Chapter Text
Viktor Nikiforov was pouting.
It was the summer after his last junior season, and he was supposed to be looking ahead to his senior debut in the fall. He didn’t have time to play with children, no matter what Yakov said about “the Junior World champion acting like a role model for younger skaters,” or “brushing up on fundamentals,” or “you might be able to land a quad, Vitya, but your ballet skills are mediocre and you know it.”
Yakov always exaggerated Viktor faults. Viktor’s ballet skills were fine.
Viktor knew what this was really about: it was his punishment for spontaneously putting a quad toe loop in his free skate at Worlds, even after Yakov had told him not to. Apparently, his reward for breaking a Junior World record in the free skate was to be condemned to yet another year of attending Yakov’s stupid summer training camps for junior skaters, even though Viktor was not supposed to be a junior anymore.
“You’re still a junior for three more months,” Yakov had growled. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“But Yakov,” Viktor had whined as he collapsed to the ground in a fit of tragic despair. Even just the idea of losing two weeks of practice time to Camp Infant made him want to scream. “I already know everything they’re going to teach at this stupid camp. I’ve attended it a million times.”
“Then perhaps the lessons will sink in after the million and first,” Yakov had retorted, entirely unsympathetic to Viktor’s suffering. “These camps are about more than just the mechanics of skating. They build collegiality. Your reputation with other skaters will filter out to the other coaches, sponsors, and even the judges. Do you want the judges to be scrutinizing you for every under-rotation, looking for an excuse to take you down a peg because they’ve heard you’re arrogant?”
“I never under-rotate,” Viktor had mumbled sullenly. Yakov had thrown his hands in the air as Viktor added: “And I do have friends!”
“Like who?”
“…Georgi?”
Yakov had snorted incredulously, but his only response had been to say: “You’re attending the camp, Vitya. And you’re going to talk to people this year. Or I’ll forbid you from training the quad Sal.”
Viktor was pretty sure that this was an empty threat. Yakov wanted to win as badly as Viktor did; he wouldn’t deliberately sabotage Viktor’s senior debut. On the other hand, Yakov often did strange and irrational things to “teach important lessons” because “I’m an adult, Vitya,” and “I know best, Vitya.” Viktor couldn’t take the chance that Yakov was serious this time.
So now, on the first day of Camp Infant, Viktor was pouting – but present.
Worst of all, he wouldn’t even get to start the day on the ice. Lilia and Yakov always combined their summer students to give their dancers and skating world-class training in the others’ discipline. Yakov’s skaters took morning ballet classes with Lilia’s dancers before the two groups split apart for separate lessons in the afternoon. It was part of what made both of their summer camps so well-regarded, but it was also the bane of Viktor’s personal existence. As if skaters and dancers could ever have anything in common. Ballet was so slow and boring compared to skating!
Lilia’s ballet dancers always seemed to move in packs, too. They always somehow knew each other already, and would clump together in the studio before practice, whispering and giggling and shooting Viktor strange looks that he could never interpret. He would always just grin and wink back – an expression he’d once spent an entire tedious afternoon practicing in front of the mirror until he could do it perfectly on command – but he never really knew if that was the right response. It only ever seemed to make the dancers giggle harder, which was…not exactly comforting.
Although Yakov had managed to bully Viktor into attending this stupid camp for another year, he absolutely refused to spend more time with those terrifying dancers than he had to. Which was why Viktor was currently “going to the bathroom” until he could ensure that he was a solid five minutes late to their first class and could waltz into the studio without having to speak to anyone else.
Viktor had practically grown up within the walls of Yubileyny. He knew all its secrets. Including all the best places to hide when he wanted to avoid something. He was just passing one of the dusty, little-used men’s bathrooms behind the administrators’ offices – the one that older skaters always told the novices was haunted, because the pipes rattled in the cold – when he heard a strange noise that was definitely not old plumbing. It almost sounded like…crying?
Hesitantly, Viktor poked his head in the bathroom. There was someone in there, curled up in the corner on the far side of the room, half-hidden by the sinks.
Viktor dithered. Should he say something? Do something? He was terrible with people crying. He was sure to say the wrong thing and make this situation worse. If he’d been crying in a bathroom, it’s not like he would want a stranger to approach him. He’d want to be left alone.
Viktor had just decided to sneak away again when the bathroom door swung closed behind him with a slam, causing the other person’s head to shoot up to stare at him. It was a boy, maybe a year or two younger than Viktor himself. His cheeks were still a little rounded, like he hadn’t quite grown into his adult features yet. His brown eyes were wide and bright with tears. The boy made a watery “meep!” of distress and shoved a pair of blue-framed glasses onto his face. If possible, his face went even paler once he could see Viktor properly.
“V-viktor Nikiforov!” the boy stuttered.
Well, damn. There went Viktor’s plan to sneak away before he was noticed.
“That’s me!” Viktor said in English. Maybe if he was cheerful enough, it would snap the boy out of whatever bad mood had made him cry. “Are you here for the camp? I thought I knew all the junior skaters who were coming this year, but I don’t recognize you!”
The boy had clearly recognized him – which was awkward, but had become increasingly common over the past few years.
“I’m…nobody,” the boy murmured.
“Hm. This bathroom is rumored to be haunted, but you don’t look like a ghost…”
The boy gave him an unimpressed look, the first sign that there might be some steel hidden under all the tears.
“I meant that I’m not a skater,” he clarified flatly.
“Well, what are you, Little Ghost?”
The boy looked away as he mumbled: “My name is Yuuri Katsuki. I’m supposed to be one of Madame Lilia’s students.” He said it like he was revealing a dark secret and not a simple fact.
“Supposed to be?” Viktor echoed.
“Well, I’m not doing a lot of dancing now, am I?” Yuuri scrubbed at the tears on his face with a scowl.
“What’s wrong? Did you get hurt?”
“No…”
“Homesick?” Viktor tried next. He’d never gotten homesick personally, but he’d heard other skaters complain about it sometimes.
“No!”
“Okay well, those were my only two ideas, so I think you’re just going to have to tell me.”
Yuuri stared at him with such a strange look on his face that Viktor started to get self-conscious. He didn’t think he’d said anything stupid, but he couldn’t always tell, and Yuuri’s face was turning red with baffled frustration. Finally, something inside Yuuri seemed to snap.
“Fine! It’s not like this day can get any worse! Do you really want to know what’s wrong with me? Because it’s everything! Everything is wrong! I’m a terrible dancer but somehow I tricked Madame Baranovskaya into admitting me anyway, and I just know I’m going to mess everything up, and she’s going to blame Minako for having terrible taste in students, because Minako recommended me personally, and it will ruin Minako’s whole reputation in the dance world forever, not to mention that I’ll have embarrassed myself in front of Lilia Baranovskaya, and I’ll be sent home before I even get to meet—" Yuuri made another of those distressed “meep!” noises and glanced over at Viktor with something like horror in his eyes.
It almost looked like…Yuuri had been about to name Viktor himself. Was Yuuri a fan of his? He had recognized Viktor immediately even though he wasn’t a skater.
The thought should have brought Viktor a sense of pride, but instead, watching the way Yuuri’s hands shook and the way he could barely look Viktor in the eye, all Viktor could feel was dismay. He liked having fans, of course, but he wanted to be a source of inspiration, not intimidation. Maybe this was what Yakov had meant when he talked about being a “role model” for younger skaters, even though Yuuri was not a skater at all. Viktor had understood maybe one word out of three of that whole rant, but he could see that Yuuri still looked absolutely miserable. Viktor wished that he could say something clever and amazing to inspire Yuuri again, but his mind was blank.
