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Chapter Text

First We Feast’s make-shift filming set, Papio Ice Arena (Fukuoka, Japan) – a late morning in July 2021

“Ok, extra bottles of milk, fans, antacid, cooling cloths…”

Viktor had started muttering distractedly to himself again, and Yuuri watched as Mila and Yura exchanged a grin. 

“Vitya, I think I should change my emergency contact. At this rate, you might pass out before I do, and then what will the production team do?” he teasingly asked his husband, who was sporting an uncharacteristically harried expression. 

Mila laughed at Viktor’s responding frown and Yuuri reached a conciliatory hand out to rub his tense shoulders (which were angled down on account of his rummaging around in the comically large duffel bag he’d brought to the rink). 

Given schedules, it had worked out best for the First We Feast filming crew to fly in to Fukuoka rather than make them travel to New York City again. As such, the Hot Ones Versus production team had erected a filming set in one of Papio’s largest, most air-conditioned conference rooms. They’d been apologetic that the taping had to overlap with Mila’s off-season visit, but she’d actually been delighted at the chance to tag along (and heckle).

“No making fun of me, my Yuuri, I’m allowed to worry,” Viktor fretted, sitting up to reveal the two poodle-themed bibs that he’d commissioned specifically for this taping. 

Both were printed with a cartoon-style poodle face clutching a chicken wing in between its slobbery jowls, and above each fluffy head it read: Bring It On, I’m Not Chicken! Yuuri’s bib had been designed to depict Makka, while Yura’s featured their two other poodles: their black standard poodle, Goya, and their white toy poodle, Meni.  

The Ice Tiger had already adamantly refused to wear his bib. Multiple times.

Yuuri, on the other hand, thought they were extremely cute. 

Not to mention, practical; during their own Hot Ones appearance, there had been a close call when his love had forgotten to heed Sean’s¹ warning and had almost rubbed his eye with a few sauce-coated fingers. So for today, Aasha – the show’s production coordinator – had been more than amenable to allowing them to use such accessories.

“I’m surprised to see you this nervous, Viktor-sensei. I thought the duffel bag was just a joke,” Kenjirou piped up, his eyes widening as he scanned over the contents that Viktor was now strewing all over the floor. “Is the spice level really supposed to be that bad? You seemed to do alright, even though you’d told Sean about your low tolerance.”

Yura chimed in, looking incredulous.

“What are you talking about, Kenjirou?” he demanded, with a wicked sort of glint in his eyes. “Have you forgotten about the part where he began deliriously singing Russian folk songs? Ones, I might add, that I’ve never even heard before?”

Yuuri barked an involuntary laugh at the mention of this incident, which had led to a substantial amount of fan commentary begging for it to become a permanent segment of the show. 

After the clip of his spouse’s stress-singing went viral, it seemed that the internet had become rather obsessed with the idea that in order to advance to take on ‘Da Bomb Beyond Insanity’, guests would be required to harmonize with Sean on a song of their mutual choosing. 

Yuuri was pretty sure that ninety percent of these pleas came from Phichit.

Before Viktor could offer his rebuttal, Mila cut in, clicking her nails against the multiple glasses of water and milk that Aasha had already set out.

“Let’s not get Vitya started on the subject of spice tolerance, da? ” she said, a bit darkly. “You should have seen him during breakfast, Kenjirou. He was reading from some gastrointestinal research journal…they published some rare instance where someone burned a hole through their stomach after consuming spicy food without a ramp-up, which got him all panicked.”

Yuuri clarified at Kenjirou’s look of morbid curiosity.

“That’s the key difference between this show and Hot Ones…for Hot Ones Versus you’re just thrown right into the hellfire, without the gradual build-up of multiple sauces,” he explained, his stomach twisting with nerves at the thought of what he’d agreed to endure. “That’s why he’s so worried…the two of us were both pretty out of it after our episode taping, so it’s a bit horrifying to imagine how much worse things could be.”

Truthfully, if this weren’t for such a good cause, he and Yura probably would have declined this filming offer. 

The past month had brought some of the worst flood damage in recent years to the island of Kyushu, and the production team had been able to work out a deal with his and Yura’s agents that for every 500 views the final video accumulated, First We Feast would contribute one dollar to local restoration efforts. He and Viktor had already made a sizable donation in each of the most heavily affected prefectures, but they were eager to help spread the word to non-Japanese audiences as well.

“Ok, we’re almost ready to get started, all,” Aasha called out, heading their way along with her assistant, Seamus.

The latter was an avid figure skating fan, and Yuuri had already giggled a bit over how he’d beelined right over to Kenjirou, Mila and Yura, only paying him and his husband a passing glance. 

