. I wish I could somehow recreate the peace I felt back then.”
Oh. Viktor stood and crossed to the other side of the table, hugging his Yuuri without giving him a chance to rise from his seat. He didn’t care about other hotel guests staring. Let them.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Years of coaching taught him that sometimes the best strategy was to ask directly.
“Just be there for me,” Yuuri mumbled against his chest.
Rubbing his back in gentle circles Viktor promised not to leave his side.
“Ah, could you repeat that?”
The question made Viktor realize that he’d said it in Russian. He and Yuuri were learning each other’s language but Yuuri’s Russian was much better than Viktor’s Japanese. Honestly, was there anything his solnyshko wasn’t good at? (Except for his appalling taste in ties but that’s what Viktor was there for.) Complying with his husband’s request Viktor repeated the phrase, carefully pronouncing each word.
“I will not... move away from you... not...?” Yuuri attempted a direct translation.
“A step,” he supplied. “I will not move a step away from you.” His fingers combed through the soft black hair. “Try to forget about the audience and judges and skate for me, okay? Imagine no one else is watching. Only I.”
Instead of soothing him, Viktor’s words had the opposite effect. Yuuri tensed under his hands.
“Solnyshko?” His beloved didn’t meet his gaze. “Yuuri, love, what’s wrong?”
Yuuri’s bland smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Thank heavens Phichit chose that moment to enter the hotel restaurant and look around. Viktor caught his attention and wordlessly pleaded for help. The Thai skater took one look at his best friend’s tense shoulders and Viktor’s panicked expression and quickly forgot all about breakfast.
“Yuuri!” he skipped towards them with a cheerful smile. “There you are! Come on, let’s take a selfie at that ugly fountain!” He tugged at Yuuri’s hoodie gently. His friend gave him a grateful look and followed him out with a mumbled apology to Viktor.
Viktor could only stand there and stare. What just happened? No, seriously, what the hell happened? A hand waved in front of his eyes, making him blink.
“Sit,” Yuri Plisetsky ordered curtly, taking Viktor’s original seat.
Huh, when did Yura get here? With a sigh he slumped down onto Yuuri’s abandoned chair.
“What did you do now?” The blond demanded, munching on his sandwich.
“I don’t know,” Viktor admitted honestly. “I really have no idea. I was trying to calm my Yuuri down but instead I only made him more nervous.”
“Hm.” Yura swallowed another bite. “What exactly did you say?”
“I told him to skate like I am the only person that’s watching.”
The younger man groaned and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘of course you did’ and ‘idiot’. “I know something you don’t, and trust me, that was both the best and the worst thing you could have possibly said to him.”
“What do you mean?” Viktor frowned.
Yuri shamelessly stole a tomato from Yuuri’s untouched plate. “He’s nervous precisely because you will be watching.”
The coach shook his head. “That makes absolutely no sense.”
“Makes perfect sense to me,” Yuri shrugged. “Like I said, I know something you don’t. And no, I’m not telling you, you’ll find out soon enough. Leave Katsudon in Phichit’s capable hands and eat your breakfast.”
Easy for Yura to say. Viktor wasn’t hungry anymore. Instead he just sat there, studying the blond. Yurio grew up to a handsome man. The Russian fairy became the Russian tiger he was always meant to be. Gone was the long-haired innocent and secretly insecure youth who moved the audience to tears with his agape. At twenty, Yuri Plisetsky was a tall, lean but broad-shouldered man with short spiky hair and confidence to spare. (The uncombed bed hair and the hint of stubble on his yet unshaved cheeks made him unfairly attractive in the morning. Viktor envied him that. He couldn’t afford to leave the room with uncombed hair. He’d thought about cutting it short but the look of horror on his Yuuri’s face at a mere suggestion of such thing made him reconsider.) Then again, Viktor mused looking at the animal print jacket, some things never changed.
Yuuri and Phichit didn’t show up to the morning practice. Viktor still had no idea what he had done. He replayed their conversation over and over again but he was still clueless. Clueless, frustrated and drowning in guilt. One moment he was promising Yuuri to stay by his side... and the next Phichit was taking a relieved looking Yuuri away from him. Viktor understood that Phichit was Yuuri’s best friend but damn it, Viktor was his coach and his husband. Viktor was supposed to be the one to comfort him! He wished he knew what was going on in Yuuri’s head...
His phone vibrated. Phichit sent him a textless photo of Yuuri practicing at a barre. His eyes closed in relief. Good. Yuuri doing ballet was a good thing. Of course, as his coach Viktor should be unhappy that he was skipping practice, but as his husband Viktor zoomed the photo and saw Yuuri’s calm and focused expression. Viktor the coach decided it didn’t matter. After all, ballet was practice too.