“I’m really nervous about these shared lessons,” he blurted out suddenly. That…wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Viktor hadn’t even realized he felt that way, until the words were hanging in the air between the two of them. Yuuri’s head shot around toward Viktor so quickly that Viktor was surprised he didn’t get whiplash. At least Yuuri was looking at him now; Viktor was the one who suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes. He felt a flush rise in his cheeks.
“I’m not the best dancer,” he confessed, staring fixedly at the floor of the toilet. If he looked at Yuuri right now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep talking. “I know enough to fake it for skating, but compared to real dancers? It’s going to be obvious that I don’t know what I’m doing. But everyone expects me to be the best. At everything. All the juniors in class with me will be my competitors again in a few years, and they’ll remember how badly I embarrassed myself right before my senior debut. How are they supposed to take me seriously after that?”
Viktor didn’t know why he was pouring his heart out to this stranger in a bathroom. He was sharing things he’d never told anyone; things he’d barely even allowed himself to feel before, because he didn’t see the point in feeling bad about things he couldn’t change.
But when Viktor glanced reluctantly up at Yuuri to see how he was taking the news that his skating idol was just as much of a flawed, scared teenager as anybody else, it was to find the younger boy staring at Viktor, flushed with determination.
“I’ll help you!” Yuuri announced, a little too loudly to be comfortable in such a small space. His fists were clenched and his eyes flashed. “We’ll do extra practices together, and soon everyone will see that you’re the best dancer in the world!”
In the next moment, Yuuri’s brain seemed to have caught up with his words, because all his enthusiasm crumpled along with his posture. “I mean…” he stammered. “I’m sorry…I probably can’t teach you anything you don’t already know…”
“Well, how should I know? I haven’t seen you dance yet!” Victor pointed out. A moment later, he winced. Did that sound rude? Would Yuuri think Viktor was insulting his talent? Viktor couldn’t always tell. But Yuuri didn’t look upset. He was smiling, and his eyes had started sparkling with excitement.
“I guess you’ll just have to find out.”
Apparently, that was the motivation Yuuri needed to get him out of the bathroom and into Studio A for their ballet class – only a few minutes late, exactly like Viktor had planned. But this morning when he was sneaking away from the other students, Viktor never could have anticipated that he’d be returning with another person at his side.
But the moment Yuuri heard the music emanating from the studio, a sign that class had already started, he went pale and faltered again.
Viktor felt responsible for Yuuri somehow, like stumbling across him in the bathroom had placed Yuuri in Viktor’s care. While logically, Viktor knew he didn’t owe Yuuri anything, he found that he wanted to.
Viktor had never been responsible for anyone else before. It was easy to be careless when he was the only one who would ever bear the consequences. Viktor was used to treating himself like he was a set of keys in someone’s pocket: jangling around and easily dented but ultimately still useable. But as he looked at Yuuri’s wan face, nervous but trying to smile through it, he felt a heady swell of tender protectiveness. Yuuri felt fragile in a way that Viktor wasn’t: not weak, but precious. A glass ornament that should be carried carefully.
“Don’t worry, Little Ghost,” Viktor whispered. He didn’t know if he’d be very good at being responsible for someone else, but he was going to do his best not to drop him. He squeezed Yuuri’s hand and grinned. “Watch this.”
“What? Viktor—?”
But before Yuuri could finish hissing Viktor’s name, Viktor had shoved his way through the doors to Studio A with a clatter, dragging Yuuri along behind him.
The whole studio halted and turned as one to face Viktor and Yuuri. The Fridlender piece that Lilia always used for warmup music was still playing, but everything else had gone completely silent. Viktor heard Yuuri give a little moan of distress beside him, but Viktor squeezed his hand again in reassurance. He knew what he was doing.
“Madame Lilia!” Viktor chirped. Lilia was at the front of the studio, clearly in the middle of leading warmup. Her eyes narrowed when they fell on Viktor, which also meant she barely gave Yuuri a second glance.
“Your favorite student is here!” Viktor threw out his arm dramatically. This had the secondary benefit of shielding Yuuri further from her view. With his other arm, he gestured behind his back for Yuuri to find an open spot at the barre.
“Viktor Nikiforov,” Lilia barked, sounding chillingly like her soon-to-be ex-husband. “You have three seconds to get to the barre before I start breaking bones! What kind of senior debut will you manage with your leg in a cast, I wonder?”
“A magnificent one,” Viktor grinned unrepentantly at her as he sauntered over to the barre. He was in luck; there was a free spot just behind Yuuri – who was currently staring at him in abject horror through the mirror on the wall. Viktor winked at him. “I’ve already mastered two-legged skating; one-legged skating can’t be that much harder, right?”
“Yakov may find your insolence charming, young man, but I can assure you that I do not,” Lilia lied. Viktor knew she secretly found him hilarious. Just…very, very secretly.
Viktor ran through his usual ballet warmup on autopilot, already bored and impatient with the familiar gestures. He’d been doing the same warmup since he was six, and it had only gotten less interesting since then.
Gradually, though, his drifting attention was caught by the figure ahead of him. Yuuri was warming up, just as Viktor was, but somehow whatever he was doing looked nothing like Viktor’s warmup. Viktor recognized the positions and poses – his mind catalogued them instinctively after so many years of lessons – but Yuuri didn’t just look like he was casually warming up.
He looked like he was already dancing.
His eyes were closed and there was a faint smile on his face as he extended his back leg into a luxurious arabesque, his body one long, graceful curve.
Viktor swallowed heavily.
It hadn’t been as noticeable when Yuuri was huddled in an oversized practice jacket behind a toilet sink with his face red from crying, but Yuuri was…cute. Beautiful maybe, when he was dancing like this, like a simple warmup in one of Yubileyny’s studios was the most important performance Yuuri would ever give, like his body was made of music.
Through the mirror, Viktor watched as Yuuri finished the warmup, sighed, and blinked open his eyes. His face was already a little flushed from the workout and his eyes looked dazed, like his mind had been somewhere else entirely and now he was struggling to return to earth.
Viktor’s face was flushing too, and it definitely wasn’t from the exercise.
Viktor should have realized: there was no way Lilia would have accepted Yuuri into this program if he hadn’t been exceptional. But there was “exceptional dancing” and then there was…whatever Yuuri was doing.
Viktor felt like an utter dumbass. He’d been so sure of himself, arrogantly assuming that he was helping a shy younger boy who was in awe of him, when all along, Yuuri was the one who was going to be a star. Viktor had absolutely no doubt about that. He might not be a dancer himself, but he sure as hell could recognize talent when had sunk into a plié right in front of him.
The sensation felt like a blow to the head.
Wait, no, someone had actually just slapped the back of his head. Viktor turned to find Lilia watching him watch Yuuri with a knowing glint in her eye.
“Ah, so he’s the reason you were playing the fool earlier.” Lilia’s lips pursed in disapproval.
“He was scared,” Viktor found himself whispering to her, not sure if it explained anything at all. “He was worried he’d embarrass himself, but…Madame…” Viktor didn’t have to tell Madame Lilia why that was absurd. She could spot talent even faster than Viktor could.
“Beautiful,” she agreed with a sharp nod. “And the fact that you brought him here is the only reason you weren’t thrown out of my class. Disrupt it again, Vitya, and I won’t hesitate.”
“Yes, Madame.” Viktor gave her a sheepish smile – an honest one now that he no longer had to play at disrespect for the rest of the class.
“And don’t let that boy turn your head too much, Vitya. You both still have lots of work to do.”
“Lilia!” Viktor spluttered, too shocked to remember to use her proper title while they were in class. He wobbled out of his own plié, and he could feel his face heating up. “It’s not like that!”