Kenjirou – the 2019 Japanese National Champion, and this year’s silver medalist at Four Continents’ – seemed beside himself at the attention, flabbergasted that Seamus could be so taken with him when Yuuri was also present. And as for Yura and Mila, Seamus had been thrilled to get a picture with the reigning World Champions, gushing over the former’s world-record winning performance back in March (that had enabled him to beat Yuuri’s score from the prior year), as well as the latter’s history-making skate, which saw the most number of quads ever cleanly landed in the Women’s Division.

“Finally! The sooner we get started, the sooner this geezer can see that he’s worrying about nothing,” the Ice Tiger proclaimed, jerking his thumb at their coach.

Viktor was currently struggling to unfold an absurdly large fan depicting this year’s Men’s Singles medal ceremony at World’s.

The visual of Yura flanked by him and Phichit on either side wasn’t a bad one by any means, but Yuuri had never quite gotten used to Viktor’s insistence on getting his podium photos printed on things like fans, water bottles, keychains, and even their shower curtain at home. 

“Vitya seems to have fallen under the impression that no one actually cares for Yusha² and Yura’s well-being other than himself, because he decided to pack backup supplies for the backup supplies,” Mila teasingly observed.

His love immediately protested, but Aasha and Seamus piped up with reassurances; it seemed that they weren’t actually bothered by Viktor’s insistence on packing extra provisions since overprotective guests were something of a fixture during these tapings.

“Well, in any event…don’t try to be a hero, either of you,” Viktor muttered resignedly, beginning to fasten Yuuri’s bib. “There’s no shame in wanting to bow out, or in taking some medicine.”

Yuuri felt his skin begin to crawl with the thought of having to resort to taking some of the antacid that lay in between the numerous beverage glasses.

“And if either of you start to feel nauseous or dizzy, let Aasha or I know right away. Also, remember: we’ve stowed buckets under the table, just in case,” Seamus spoke up, pointing downwards.

Yuuri took a deep breath as his spouse began to vigorously fan their general vicinity. He inclined his head, beckoning Viktor to lean in. 

“Thank you for worrying about us, miliy moy³,” he murmured, before reaching out to close the fan with a definitive snap. “I’ll make sure to call for you if I need anything.” 

He then cupped Viktor’s cheek in his hand. “I promise,” he added as an afterthought.

His husband’s face immediately brightened and they moved in unison to meet each other’s lips. A few giggles broke out from the filming crew due to the PDA, but Yuuri tried his best to ignore the clamor in favor of soaking up Viktor’s reassuring touch.

“The same applies to you, you know,” he went on after leaning away.

He began fiddling with Viktor’s bangs when he tilted his head in confusion. 

“Don’t be a hero, I mean,” Yuuri clarified, lowering his voice a bit. “If you’re starting to freak out at the sidelines, don’t keep it to yourself. Tell Mila-chan at least.” 

His love looked a little embarrassed but nodded, then pressed another kiss to his lips. He didn’t immediately let go of him, though.

“Have you two lost your damn minds?” Yura spoke up, his eyebrows having shot halfway up his forehead. 

Kenjirou and Mila began to snicker.

“In case you both need a reminder, we’re not launching into space,” he continued on, sardonically. “The entire time, you two will be separated by ten feet. At the most. Plus, I’m the one you should be worried about, geezer. Unlike Katsudon, I never lived with a roommate who force-fed me the spiciest Thai food on the planet, so I haven’t built up the same kind of immunity he has.”

Yuuri grinned at this reference to Phichit’s desensitization assistance, and didn’t bother to hide his amusement when Viktor dove to hug Yura in revenge for his mockery. 

Eventually, they all received the thirty-second countdown from Aasha and got settled, ready to begin the episode’s standard intro. 

“Hey, Internet. I’m Yuri Plisetsky,” Yura began, crossing his arms in front of his chest in an unconvincing show of indifference. 

“And I’m Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, and today, we’re playing Hot Ones Versus. In front of us, we both have a stack of deeply personal questions,” Yuuri read off of the teleprompter, making sure not to slouch so that his bib would be visible.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Viktor give him a thumbs up.

“We can either tell the truth, or suffer the wrath of the Last Dab,” Yura picked up in a steely tone. “And whoever eats the most wings… loses.”

They’d both been watching Hot Ones Versus well before receiving this invite, so Yuuri knew that this was the moment in the final cut when the show’s iconic, adrenaline-fueling music would begin to play. 

No matter how many of these interview games he’d done over the years, it always felt a bit strange being on this side of the camera. This taping was one of several he and Yura had committed to as part of the standard press run ahead of next year’s Olympic Games, and given that he’d be retiring directly afterwards, Aasha had informed them that the questions would seek to play up their rivalry. 

His spouse had won the right to weigh in on the developed questions ahead of time, but naturally, hadn’t been allowed to hint at what would be asked in any way, shape, or form. 