He really appreciated Yakov’s heavy hand on his shoulder and Yuri’s valiant attempts to distract him.
It was lunchtime and Yuri could tell Viktor was really starting to worry. (So was Yuri but he wasn’t going to admit it.) The two were still missing. For once in his life Phichit the Unofficial Food Critic didn’t upload a photo of his lunch with a long commentary on how good or bland it tasted plus the restaurant tag. Yuri had an idea what Viktor would do if the Thai skater did that – probably sprint out the door and catch the first taxi to get there. Fed up with the cloud of gloom surrounding Viktor, Yuri grabbed his phone and practically yelled at Chulanont via text message, ordering him to send a nice reassuring sms/snapchat/DM/whatever! to Katsudon’s overreacting husband right this instant.
Viktor’s phone vibrated a few minutes later.
“Phichit says Yuuri is fine now. He’s taking a nap and they will come back for the warm-up,” Viktor informed them.
The cloud of gloom dissipated a little. Hn. Mission accomplished.
Viktor was waiting at the rink, fake smile hiding how worried he actually was. He had no idea what to expect when Yuuri arrived and it was driving him crazy. Earlier, Yura had snapped at him for overreacting. Surprisingly, instead of scolding his student, Yakov backed him up. Was he overreacting? Phichit did say his love was doing fine but reading it was one thing, actually seeing it with his own eyes was another. He was mentally preparing himself for the worst, which is why Yuuri’s ringing laughter caught him completely off-guard. He would know that beautiful sound anywhere. Whipping around, Viktor found Yuuri and Otabek snickering at Phichit’s pouting, theatrically offended face.
As if feeling Viktor’s eyes on him, Yuuri turned his head and looked at him. His laughter faded, making Viktor’s heart throb. Squeezing his best friend’s shoulder Yuuri made his way to where his husband was standing.
“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes downcast.
Viktor cupped his cheek and coaxed Yuuri to look at him. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah. Sorry I worried you.”
“It’s okay.” Viktor leaned down, pressing a tentative kiss on Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri melted against him, arms wrapping around Viktor’s back to hold him close as he kissed back, pouring another apology into the kiss. Viktor felt so much weight fall off his chest it was a miracle it didn’t somehow make a sound.
“Oi, get a room or get Katsudon on the ice already!” Trust Yuri to ruin a romantic moment. But he did have a point, Viktor conceded reluctantly. Still, it took a lot of willpower to let go of his precious sun.
He watched Yuuri lace his skates and offered a hand to help him stand up. Yuuri took it and smiled, one of those heart melting smiles that still made butterflies dance in Viktor’s stomach. He stole another kiss because a smile like that just deserved to be kissed.
The warm up went well, Yuuri did a few jumps and landed them beautifully. Out of the corner of his eye Viktor saw another skater fall. Minami pushed himself off the ice, dejected, and attempted a triple axel, which he proceeded to fail spectacularly. Viktor winced in sympathy. Not only did that have to hurt but Minami was also skating first, and after two botched jumps like that... Yuuri skated up to the blond and tried talking to him but Minami just turned away, not listening. Yuuri refused to be discouraged and grabbed Minami by his shoulders, talking empathically. Viktor was too far to hear what he said and no doubt they were talking in rapid-fire Japanese anyway but he was proud of his husband. Everyone knew that Minami hero-worshipped Yuuri. Maybe a few encouraging words from his idol were just what the younger skater needed to get out of the slump.
After looking around to see if he had room Yuuri skated backwards, keeping his eyes on Minami. And then he started dancing. Viktor recognized that routine. It was something Yuuri liked to skate when he felt like fooling around for a bit. It was upbeat, energetic and playfully silly.
“Yuuri Katsuki is skating what appears to be one of Kenjiro Minami’s old routines.”
“You’re absolutely right, Martin, that’s a fantastic rendition of Minami’s free skate program from-- I think three years ago, Jazz Boy. And without breaking his stride, Katsuki is beckoning Minami to join him...”
“Wow. Ladies and gentlemen, unbelievable as this may sound, you are watching a completely unplanned, improvised duet of Yuuri Katsuki and Kenjiro Minami from Japan.”
“Minami’s coach looks vastly relieved, given that Minami’s failed jumps a few minutes ago undoubtedly left him in a bad mood. Katsuki’s coach looks mostly amused by their antics.”