“Hmm,” she replied noncommittally. “If anything should be embarrassing you here, it’s your turnout. Did you learn to dance in a barn? Fix it immediately.”
“Yes Madame,” Viktor repeated with an obnoxious little salute, and for the rest of the lesson, did his very best to think about his own feet and definitely not the way Yuuri Katsuki’s shoulders shifted as he seamlessly transitioned from an arabesque de classe into a performance-level arabesque de scene.
***
After their ballet class ended, Viktor was supposed to have a session on the ice, but instead, he dragged Yuuri into a little-used studio on the third floor. It was too small for most classes, but it had some mirrors and a freestanding barre, among other workout equipment, so it was good enough for their purposes.
The minute the door to the studio swung shut, Viktor wheeled on Yuuri. “How did you do that?”
“Huh?”
“In class today? How did you…”
“…Dance?” Yuuri finally offered hesitantly. He was staring at Viktor like he thought Viktor might have hit his head at some point along the walk from Studio A.
“I know how to dance,” Viktor insisted. “That was…something else.”
“Viktor, I truly have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you…want to work on ballet together, or…?”
Viktor didn’t know. It was possible he’d forgotten any ballet he’d ever learned, and also maybe how to walk in a straight line. But something about Yuuri’s dancing in their shared lesson had called out to him too: asking a question that Viktor wanted desperately to answer with music of his own.
“Promise you won’t laugh?” Viktor wasn’t used to feeling self-conscious. He wasn’t sure he liked the sensation. But Yuuri only furrowed his brow like the idea of laughing at Viktor was inconceivable. It gave Viktor enough confidence to continue: “I’ve been…working on something. Yakov hasn’t seen it yet. Nobody has. I want to use it for my short program next season, but I haven’t been able to get some of the transitions right, and I think it’s because I don’t know enough about ballet…”
Viktor trailed off, waiting nervously for Yuuri’s reaction.
And when his response came, it wasn’t encouraging: “You. Want me. To help you with your short program?”
Viktor winced. He remembered abruptly that Yuuri was a Viktor Nikiforov fan. Yuuri might not want to see the messy, imperfect trial-and-error stage of choreographing a program. Maybe he wanted to be surprised by its flawless debut in the Grand Prix Series along with everyone else.
“You don’t have to—”
“I will!” Yuuri said, so quickly that the words stumbled over each other. He immediately flushed and clapped a hand over his mouth, but Viktor had already heard him. Viktor beamed back, which only seemed to make Yuuri flush redder for some reason.
“Great! Let me show you what I have so far!”
Viktor plugged his iPod into the room’s sound system and pulled up the music he’d been surreptitiously choreographing to. It was the final pas de deux from the ballet Manon. The beautiful woman Manon had chosen to pursue true love instead of financial security, and now she was dying in her lover’s arms because of it.
Viktor had been playing around with transforming this tragically romantic pas de deux into a solo performance – as if Manon had ended up alone after all. If Viktor could pull it off, it was the kind of artistic statement that would amaze everyone: audience and judges alike. It would make his senior debut unforgettable.
If he could pull it off.
Viktor ran through the off-ice version of his choreography a little nervously. He could feel Yuuri’s eyes on him, watching intently. Viktor had been working on this program for long enough that he could practically dance it in his sleep, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was making a huge mistake by showing it to Yuuri in such a rough form. He wasn’t even on the ice, where he could count on his natural talent to conceal some of its flaws. And despite Yuuri’s monologue in the bathroom earlier, Yuuri was clearly a staggeringly talented dancer. What would Yuuri think of Viktor Nikiforov now?
The music ended and Viktor finally mustered up the courage to look over at Yuuri for his reaction.
He shouldn’t have worried.
Yuuri’s hands were clasped over his mouth again like he had to physically hold himself back. His deep brown eyes were luminous, shining with a moisture that Yuuri was quick to blink away.
“Viktor…” he whispered through his fingers, and then seemed incapable of adding anything further.
Viktor started to blush, which he never did, but something about Yuuri’s unabashed admiration made him feel oddly shy. He dragged his eyes away from Yuuri’s shining face and forced himself to refocus on the reason he’d shown Yuuri this choreography in the first place.
“You can see what I mean, though, right? I think the elements are solid, but the way they fit together…I’m missing something.”
“I agree,” Yuuri said. Viktor’s eyes shot back up to his face, a little startled that Yuuri could go so quickly from praise to critique. Yuuri’s eyes were still glowing with wonder, but his hands had dropped unconsciously down to his sides so Viktor could now see the way he was biting his lower lip in thought. Once again, Viktor forced himself to tear his eyes away from Yuuri’s face.
“I think you’ve forgotten that the dance started as a pas de deux,” Yuuri added slowly. His nose scrunched into a little frown that Viktor refused to find adorable. “I know that’s part of the point, but wouldn’t it make more of an impact if the audience can sense the missing second dancer? Maybe it would be easier to grasp the flow of the piece if you thought of it more like a broken duet, rather than a solo.”
“Like if we dance it together? That’s a great idea!”
“N-no!” Yuuri hastily waved his hands in front of his face. “T-that’s not what I meant! I wouldn’t want to—"
But Viktor had stopped paying attention, already lost in thought.
“Oh! What if we tried replacing the jumps with lifts for now! Do you think you could lift me, Yuuri?”
“Uh, I mean…probably? But I still don’t think—”
“Great! Start the music again!”
“Aaaaahhhh…” Yuuri whined to himself, even as he did trudge obediently over to the sound system.
Yuuri had only seen Viktor dance the program once, but he picked up the choreography almost immediately. And Yuuri had been completely right: once the two of them were dancing together, the whole program seemed to fall into place. Soon, Viktor was no longer thinking about how to adjust the program for two people, or how the changes would translate to the ice, and instead he just let Yuuri lead him wherever he needed to go.
Yuuri’s hands on his waist were strong and sure; just the slightest nudge of his fingers communicated paragraphs. Their eyes caught, and it was like the two of them had been dancing this dance, together, their whole lives. The space between their bodies buzzed with a palpable connection.
Viktor had never felt this way while dancing before – like his body was moving without his brain’s input, instinctual and right. Viktor did feel this way often on the ice, when he was skating alone, lost in his own world, but ballet had always been a cerebral exercise for him. And he’d never experienced this feeling with another person before, whether dancing or skating.
The dance ended, and Viktor blinked awake, startled and a little disappointed to find himself in charge of his own body once more. Yuuri was grinning at him like a sunrise – slow and inexorable, a dawning brightness – and Viktor found himself smiling back.
“You’re going to be magical, Viktor,” Yuuri said, like it was a settled fact.
Viktor thought Yuuri already was.
***
After their impromptu collaboration session, Viktor led Yuuri toward the Yubileyny cafeteria for lunch. It had been such a perfect morning – just the two of them in their own little bubble – that Viktor had completely forgotten about the world around them. Including the skating camp and, for probably the first time in his life, the existence of figure skating altogether.
He was abruptly reminded of it all when they arrived at the cafeteria to find a gaggle of teenaged skaters and dancers all shoving their way through the lunch lines. Yuuri’s footsteps stuttered at the sight of the noisy camp crowds. He bit his lip as his eyes darted from one group of boisterous, hungry athletes to the next. Viktor could almost sense Yuuri’s anxiety gathering around him like a storm cloud.
Viktor knew he wasn’t always great with other people’s emotions. Teachers told him his head was “always in the clouds” (Viktor didn’t explain that it was actually on the ice). Yakov told him he “never listened to a word I say! Vitya! Are you even listening now!?” (no). The few friendships he’d managed to tentatively fit around his skating schedule usually ended explosively with accusations that he was selfish (this, Viktor had no defense for. He probably was selfish).
