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Growing up in Japan, and in an onsen in particular, means that Yuuri has never been particularly bothered by nudity. In fact, it hadn’t much occurred to him that people could see regular nudity in any other light until his time in college, where he was subjected to the many cultural shocks of living in the US.
To him, a body is just a body. Insecurities aside, it seemed silly to attribute one’s natural state to any particular taboo or action without reason.
Of course through puberty and into his life as an athlete in his prime condition, Yuuri found many situations in which nudity could be made something more. He had timidly listened to his peers giggling whispers, peeked through his fingers when all the boys gathered around at lunch to look through the dirty magazine someone smuggled into school. Even if he pretended not to notice what others his age were up to, it would be a lie to claim he wasn’t interested all the same.
Notable was the day he had bought the newest copy of a monthly figure skating magazine, a special issue focusing on his hero, Victor Nikiforov. The issue contained the first official photo shoot and interview since Victor had cut his hair. Yuuri had run all the way home, barely calling out a greeting while kicking off his shoes, and immediately secluded himself in his room.
The memory stands out stark in his mind, how he had unwrapped the cellophane and flipped straight to the feature interview. Victor had talked about changing his image, about growth, and wanting to show a new self. Yuuri had been wholly engrossed with the words as he was with everything Victor did and would continue to do for years to come.
He remembers turning the page to a full-spread of Victor modeling a taste of said “new image,” draped over a fainting couch with his hair tousled, a thin button-down blouse hanging open. Yuuri is sure his eyes must have been nearly popping out of his head as they tracked over his chest and abs, catching the trail of hair below his naval. His face had caught fire, then, and it was like the dirty magazines the boys in class had but more , somehow, because it was Victor Nikiforov and he didn’t know men could do that.
So, needless to say, Yuuri learned a thing or two about himself and what nudity could mean that day.
It did not, however, change that a bath didn't make it anywhere on his list of situations to note. The onsen is the same as always. People are respectful but not bashful, and their bodies leave his mind almost as fast as he can visually process them.
Or at least that’s how it should be. Unfortunately, Yuuri’s experience with the onsen had never included a very nude Victor Nikiforov standing full-frontal to him with a speech about coaching on falling on deaf ears. So, now that Yuuri is sharing his space with Victor Nikiforov , he’s been cursed to a slow torturous death by the man that constituted his bisexual awakening. Even the hot springs are a battleground these days.
Victor is unfairly gorgeous, lounging around in the standard old Yu-topia yukata and not much else, the smile of an angel adorning his face whilst the words that come out of his mouth are cruel punishment. Yuuri has never been so simultaneously frustrated and elated – it’s like falling in love with the ice all over again. Victor is both nothing and everything like he had imagined. The childhood idol, an unattainable dream, a persona of excess built purely off public knowledge, certainly. Incredibly whiny, childish, spoiled, and oblivious are simply adjectives now added to the list.
And Yuuri, well – he’s totally, utterly screwed.
It was one thing when Victor was just Victor Nikiforov . It was safe when he was too far to be real, when he had no negatives other than those found in tabloids. Learning that Victor talks with his mouth full, or that he has no concept of budgeting, or that he follows whims regardless of consequence has done nothing to ease Yuuri’s nerves. Like watching a car crash, Yuuri predictably has found himself liking Victor even more for his faults - of which there are many. Victor has proven himself to be so terrifyingly real these few weeks they’ve spent together. He and Yuuri have gotten along like a house on fire in a way he never could have imagined.
When he was little (and admittedly well into adulthood), Yuuri would fantasize about what it would be like to meet his idol. He’d imagine all the cliches, running into each other by accident, Victor recognizing him, standing on the podium together…but in all of these fantasies, Yuuri was always a better version of himself than the real him. He wasn’t an anxious crybaby; he was confident and could hold a conversation and charm Victor the way Victor charms everyone around him. Nothing like the social recluse of reality. Yet it’s that reality of Yuuri that Victor seems to like the company of, for whatever reason. Victor teases, he takes things too far, he doesn’t know how to apologize properly. He compliments Yuuri in ways that brook no argument, like he has no idea that the things he’s saying are rattling Yuuri’s entire worldview. He reaches for him, hand to shoulder, to chin, to hair, to waist. He elongates the vowel of Yuuri’s name like it’s his favorite sound, and Yuuri is so, so, so screwed.
It’s one thing to have an idol. Celebrity crushes are common enough. Even if Yuuri’s obsession with Victor Nikiforov is on the more extreme side of things, he’s always stayed well within the range of a regular fan – never going so far as to put himself on a pedestal by believing anything could ever come of it. Now, though, he has to bite his tongue and breathe through Victor teasing him about being lovers. He has to deal with being trapped under Victor’s liquor-heavy limbs after a night with Minako, dragging him up the inn stairs while a cold nose presses against his neck, whining complaints like a buzz in his ears.
One of the worst things is how earnest the man is. He’s determined to learn Japanese so he can properly communicate with Yuuri’s family – not just the basic phrases, but genuine conversation. He won’t hear any talk of just having Mari and Yuuri act as his interpreters. Yuuri is forced to listen to him wholly enchant his mom in Russian-accented kindergarten level Japanese in the mornings, asking her about breakfast, complimenting her, bragging about and criticizing Yuuri’s progress in turn. His mom loves it, constantly saying embarrassing things to Yuuri about keeping him around that luckily are too advanced for Victor to catch just yet.
Though he has a suspicion Mari might be translating some of those, if the smug looks Victor gets sometimes are anything to go by.
For the first time, selfishly, Yuuri doesn’t want anything to change. Of course he wants to do well for Victor, prove that his staying after Onsen on Ice was worth it, and show that he didn’t leave the ice for no reason. Simultaneously, Yuuri wants to freeze time on their morning runs along the coastline. Press rewind and relive the moment Victor skated up behind him and held him for just a moment as he fixed Yuuri’s posture. He doesn’t want to give Victor back to the world at all, even if it means never competing again.
Yuuri knows he’s always been selfish, making things hard on his family by following his love for skating all the way to the US just one of many examples. He wants to keep Victor by his side, hand-in-hand, in ways he knows can’t happen. There are moments he almost makes himself believe that Victor feels the same, when he leans in close to press their noses together and tease, a sparkle in his eye.
Nonetheless, time crawls it’s way forward. Competition season creeps up on them like dusk – or maybe more like dawn? For all his hopes, Yuuri is still lacking in confidence, and whether this will be the sunset of his career or a new beginning remains to be seen. Either way, he’ll have Victor by his side to see it through. It’s with that thought that he makes his decision, writing his seasonal theme announcement for JSF with sweaty palms. No matter what comes of it, from now on, he’ll call everything on the ice love.