The impromptu duet attracted a lot of attention; it was a pity they didn’t get to finish it. A whistle sounded, announcing the end of warm up. Minami hugged, no, glomped Yuuri and did not let go until they were the last skaters on the ice and he absolutely had to. Yuuri said something that had the younger man wipe his tears and nod with a megawatt smile.
“And after a very interesting conclusion of the warm up, Kenjiro Minami, representing Japan, is ready to start...”
“What did you say to him?” Viktor asked handing Yuuri his skate guards.
“Years ago when I was feeling down Kenjiro-kun reminded me of something very important – that skating is fun. Now Kenjiro-kun looked like he needed reminding.”
Viktor smiled proudly. “You’ll make a fine coach. Let’s go, shall we?”
Yuuri shook his head. “I want to watch him skate.”
Normally Viktor would have protested because three times world champion or not, seeing his competitors skate never failed to make Yuuri nervous. But he did understand why his beloved wanted to stay this time. Standing together at the rink side they watched Minami skate his personal best. Yuuri congratulated him after the performance and got glomped again, much to Viktor’s amusement.
They had plenty of time until it was Yuuri’s turn. As the competitor with the highest short program score, Yuuri was skating last. They settled into their usual pre-performance routine consisting of finding a dark and quiet place where Yuuri could listen to music while doing stretches. He appeared absolutely calm and relaxed, unusually so. Normally that would be a good thing but Yuuri didn’t look like he was about to compete at all. Viktor wasn’t sure what to think. Much as he hated to interrupt, he waited until Yuuri got down from standing on his tiptoes and reaching for the ceiling before catching his attention. Yuuri took off his headphones, letting them dangle over his jacket.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, cupping the nape of his husband’s neck affectionately, discreetly checking his heartbeat.
Yuuri smiled at him and rose on his toes again, nuzzling Viktor’s nose – something that Viktor would normally do for Yuuri when his beloved was stressed. “I’m fine, Vitya.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Phichit made me realize that I’m not competing to win. Not this time. It doesn’t matter if I end up first or last, I’m still retiring. This is my last time. I already have three gold medals from the Worlds, I don’t need to prove anything to anybody. So I will just take my own advice I gave to Kenjiro-kun and go out there and enjoy myself.”
Viktor kissed him.
Despite the reassurance he gave to Viktor, Yuuri was feeling jittery as he walked to the rink. Luckily, doing breathing exercises helped. He handed his skate guards to his coach and entered the rink. Turning around to look at Vitya, he wondered what to say. In the end he settled for: “Don’t take your eyes off me.”
“And stealing a good luck kiss from his coach, the final contestant is skating a lap of honour around the rink. Representing Japan for the last time, Yuuri Nikiforov-Katsuki. This is the last time we see him skate in a competition, as the 28 years old skater confirmed his intention to retire. As a surprise for his husband and coach, the legendary Russian skater Viktor Nikiforov, Yuuri decided to change his free skate program. Instead of Cloud dancers he will be skating to an original musical composition choreographed by himself and his fellow competitor, Phichit Chulanont. The piece is called To Viktor, with love.”
Yuuri took one last look at the blurry shape of his husband before getting into the position, head bowed and arms pressed against his chest. Then the music started and the world faded. Nothing existed anymore, only him and an imaginary Viktor skating alongside him.
Are you watching me, Vitya?
I have something to tell you. First of all, thank you. For everything. You are the best thing that happened to me in my life, Vitya. Thank you for dropping everything and coming to Hasetsu to be my coach. I’ll admit freely that I had trouble reconciling Viktor the God of Skating with Viktor the Imperfect Human Being. You were not a perfect coach, love, but then again, I was far from an ideal charge myself. We both made a lot of mistakes, stumbling along the way, but words can’t express how glad I am to stumble side by side with you. Thank you for showing up when I was at my lowest and refusing to give up on me. For believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself. And thank you for going back to skating when I asked you to. It meant a world to me.
Please forgive me for all those times I pushed you away. And let me apologize for today once more. Today I am not skating for Japan but for you and you only. The thought comforts me and terrifies me at the same time. I am a private person and I’m not comfortable with baring my heart to others... But you, Vitya, you make me want to climb the highest rooftop and shout this for the world to hear: I LOVE YOU, VIKTOR NIKIFOROV. I have never loved anyone the way I love you. Despite your terrible blanket hogging tendencies, even though you keep leaving towels on the bathroom floor and you couldn’t fold laundry properly to save your life. Sometimes when I wake up before you and get to watch you sleep the thought that you are mine still amazes me. You are mine, just like I am yours. Every time I write my full name, no matter in which alphabet, I can feel the echo of the warmth I felt when I first signed an official document as your husband.