But unlike most people, Yuuri was strangely easy to read. He carried all his feelings in his body, displaying them for everyone like a performance. And if there was one thing Viktor understood, it was performance.
Impulsively, he reached out and grabbed Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri’s palm was soft and warm, a little sweaty from dancing all morning, but it fit perfectly in Viktor’s own. Yuuri’s cheeks flushed pink and he wouldn’t meet Viktor’s eyes, but his grip on Viktor’s hand tightened.
Cute.
“Come on,” Viktor smiled. “I’ll show you my favorite table. It’s by the window, so everyone tries to steal it from me, but I fight dirty.”
Yuuri smiled back hesitantly, before something new seemed to occur to him and he frowned again. “It’s okay, you don’t have to sit with me if you don’t want to.”
Viktor blinked at him. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”
“I just mean, if you have friends you’d rather sit with? I don’t want you to feel like you need to babysit me. You were probably looking forward to hanging out with the other skaters, and now I’m making you sit in a corner with me.”
“It’s not in the corner,” Viktor said, blinking. “It’s by the window. And you’re not making me. I want to.”
Was that the right thing to say? Did Yuuri want to be alone? Was he hoping Viktor would leave? Was Viktor bothering him? They had just spent the whole morning together, and Viktor knew he could be a little much in large doses (that’s what people told him, at least. Viktor personally didn’t think there was anything wrong with being much. You didn’t become the best skater in the world by being some. But others seemed to disagree).
“Okay…” Yuuri said doubtfully.
Even after they’d gotten their food and sat down at Viktor’s favorite table (it only took three pointed elbows and five minutes of obnoxiously loud monologuing before he’d driven the other two people at the four-person table away. Not bad!), Yuuri kept strangely quiet. He was focusing intently on his lunch, and Viktor had been eating that salad for years, so he knew from experience that the half-wilted lettuce wasn’t that interesting. Even when Viktor did manage to persuade him to answer a question, Yuuri kept himself to quiet, single-word responses.
It was such a stark contrast with the vibrant, creative, giggly dancer that Viktor had just spent the morning with. At first, Viktor couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Maybe Yuuri was tired. Maybe he secretly thought Viktor’s table sucked. Maybe he just really hated lunchtime.
But then, after a while, Viktor noticed the way Yuuri would periodically look around the room. Every time he did, his body tightened into an ever-smaller ball.
“Yuuri,” Viktor finally asked. “Is it too loud in here?”
Yuuri squeaked and flushed. He glanced hesitantly up at Viktor’s face and must have felt like it was safe enough to answer, because he finally spoke: “Not exactly. It’s just…do you ever feel like everyone in the room is staring at you?”
“Yes,” Viktor replied honestly. “Because they usually are.”
“Great,” Yuuri mumbled, scrunching further into himself.
“We don’t have to stay here,” Viktor tried again.
Although Viktor and Yuuri had only met because Yuuri had been panicking in a bathroom, Viktor hadn’t quite realized the extent of Yuuri’s anxiety until now. Viktor just wanted to make him feel better, but he’d already used his one single “cheer someone up” idea earlier that morning (offering to teach them to skate), and now he was at a loss.
“Let’s bring our lunch outside,” he offered, forcing himself to sound far more casual and confident than he felt.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to! It’s beautiful outside, and I’m going to spend the rest of the afternoon in a freezing rink. Yuuri, you have to help me! What if I get so cold I die?”
“At least you’ll always have your dramatics to keep you warm,” Yuuri said with a wry smile, but he obligingly gathered up his lunch things to bring them outside.
After that day, it became a tradition between the two of them, to eat their lunch alone together outside any time the weather allowed it. Even when it rained, they’d usually hole up in an empty hallway or practice room. Most days, it was Viktor’s favorite hour of the day: just him and Yuuri, easy and relaxed, without anyone else intruding.
But Viktor didn’t know that yet.
Today, all he knew was that Yuuri had felt comfortable with Viktor in a way he didn’t feel around anyone else here. It made Viktor feel special. And it was that feeling, far more than the sunlight from the outdoors, that kept him warm during his afternoon ice time.
***
After lunch, Yuuri had another dance class scheduled, and Viktor decided he should probably do at least one thing that was on his training schedule for the day.
“I wish I could go with you though,” he confessed to Yuuri. They were huddled together in an alcove just outside the door to Ballet Studio A. Yuuri’s bare arm pressed against Viktor’s, warm and muscular, as he tipped his head up to smile tremulously at Viktor. The way he was nibbling at his lower lip gave Viktor the sudden, overwhelming urge to press his thumb to it.
“Don’t you hate ballet lessons? Wasn’t that the whole point of our exchange?”
“I’m gaining a new appreciation for the art form. And I think that was the whole point of our exchange, actually,” Viktor sniffed.
Viktor had admired people’s talent before, and he’d had crushes before (and sometimes they’d been for the same person), but he didn’t often have real feelings about them. He might get a little flustered when faced with a pretty smile; or imagine some nameless, faceless person when he was alone at night; but any urges to touch an actual person were fleeting and easy to ignore. He was always more focused on skating than anything else. In fact, Viktor had always been a little contemptuous of other skaters who sacrificed valuable energy gossiping about crushes or going out with friends, when they should be rewatching practice footage or designing new programs in their head just in case they ever needed one.
Now, Viktor could feel the faintest tremble of Yuuri’s body against his, and he wanted nothing more than to hug him. The sudden strength of his desire alarmed him and made him second-guess these new instincts.
“I’ll be OK.” Yuuri gave Viktor a wobbly smile. Would a hug be comforting to Yuuri right now, or would it just end up feeling weird?
“Of course you will!” Viktor said instead with a flash of his best interview grin. “You have to learn a lot so you can show it all to me later!”
“I’ll do my best.” Yuuri nodded seriously. It was very cute. Viktor had meant it as a joke, since obviously, whatever Yuuri practiced in these advanced classes would be far beyond Viktor’s skill level, but Yuuri seemed to take the instructions as a solemn trust.
As long as it helped Yuuri to be less nervous, Viktor supposed it didn’t matter.
“Thank you, Viktor. You’re a good friend.”
Viktor stared at Yuuri’s retreating back as it stepped into Studio A, thunderstruck by that pronouncement.
Viktor was not a self-deprecating person. He knew his own strengths (Yakov would say that he knew them a little too well). He was talented and hard-working. A perfectionist who held himself to the highest standards. He was both an artist and a strategist on the ice. Off the ice, he could be fun on occasion. He generally knew which boundaries to push to maintain an image of approachability and authenticity, and which boundaries he absolutely should not push without causing serious problems for his coach and the RSF. As much as Yakov complained about Viktor’s stubbornness and flightiness, they both knew that for a teenaged athlete at the top of his sport, he could have been much worse.
But in all sixteen years of his life, Viktor had never – not once – been called a “good friend.” Again, he knew his own strengths, and he also knew that friendship just wasn’t one of them.
If Yuuri ended up spending more time with Viktor, he would probably change his mind eventually. But until then, Viktor was determined to be the best friend he possibly could.
He turned away from Studio A with a pensive frown – and promptly bumped right into Yakov.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” Yakov’s eyes slid from Viktor’s face to the door of Studio A like he’d caught Viktor in a much more compromising position than simply running late for his afternoon weight training session.
“Not hiding!” Viktor chirped. “Just fostering relationships with the other summer students! Like you told me to!”
“I said ‘skaters,’ Vitya!” Yakov narrowed his eyes, like he thought Viktor was hanging out with dancers just to mess with him. Which, admittedly, sounded like something Viktor would do.
“Did you?” Viktor asked airily. He wasn’t going to ignore a prime messing-with-Yakov opportunity once it fell into his lap, even if it hadn’t been his original motivation. “I can’t recall.”
“And the ice time you skipped this morning? More…relationship-fostering?” Yakov said this like it was a dirty word.
Viktor thought it was a little hypocritical of Yakov to bully Viktor into making more friends, since Yakov hated every other human being in the world and, as far as Viktor knew, had no friends except for Lilia, who was divorcing him. So it wasn’t like Yakov was some sort of friendship expert.
And now that Viktor had made a friend, Yakov seemed annoyed at that too. Could he ever win?
“Vitya,” Yakov frowned. “When was the last time you missed your scheduled ice time. For any reason?”
“Uh. I don’t know?”
“Exactly. Because the answer is never.” To Viktor’s alarm, Yakov glanced around the empty hallway before stepping even closer to Viktor. He almost looked concerned, which was…extremely ominous. “You’ve been the best in juniors for quite some time. But I’ve seen many talented juniors stumble when they get to seniors.”
“What?” Viktor stared at Yakov blankly. Why was he suddenly talking about other junior skaters? Did Yakov want Viktor to mentor them or something? He seemed remarkably ill-suited to such a role.
“It’s normal, you know,” Yakov continued. He put a heavy hand on Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor’s alarm intensified. “To be nervous about your senior debut.”
“I’m not nervous?” Viktor was so turned around by this conversation that the answer came out like a question.
“However,” Yakov continued like Viktor hadn’t even spoken. “That’s no excuse to slack off. I will not allow you to indulge in some…clichéd teenage rebellion and ruin your entire career just because you’ve suddenly developed a case of nerves.” By the end, his voice had risen to its customary shout. Viktor almost found it comforting, even if he was still baffled by the meaning of whatever Yakov was trying to say.
“You got it,” Viktor said anyway with an obnoxious little salute that had Yakov gritting his teeth.
“And you’ll make up your missed ice time this evening!”
That, Viktor understood.
“Don’t worry Yakov,” he grinned. “I fully intend to.”
***
“Come on, Little Ghost. I promised you skating lessons, didn’t I?”
That evening found Viktor dragging an adorably flustered Yuuri out onto the rink with him.
“Are you sure it’s OK for us to be skating after hours?” Yuuri tugged at Viktor’s hand to slow him down.
“Positive! Yakov gave me permission. In fact, he practically demanded it!”
Yuuri still looked skeptical, but he did allow Viktor to keep pulling him forward.
“And I know you have skates, because all the skaters and dancers at this stupid camp are supposed to do both.”
“I do.” Yuuri ducked his head shyly and patted his gym bag. “I just…” he lifted his head and fixed Viktor with an intense stare that made Viktor’s stomach swoop. “I haven’t taught you any dancing yet! It’s not fair for me to get a skating lesson when we spent our whole ballet session messing around! But I promise I’ll do better tomorrow!”
Viktor chuckled. We choreographed half a competition-level short program in one morning. Some messing around.
What he said was: “I think you’re just trying to get out of skating with me. Planning to back out of our bargain already, Katsuki?”
As expected, Yuuri flushed with determination and got that stubborn little pout to his lower lip that Viktor was already starting to enjoy provoking.
“I’m not scared,” Yuuri snapped.
“Didn’t say you were,” Viktor sang obnoxiously as he tugged Yuuri over to a bench to lace up their skates.
“Fine,” Yuuri grumbled, like Viktor was forcing him at gunpoint.
“Do you need help lacing up?”
Yuuri shook his head. “I’ve taken lessons before, I’m just…not very good.” He blushed again.
“Think of it this way,” Viktor called back to Yuuri as he stood up and made his way toward the ice. He started with some backward crossovers to warm up. “I’m literally one of the best skaters in the world. Everyone is bad at skating compared to me! So if you really think about it, I’m the best person to learn to skate with! If everyone is equally terrible, it’s kind of like nobody is terrible.”
“That’s…really not how it works,” Yuuri said, but he was laughing as he leaned against the boards, his sharp eyes tracking Viktor’s progress across the ice.
Once Viktor was loosened up enough, he indulged himself in a showy triple axel. He’d planned the landing so that he hit the ice right in front of Yuuri, his back leg floating out gracefully behind him. Then he crunched to a hockey stop and grinned at Yuuri, who just rolled his eyes.
“Are you expecting applause?”
“Get out here, Little Ghost.”
“Okay, um. Just…don’t laugh at me, please,” Yuuri said, biting his lip as he removed his guards and took his first wobbly steps onto the ice. Viktor was worried for a moment – maybe Yuuri really was terrible, and then what would Viktor do? Lie about it? – but Yuuri seemed to find his confidence a moment later, and the next few steps he took to reach Viktor were smooth and easy.
“Please take care of me,” he said with a quick bow once he’d reached Viktor.
It was at that moment that Viktor realized had no idea how to teach someone ice skating. He’d been so focused on getting Yuuri onto the ice that he hadn’t given any thought to what to do once he’d gotten him there.
“Maybe…you should warm up first? Here.”
Viktor reached out his hand and Yuuri grasped it trustingly. His hand through their gloves was warm amidst the chill of the rink.
They began skating a lap together, Viktor instinctively adjusting his own stride to match Yuuri’s shorter, less confident one. Just as Viktor had suspected, Yuuri’s “not very good at skating” was better than most people’s best. Soon, they were skating in perfect unison like they did this every day.
Eventually, the music from Viktor’s skating playlist, which had been piping warm-up pop songs through the rink’s speakers, switched over to a waltz.
“Dance with me?” Viktor asked impulsively. Yuuri stared up at him. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were pink with cold, but his eyes shimmered with happiness. “We can get both our lessons out of the way at once.”
“I thought you were looking for ballet help, not ballroom,” Yuuri noted, but even as he spoke, he was already shifting his weight and falling easily into Viktor’s waltz hold. Viktor had no doubt that Yuuri was an excellent lead on land, but the ice was still Viktor’s domain.
And then they were off. Yuuri adjusted easily to dancing on ice, which just confirmed Viktor’s impression that Yuuri had been modest when he said he “wasn’t very good” at skating. Viktor thought he was already starting to grasp Yuuri’s penchant for understatement.
They whirled through the rink, faster and faster, spinning together and laughing every time Yuuri wobbled or Viktor pushed him a little too fast. Just like with their pas de deux, it was like their bodies already knew how to do this, even though Viktor had barely practiced partnered skating before and Yuuri wasn’t even a skater at all.
Viktor’s playlist transitioned from the waltz to Britney Spears, but by mutual unspoken agreement, the two of them continued dancing anyway. Their waltz morphed into a chaotic mix of styles that would have made Viktor’s ballroom dance instructor cry, as the two of them traded the lead back and forth instinctively. One moment, Viktor was swinging Yuuri out in the style of a Lindy Hop; the next moment, Yuuri had spun Viktor into a salsa turn, giggling the whole time.
Viktor had never had so much fun – not while dancing and not while skating. The surprise of that revelation caused him to fumble his hold on Yuuri. They both lost their balance and crashed to the ice, Viktor falling on top of Yuuri with an “oof!”
Yuuri’s body was warm and soft in contrast to the chill of the ice beneath them. When Viktor lifted his head to check that Yuuri was alright, he found Yuuri grinning up at him, clearly unharmed.
“Are you okay?” he checked anyway.