So here I am, skating my heart out, and for once in my life I don’t care who sees it. Let the world know that I love you and I’m looking forward to spending the rest of my life by your side. Are you watching, Vitya? This is my open letter to you.
From Yuuri Nikiforov-Katsuki
to Viktor, with love.
He embraced the imaginary Viktor and the world came rushing back. In silence. There were no last fading tones of his music, there was only silence. Damn, had he missed his cue? His eyes snapped open. The audience roared. Exhaustion slapped him in the face and he allowed himself to drop on his knees, panting heavily. Why was he so tired? Usually he felt like this after a full-day workout, not after a few minutes on the ice, free skate or not. How many quads did he land? He couldn’t remember. In fact, he had no recollection of anything that happened from the moment the music started. Bracing himself on his arms Yuuri allowed himself a minute to just breathe. Around him it was raining flowers and plushies. They were still applauding. He might have missed his cue but it was probably not by much, since they obviously liked it.
As he lifted his head his eyes were drawn to one of the screens showing Viktor’s face. Yuuri didn’t need glasses to see Vitya was crying, both hands pressed against his mouth. Vitya. He needed to get to Vitya. The thought gave him the strength to push himself up and force his aching legs to move. There would be a hell to pay for his performance tomorrow but at the moment he didn’t care. He didn’t stop to pick up tokens of appreciation, he just headed straight to the exit.
The moment he put on his skate guards he found himself locked in Viktor’s embrace. Vitya didn’t say anything, just pressed his tear-stained face to Yuuri’s shoulder and fisted his hands in the spandex of his costume.
“Viktor Nikiforov appears to be speechless.”
“So am I, Martin. So am I.”
Yuuri had no idea how long they stayed like that. He vaguely heard Yakov saying something about the Kiss and Cry, at which Viktor reluctantly released him. He handed Yuuri his glasses (sleek and neat, selected by Viktor himself) and gestured at the audience.
“Yuuri Nikiforov-Katsuki is looking in disbelief at the ongoing standing ovation of the crowd, which, to be honest, is perfectly well-deserved after a performance like that.”
“And the Russian representation coach Yakov Feltsman is ushering them towards the Kiss and Cry. I admit I’m curious about the score. Here it is... 223.48! It’s a new world record! With the second highest technical score in history, perfect performance score and the combined total of 324.93, Yuuri Nikiforov-Katsuki of Japan breaks his husband’s free skate record and claims his fourth gold medal from the World Championships!”
“As the name Kiss and Cry suggests, it’s a place for kissing and crying, as currently demonstrated by Viktor Nikiforov and his husband.”
“Can you blame them, David? If someone skated for me the way Yuuri skated for Viktor, I would be kissing them and crying too.”
Honestly, Yuri hated press conferences. He considered them a necessary evil, but evil nonetheless. Especially today. It was clear as day that the reporters wanted nothing more than to pounce on Katsudon and Viktor but politeness dictated they must first question Phichit and Yuri. Thankfully, Viktor had sacrificed himself after leaving the Kiss and Cry and spent a good 20 minutes answering questions, letting Yakov take Yuuri to the skaters-only area. Hopefully that took care of the worst of it.
“Phichit, congratulations on your first medal from the World Championships. How do you feel?”
The bronze medallist smiled proudly. “Insanely happy.”
“Will you be aiming for gold next season now that Yuuri Katsuki is retiring?”
“It’s Nikiforov-Katsuki,” Phichit corrected the reporter gently but emphatically, “and yes, I plan to do my very best.”
“Phichit, is it true that you helped choreograph Yuuri-san’s routine?”
Phichit preened. “Yes. I really enjoy choreographing and working with Yuuri is always fun. But I must say that while I’ve seen countless videos of him practicing it, nothing compares to what he pulled off today.”
Yuri couldn’t help but agree. He’d seen those practices in person, and while Katsudon had been good, it was nowhere near today’s performance.
“Were you aware that Yuuri-san and Viktor got married? What are your thoughts on that?”
“Well, I was Yuuri’s best man – in answer to both your questions.” He leaned forward, making eye contact with Yuuri over Celestino, Yuri and Yakov. “Hey, does this mean I can finally post the photos?”
He received a fondly exasperated nod in reply and lit up like a Christmas tree. Pumping a fist in the air and ignoring his coach’s groan he shamelessly fished out his phone and proceeded to post pictures from his long-prepared album.
Swayed by his boyish charm the reporters chuckled and quite a few of them pulled out their own phones, eager to take a look. Leaving the uncrowned king of social media to it, the rest of them turned to Yuri.