“I dare you to skate an exhibition program to “Toxic” this year,” Yuuri said instead, his eyes glinting in that dangerous way that Viktor already recognized from their choreography session earlier. He groaned as he pushed himself (reluctantly) off Yuuri and got to his feet. He held out a hand to help Yuuri, whose skates kept slipping out from under him whenever he tried to stand up.
Viktor predicted several more hours of grueling practice in his future, as Yuuri goaded him into testing out increasingly ridiculous step sequences to increasingly silly pop music. But in that moment, there was nothing Viktor would rather do. What else could compare to the sound of Yuuri’s laughter when “Lean Back” started playing and Viktor did so many layback spins he made himself dizzy? Not even landing a perfect quad Sal would feel as good.
***
After that first day, Viktor and Yuuri fell into a routine. They no longer skipped dance classes or ice time (Yakov and Lilia’s patience had already run thin, and contrary to popular belief, Viktor didn’t want to get on their bad sides. Additionally – and probably more persuasively – it would have stressed Yuuri out). But Viktor and Yuuri did find themselves spending every spare moment together, whether they were sneaking away from the cafeteria to eat meals outside or reserving practice rooms after-hours to dance together.
The first time Viktor had seen Yuuri dance, he’d felt like he’d learned everything there was to know about Yuuri in that moment – like he could see the full shape of him, instantaneous and all-encompassing. But as the days passed, Viktor found that there was always more of Yuuri to discover: little details to fill in the large outlines he’d already traced.
Viktor learned that Yuuri liked green tea in the morning. And that if Viktor tried to make it for Yuuri himself, he would inevitably over-steep it. Yuuri would get a pinched look on his face before smiling widely and thanking Viktor anyway.
Viktor learned that Yuuri went completely silent in a crowd. His eyes would grow wide with alarm every time another student asked him a question. But when he and Viktor were alone, Yuuri could talk for hours. He could tease Viktor mercilessly, but only when nobody else could hear.
Viktor learned that Yuuri loved dogs just as much as he did, and that they both desperately wanted a puppy, but that both Yuuri’s parents and Yakov were making them wait until they were older. The two of them would lay on the bed in Viktor’s dormitory for hours, browsing Viktor’s ancient laptop for dog photos, debating breeds and names.
Viktor learned that Yuuri would complain endlessly about the dancing in Save the Last Dance, but if Viktor started the movie, Yuuri would watch it, and he would cry when Derek showed up at Sara’s Juilliard audition.
He learned that Yuuri had trouble quieting his busy, anxious mind enough to fall asleep, but that if Viktor nudged Yuuri onto his bed and played Russian soap operas on his laptop while claiming “cultural exchange,” Yuuri would pass out instantly. Viktor learned that he liked having Yuuri there at night – he liked hearing the quiet rhythm of Yuuri’s breath in the dark – even if it meant Viktor had to create a sad little blanket nest for himself on the floor. Viktor learned that Yuuri would freak out in the morning when he realized that Viktor had slept on the floor ,and that Yuuri would make Viktor promise to wake him up if he ever fell asleep on Viktor’s bed again.
Viktor learned that he would cheerfully break a promise for Yuuri’s sake.
He learned that the more time he spent with Yuuri, the harder it was to stop himself from reaching out and touching him – his soft skin, his warm blushes, his lean dancer’s muscles, the bitten-pink skin of his lower lip. Every time Yuuri smiled, Viktor felt a swooping in his stomach like he’d misjudged the takeoff on a quad. And when Yuuri smiled because of him, the feeling reverberated through Viktor’s body like the perfect crack of blades hitting the ice.
Viktor couldn’t fully explain this mix of feelings and urges, even to himself. He’d never felt anything like this before – except perhaps for the first time he’d laced up a pair of skates. It had only taken a single lesson at age four for Viktor to know – to the depths of his soul – that he’d just found the love of his life.
Nothing had ever swayed him from that certainty: not the long hours of practice, not the setbacks, not his parents threatening to pull him out of the lessons whenever he misbehaved, not the loneliness of moving to St Petersburg alone to train with Yakov when he was only seven years old. Every day, every practice, every new challenge, Viktor threw himself towards them with unwavering determination. There hadn’t been room in his brain for anything else: no crushes, no relationships, no close friendships, no hobbies that didn’t somehow nourish his skating programs, no teenage rebellions serious enough to threaten his future.
People often saw Viktor as a distractible, inconstant sort of person. Even the people who knew him best, like Yakov, tended to be deceived. On the surface, Viktor often looked like a thoroughly unreliable disaster. And it suited Viktor to cultivate this impression. It meant that Yakov often let Viktor do whatever he wanted with only some minor shouting, which ultimately benefitted both of them.
And Viktor was easily distracted and inconstant, which was probably what made it such a convincing façade. His mind would run off on tangents. His attention would get caught on everything but whatever he was meant to be doing. He struggled to listen to other people. And even when he did stop and listen to someone else, he often forgot whatever they’d said later. When Yakov gave him an instruction, it was almost guaranteed that Viktor would accidentally end up doing the opposite, even when he was genuinely doing his best to obey his coach.
But Viktor knew something about himself that very few other people seemed to notice: when he did commit to something, he committed forever. It had happened with skating and now, Viktor suspected, it was happening again.
He was never able to explain why. Why figure skating and not hockey, or ballet, or literature, or woodworking? Why Yuuri, and not Georgi, or that cute ice dancer who’d trained at Yubileyny last year?
Maybe the “why” wasn’t so important. The fact was that for a whole decade, Viktor had only had room for one love in his life.
Now, suddenly, Viktor could feel a new room growing in the chambers of his heart, and he suspected the addition would be permanent.
***
Viktor wasn’t one to dither once he knew what he wanted, and his feelings for Yuuri were no exception. Yes, the summer camp was ending. Yes, Yuuri was going back to Japan in two days. Yes, they were two teenagers at the start of their extremely demanding and time-consuming careers. Yes, committing to a long-distance relationship under those conditions would be foolish in the extreme.
Viktor was still determined to try.
Yuuri seemed surprised to see Viktor waiting for him as he left Studio A amidst a swarm of other dancers. Yuuri was keeping to himself, even in the center of the crowd. His head was down and he wasn’t speaking to anyone – until he glimpsed Viktor loitering in the hallway, at which point his posture straightened and he shot Viktor one of his nervous “in public” half-smiles.
“Ready to go?” Viktor beamed back. “We have some free time before dinner, so I thought we could watch a movie!”
Maybe if he kept talking fast enough, Yuuri would just be carried along with his plans and wouldn’t object.
“Uh.” Yuuri blinked. He did look overwhelmed, and maybe not in a good way. Meanwhile, around him, the other dancers were shooting them both curious looks and whispering amongst themselves. Yuuri stiffened as he realized it too.
Viktor’s heart sank. Was he acting too obsessive? Was Yuuri embarrassed that some weird skater was constantly stalking him in front of his ballet friends? Viktor kept his smile pasted on firmly and waited for Yuuri to turn him down. But rather than pulling away, Yuuri pushed forward to meet him in the center of the hallway. His face was flushed pink with embarrassment, but his smile had widened into its fuller, more private version.
“No more American rom-coms.”
“Ah, Yuuri, you wound me.” Viktor mimed stabbing himself in the heart and swooning to the floor of the hallway. The other dancers tittered. Viktor did his best not to appear irritated by them as he grabbed Yuuri by the hand and tugged him away.
“I think your friends were wondering what I was doing near the ballet studio,” Viktor noted, suddenly and uncharacteristically self-conscious about it.
“They were clearly wondering what I was doing with the Junior World Champion in figure skating,” Yuuri retorted dryly. “Do you not realize what a celebrity you are around this place, even among the dancers? They all have huge crushes on you, you know.”
“Everyone, huh?” Viktor nudged Yuuri in the side gleefully. Yuuri immediately sputtered and flapped his hands frantically in denial.
Viktor took pity on him by returning them back to the original subject. “Is that what they’re saying back there? That I’m a celebrity?”
“Probably. Or discussing the best way to murder me and take my place for movie night.”
“As if that would work,” Viktor scoffed. “I wouldn’t waste a movie on them.”
“Oh.” Yuuri flushed pink again.
Once they’d reached Viktor’s dorm room and the door was safely shut behind them, Viktor resumed their conversation from earlier.
“Anyway, I do know the way people talk about me around here. Sometimes it can be…strange,” Viktor admitted hesitantly. He rarely complained about his fame; Yakov had been drilling good sportsmanship into Viktor since before he could jump doubles. But this was Yuuri. Yuuri wouldn’t judge him – probably. “I’m not really supposed to have bad days, or get frustrated with other people, or participate in rink gossip, or be a little mean to someone who deserves it. I always have to be careful of how it will look. But I’m not very good at that. So it can be tiring sometimes.”
“You can always be mean to me, if you want!” Yuuri announced. He seemed to be bracing himself, determined to withstand whatever horrible thing Viktor was about to do to him.
Viktor burst out laughing. Yuuri flushed a dull red but didn’t take it back.
“Yuuri! What a thing to ask for! Why would I even want to be mean to you?”
“Why would you want to be mean to anyone?”
“That’s a good point. I guess I don’t. But I’d like to know I could.”
“So do it,” Yuuri repeated staunchly. “Whatever insulting things you’ve always wanted to say about people, but never have. Get it all out now, so you won’t feel the urge later.”
“I can’t exactly decide to say something mean on command!”
“Come on. I believe in you!”
Viktor laughed again, a little helplessly.
“Well…Kuznetsov definitely underrotated his quad Salchow during the last Grand Prix Final. I know I’m not supposed to say that, because of patriotism or whatever, but he did. The judges don’t bother to call him on his edges anymore because he was so good when he was younger, and it’s made him sloppy now.”
Viktor darted a glance at Yuuri to see if he was shocked by this display of petty criticism of another Russian skater – and the undisputed best Russian senior skater at that – but Yuuri only hummed and nodded encouragingly.
“Also!” Viktor was on a roll now. “Kuznetsov did not deserve such a high PCS score either! Cao Bin should have won gold; it was bullshit that he only got silver.”
“Ugh I know,” Yuuri whined. He rolled over on the bed and punched Viktor’s pillow in frustration. “It was bullshit. It was only because Kuznetsov was skating to Tchaikovsky and Cao Bin was doing more modern, creative choreography. It had nothing to do with the quality of their skating! The judges are just old and boring!”
“You really are a skating fan,” Viktor laughed.
“You know I am.” Yuuri flushed again. He really had to stop doing that; it was terrible for Viktor’s heart.
“Well yeah, but I thought maybe…”
“Viktor!” Yuuri cracked up. “Did you think I was just a fan of you? I thought you didn’t like being seen as a celebrity!”
“Well…sometimes it’s OK,” Viktor allowed. He slanted Yuuri a hesitant look. Despite all the things he’d been learning about Yuuri over the past few weeks, he still couldn’t predict how Yuuri would react to this next sentence: “Like when it helps me impress cute boys I meet in bathrooms.”
Yuuri’s eyes widened, and he shoved his face into Viktor’s pillow to avoid looking at him.
“Happens to you a lot, does it?” Yuuri mumbled into the pillow.
“Well, I’m really hoping once is enough.”
“You’re such a flirt, oh my God,” Yuuri said through the pillow. “If you keep saying stuff like that, someone might actually take you seriously.”
“Yuuri.” Viktor gently pulled the pillow out from under Yuuri’s face. Yuuri groaned and tried to grab for it, but it was half-hearted at best. Viktor took a deep breath. For all of Yuuri’s many deflections, none of them had actually been an outright rejection. “I don’t know how much clearer I can make it that I am being serious.”
“What?” Yuuri jerked upright so quickly he nearly fell off the bed. His eyes were wide, a blush already starting to color his cheeks.
“Nobody’s ever accused me of being subtle before,” Viktor noted wryly. “I thought maybe…you already knew. How I feel about you.”
How I feel about you, Yuuri mouthed to himself silently, still staring at Viktor like he’d just announced he was going to quit skating to become a dairy farmer.
“But it seems like…uh…you didn’t know,” Viktor concluded awkwardly. He rubbed the back of neck and wondered if it was too late to pretend he’d gotten a concussion during skating practice that afternoon and couldn’t be responsible for anything that came out of his mouth.
“Yes – I mean, no – I mean – Viktor…”
Viktor didn’t know why Yuuri’s incoherent stuttering made him feel so much better. Yuuri had articulated exactly zero words about his own feelings for Viktor, which should be causing Viktor to panic. But Viktor found that he didn’t need words after all. Suddenly, Yuuri was as transparent to Viktor as he’d had always been – and glowing with a quiet, incredulous joy.
“Do you maybe want to go out—” But Viktor’s question was interrupted by Yuuri throwing himself into Viktor’s arms.
This time, they really did fall off the bed.
***
It was hard to let Yuuri go back to Japan at the end of the summer camp. Some part of Viktor wished that he’d gotten his act together earlier and had asked Yuuri out before the last day possible. But the rest of Viktor couldn’t regret anything that had happened over the past three, perfect weeks.
Yuuri had cried as he’d boarded the bus that would take the international skaters and dancers to the airport, dlinging to Viktor’s hand until the last possible moment. Viktor had forced himself to be cheerful for Yuuri’s sake. He’d only let himself cry later, once he was back in his own dorm room and was sending Yuuri ten texts in a row about how much he already missed him.
Viktor woke up the next day, still miserable but determined to push through it. He had decided to focus on his Grand Prix assignments instead. Maybe he would get assigned to the NHK, and he could invite Yuuri to Nagoya to watch him skate. So Viktor needed to have the best programs ever this season, not just because it was his senior debut, but because there was a chance Yuuri could see them. Viktor could already imagine the look on his face at the NHK Kiss and Cry (because in this fantasy, Yuuri was somehow also a part of his coaching team). Yuuri would probably cry, and then Viktor would have to kiss him because it was in the name, and then he would win gold, and it would all be perfect.
Viktor couldn’t wait to show Yakov the Manon choreography that he and Yuuri had been developing in in their spare time. He knew Yakov would be impressed, and then maybe, if he saw how much Yuuri had helped Viktor’s skating, he would finally stop making vague grumbly noises about Viktor’s “summer fling” with a ballet dancer.
Yuuri was still somewhere in the air over China (not that Viktor was tracking his flight progress or anything), but the minute he got home, Viktor was going to set up a Skype call so that Yuuri could attend Viktor’s Manon demonstration virtually. Yuuri had refused to show Yakov their choreography while he was in the country himself, still too afraid of Yakov to dance for him without an ocean and several time-zones between them, but Viktor thought Yuuri deserved to be there.
Viktor was so excited that he kept getting distracted during morning practice, constantly skating back to the boards to check his cell phone for a text from Yuuri every time it seemed like Yakov’s back was turned. At first, Viktor thought he’d gotten away with his inattention. He soon realized that Yakov had been stockpiling all his yelling to deliver in a single, devastating blow.
“Vitya! My office!” Yakov barked at the end of morning practice.
“Good, because there’s actually something I really want to talk to you about!” Viktor chattered by Yakov’s side as he stalked through the halls of Yubileyny. “Or show you, I guess, but either way, I think you’re going to be really hap—”
“Close the door,” Yakov interrupted heavily.