“Mr Plisetsky,” the tradition of calling skaters by their first name was often broken in case of Yuri and Yuuri, “same question. Did you know they got married and what are your thoughts on that?”
“Not to sound like Chulanont but I was Viktor’s best man – in answer to both your questions.”
Nobody had outright said they were waiting for Yuri to turn eighteen to get married but he wasn’t stupid. For all their big talk about how they would get hitched when Yuuri won a GPF gold, Katsudon had yet to beat Viktor at the time of their wedding, which took place after a two years long engagement.
“But you were often heard referring to them as gross,” an unusually perceptive blond woman objected.
Yuri shrugged. “Tooth-rotting public displays of affection are gross, and I don’t care if it’s Mila and her annoying boyfriend or my two kinda brother figures.”
Viktor leaned back to look at him over Yuuri and Yakov’s backs. “Aww, we love you too, Yuratchka-otouto.”
Thankfully he said it in Japanese and out of the microphones’ reach. Still, Yuri was eternally grateful for his inability to blush like Katsudon. “Shut up!”
“Viktor, what did you say to Yuri?”
“Answer that and I’m telling Katsudon about Odesa,” he growled in warning.
Much to his satisfaction, Viktor’s bright smile dropped, replaced by a blush. “No comment. Next question, please?”
“Mr Plisetsky, what are your ambitions now that Yuuri-san is retiring?” Thank goodness they went back to skating.
“There is a free space on top of the world. I’m going to take the throne and nothing’s gonna stop me,” he swore, meaning every word of it.
“Phichit, what do you say to that?”
The Thai looked up from his phone for a moment. “Challenge accepted,” he said, locking his eyes with Yuri and glaring theatrically, only half-joking. Yuri glared right back. They kept at it as the cameras flashed, giving them a show, but eventually the moment broke when Phichit snorted and they both chuckled.
“Yuuri-san, when did you decide to change your free skate program and why?” Attention finally shifted to the gold medallist, much to the reporters’ relief, no doubt.
“Ah, actually, I was originally planning to skate it for Vitya as a gift for our anniversary but Yuri saw me practicing after the Cup of China and double-teamed with Phichit to convince me that I must skate it at the Worlds,” Yuuri sent a grateful smile to both his friends. “As for why – well, it’s no secret Viktor loves surprises, and I just love being the one to surprise him.” He squeezed his husband’s hand under the table.
“He certainly did look surprised. How did you manage to practice behind your coach’s back?”
“It was harder than I imagined,” he admitted. “I would like to thank the owners of Pyotrovich Ice Arena for letting me practice after hours, Yakov-sensei for being my stand-in coach, Yuri for not letting me give up and the entire Russian figure skating team for distracting Vitya.”
“Viktor, did you truly not suspect anything?”
“Well,” Viktor flashed them one of his dazzling media smiles, “to be honest, I did notice Yuuri sneaking out in the middle of the night and taking his skates but I just assumed he couldn’t sleep and went skating to clear his head – that’s not unusual for either of us. I started to suspect something was up when his rinkmates became a bit too adamant about not letting me see him skate but I just thought he was planning a surprise for the exhibition. When they announced he changed his free skate I was shocked.”
“And what do you think about his free skate?”
Viktor turned to Yuuri and clasped both his hands. He looked into his love’s eyes as he answered: “That was the most beautiful thing I have seen in my life and if we weren’t already married I would have proposed to you then and there.” He wanted nothing more than to kiss his Yuuri senseless again but mindful of the crowded room he only brought Yuuri’s hand to his lips and pressed them to his knuckles lightly. (Cameras flashed, capturing the award-winning press photo ‘Kiss’.) Phichit aww’d. Yuri just rolled his eyes, foregoing his usual comment.
“Yuuri-san,” another journalist called out, ruining the moment, “you did not appear fazed by the sudden technical issue at all. How did you manage to keep your focus?”
Yuuri blinked, not understanding. The question was asked in a perfectly understandable American English but it made no sense. “I’m sorry?”
“Was the sound outage planned?”
What in the world? What sound outage? And why was he the only one who appeared surprised by the question? He turned to Vitya helplessly.
“The music stopped as you were doing the combination spin,” Viktor said in disbelief. “You didn’t notice?”
Oh. That explained the silence. He hadn’t missed his cue, there just hadn’t been one. How? How could he fail to notice something like that?
Letting Yuuri hide his flaming face in Viktor’s chest and wrapping his arms around his sun, Viktor answered the rest of questions with a besotted smile of a man who was hopelessly and irrevocably in love with his spouse.