For the first time, Viktor took in Yakov’s expression. It wasn’t the irritation that he’d been expecting. Instead, Yakov looked grave and almost sad. Fear washed over Viktor.
“Yakov, did something happen? Are you dying? Is Yuuri—”
He hadn’t checked Yuuri’s flight tracker since he’d left his laptop in his dorm room that morning. Had the plane crashed in the handful of hours between now and then? Exploded? Vanished like Amelia Earhart?
“He’s fine,” Yakov cut through Viktor’s panic. “…Presumably. But Katsuki was who I wanted to speak with you about.”
“Huh?” Viktor was so relieved that Yuuri wasn’t dead that he barely registered the second half of Yakov’s statement.
“When you started your…friendship…” Yakov eyed Viktor’s stupid-looking grin and corrected himself. “Relationship. With Katsuki. You promised it wouldn’t disrupt your career.”
“Right! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you—"
“Vitya,” Yakov interrupted again. Viktor scowled but allowed him to continue. “As much as you don’t like to acknowledge it, I am older than you. I have seen many skaters come and go. I have seen many relationships start and end. And I can already predict exactly what will happen with yours: the two of you will try very hard to keep in touch for a little while, inspired by the power of love and your own shared stubbornness. You will become even more distracted by your personal life than you are right now.
But soon, the Grand Prix will begin, and your career will start demanding more and more of your time. Your messages to Katsuki will slow down. You will start arguing. You will resent each other for prioritizing your real lives over your long-distance relationship. Eventually, after much teenage angst, the two of you will break up. It will be messy and painful. You’ll be in the middle of your first senior season. Maybe, if you’re lucky, the breakup won’t happen right before a competition. But maybe you won’t be so lucky.”
Viktor had listened to this for long enough.
“Or maybe we won’t break up,” he grit out. “Just because you’ve seen this happen to other people doesn’t mean—"
“For once in your life, Vitya, would you just listen to me.” Yakov pounded his fist on his desk with a heavy thud that startled Viktor into silence. He was used to Yakov shouting at him for all matter of trivial things, but this felt different. Yakov was really serious about this.
“Do you want to win Olympic gold in two years?” Yakov demanded.
“Wha—you know I do!”
“Then you don’t have time to fuck around.”
Viktor gasped. For as much as Yakov yelled, he very rarely swore, especially in front of his skaters.
“You’re already at a disadvantage, entering seniors halfway through an Olympic cycle. The next two years are going to be the hardest of your life. I know you think you can just coast to that gold medal on wings of talent and sunshine, but I am here to tell you that it will not be that simple. If you want to win – if you really want to win – you will take my advice and cut out anything that will distract you from your goal. Anything, Vitya. Or anyone.”
“But if you’d just let me explain: Yuuri is not just a distraction,” Viktor insisted.
Yakov sighed. He seemed to decide that he wasn’t getting anywhere on this point with Viktor, because he suddenly changed tracks.
“I spoke to Lilia about Katsuki, you know. She’s impressed by him, and you know she doesn’t impress easily. She thinks he has the talent and the drive to become great – as long as his own mind doesn’t betray him. Do you think you’re doing him any favors by distracting him when he needs prepare for international conservatory auditions? Are you willing to jeopardize his mental stability at this crucial time? Could you ever forgive yourself if your relationship derailed his career?”
For the first time, Viktor wondered if Yakov might have a point. Yes, Yuuri had helped Viktor with his skating. In fact, Yuuri had poured hours into dancing with Viktor, teaching him ballet skills that were far below Yuuri’s own level, during a ballet camp that was supposed to be preparing Yuuri to dance professionally himself. And what had Viktor given Yuuri in return for all his wasted practice time? “Skating lessons” that almost always ended with them goofing around on the ice? The first day they’d met, Viktor had proposed their deal to help Yuuri with his anxiety, but what had Yuuri really gained from the trade?
Yakov seemed to sense Viktor’s resolve weakening, because he leaned forward and his voice took on a firmer tone: “You have an opportunity right now to break it off before either of you becomes even more invested. This way, you can control the timing of the breakup and make sure it won’t hurt either of you more than it needs to.”
Viktor stared at Yakov, so turned around that he’d barely registered Yakov’s words. None of this was right; there was no universe in which Viktor would agree to give Yuuri up. But if their relationship could hurt Yuuri, Viktor couldn’t be selfish… He had to protect Yuuri too.
“Vitya. This is an order from your coach. You will call Katsuki and you will stop this foolishness before it’s too late. Do you understand me?”
Distantly, Viktor was surprised he wasn’t crying right now. This seemed like the kind of thing people normally cry about. But Viktor just felt…blank. Empty. Detached from his body, like this whole conversation was happening to someone else, and when it was over, Viktor could go back to texting Yuuri all about it.
You’ll never guess what happened to my rinkmate today. He just sat in Yakov’s office and let his coach break his heart. I feel bad for him, don’t you?
“I understand,” Viktor said. The words sounded like they were coming from the end of a long tunnel, while Viktor himself was surrounded entirely by darkness.
Viktor made it all the way back to his dorm room before he crashed. The tears bowled him over like an ocean wave, and suddenly he was texting through his sobs, so distraught that he could barely see the phone buttons.
I think we should break up. I’m sorry, but I think it’s better this way.
Maybe he should have called Yuuri, but Viktor thought if he heard Yuuri’s voice, he’d never be able to go through with it. Texting was best. A clean break, like Yakov had advised.
The text was already sent by the time Viktor remembered that Yuuri was still flying right now. His phone was off. And Viktor’s breakup text would be the first thing he’d see when he landed.
Viktor barely made it to his bathroom before he was throwing up.
***
Viktor Nikiforov’s Manon short program took the figure skating world by storm. Although his free program was also impeccable, fans credited Manon with propelling him to second in the Grand Prix Final and fourth at Worlds in his debut year. Every time he skated it, he brought the audience – and at least one judge – to tears. His recently cut silver hair only added to the effect, announcing to the world that a new, more mature Viktor Nikiforov had arrived on the senior circuit.
Whenever journalists asked him questions about the program – about his initial inspiration, or his haircut, or the technical details of the choreography – Viktor always managed to avoid answering. His demurrals were always charming. They often gave the impression that he had answered. It was only later, when fans scoured the transcripts of his interviews, that they would realize he’d managed to talk for several minutes while saying nothing of any substance at all.
Over the years, Viktor became known as a charismatic enigma who could wriggle his way out of any journalistic corner with a wink and a laugh. It added to his aura of mystique.
That reputation only grew once rumors started circulating that Viktor refused to dance pas de deux – or indeed, any partnered dance – even in class. According to the rumors, Lilia very uncharacteristically wouldn’t press the issue, even if it meant Viktor ducked out of her classes for twenty minutes on “water breaks.”
Some people called him an eccentric genius for it; others called him a control freak who was too good to rely on anyone else, even in dance class.
Viktor didn’t mind the rumors, however vicious they became. They were better than the truth: that Viktor Nikiforov, Olympic gold medalist and World champion in figure skating, one of the most talented athletes of his generation, whose face appeared on billboards and whose smile never slipped – that Viktor Nikiforov – had fallen in love once in his life. And if Viktor couldn’t dance with him, then he wouldn’t dance with anyone at all.
It was a vow Viktor had made to himself when he was sixteen and heartbroken, alone in his dormitory after sending the cruelest text message he’d ever written in his life – the worst thing he’d ever done. Viktor had broken a lot of promises in his life through forgetfulness, or selfishness, or laziness, but this was one vow that he intended to keep.
And for the next twelve years, that was exactly what he did.