Yuuri kept his eyes glued to the Last Dab bottle as it spun around, its landing position determining who would be in the hot seat first. He then breathed a sigh of relief, allowing himself a small smile when Yura’s groan of dissatisfaction seemed a good deal more prolonged (and louder) than it needed to be.

“And that’s already ten extra dollars in my pocket!” Mila gleefully called out, referring to the bet that she, Georgi, Sara, and Otabek were all in on. (He was pretty sure that Phichit, Leo, Seung-Gil and Guang-Hong were partaking as well, but they’d been far less vocal about their loyalties.)

“Why are you even here again?” Yura dryly lobbed back. “Katsudon gets his lovesick husband plus Kenjirou to fan him, mop his sweaty brow and generally fuss over his well-being, while you’re just…what? Here to heckle and wish for my downfall?”

As Yuuri suspected he would, Viktor took this opening to gasp, theatrically, throwing a hand to his forehead like a storybook maiden that had just heard an earnestly breathless confession of love.

“Yura, I never knew you wished for me to fuss over you!” he cried, swaying  a bit on his feet as if dizzied by the prospect. “And all this time, I believed you repulsed by my protective inclinations!”

The subsequent profanity-laden sentence from Yura would most definitely have to be bleeped out in the final cut, and Yuuri took a second to quiet his laughter before reaching for the first card in his pile.

“Ok, Yura, I believe in you. For round 1...” 

He read it silently to himself, fighting the urge to giggle; it was actually a good thing Mila was here, because she’d be able to assist him in calling Yura out if he tried to lie while answering.

“Before you left Russia to begin training here in Japan – a move that was catalyzed by your missing Viktor and I so very dearly once we’d left –” (Yuuri paused and grinned after Kenjirou whooped, delightedly) “– you were known as a little bit of a bully at Yubileyny, in particular towards the local hockey teams that occasionally rented out the ice. Describe the meanest thing you ever did to haze a fellow rinkmate or hockey player.”

A vivid memory of Yakov screaming his head off over a rather unfortunate hair dye incident floated to the forefront of Yuuri’s mind and he took a second to bask in the recollection. 

“Or…feel free to eat a death wing,” he firmly offered, gesturing at the trays laden with five juicy, glistening chicken wings positioned in front of each of them.

Given how smug Yura had been in the aftermath of the Sergei Hair Dye Incident, Yuuri was not expecting the hesitant countenance he was met with. Rather than launching directly into the story, his friend/rinkmate actually seemed torn around whether to answer, looking down at his tray of wings almost unblinkingly. 

His fingers began to drum upon the table haphazardly, and when he looked up at him, Yuuri could almost hear his warring thoughts. 

Interesting…did he actually feel guilty about it?

Perhaps it was Kenjirou that Yura was trying to save face in front of? 

Given Yakov’s retirement, the Ice Tiger had moved to Fukuoka and officially began training under Viktor in April 2020. One of the biggest surprises of his acclimatization to Papio Ice Arena had been the friendship he and Kenjirou had struck up. 

The latter being the hyper, starry-eyed, and somewhat naive person that he was, it had been oddly heartwarming to see their dynamic develop beyond the other’s initial wariness. Yura had certainly matured over the years, but he remained a bit rough around the edges and much more reserved than Kenjirou. 

At one point, Viktor had sagely remarked that their friendship was due to the fact that “each of them possesses something the other lacks and wants.” It had occurred during a FaceTime catch-up with Phichit, and Yuuri could distinctly remember his best friend quipping “well, that’s for sure…Yuri can pull off clashing animal prints in a way that Kenjirou could only dream of”.

Yura loudly exhaled then sat up straight. 

“Ok, so back in February 2017, there was a local hockey team that began renting the ice for the slot right after this geezer would “coach” his then-fiance,” he began, jerking his head in Viktor’s direction and making a big show of his air quotes. “Notice I used air quotes because 90 percent of the time he was flirting and hanging all over him and it was the most loose definition of coaching possible.”

Kenjirou gave a hysterical sort of giggle and then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. Feeling slightly defensive of his husband, Yuuri didn’t even have to think much about the words that left his lips.

“Vitya’s unorthodox methods worked, though, didn’t they?” he chimed in, not bothering to tone down his smugness. “Remind me, Yura: who was the gold medalist at the 2017 World Figure Skating Championships, again?”

Viktor and Aasha barked delighted-sounding laughs and out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri saw Mila whip her phone out. Presumably, to capture the flush that had begun to stain his opponent’s cheeks.

“Yeah, well…anyway,” Yura resumed in a grumble, doing a pretty poor job of masking his flusteredness. “Most of the players– ”

“It was Yuuri-senpai! Yuuri-senpai was the 2017 World’s title holder!” Kenjirou interrupted in a shout, very unnecessarily. 

Yuuri bit his lip to suppress the mirth bubbling up within him and made a concerted effort not to look over at Viktor.

“As I was saying!” the Ice Tiger huffed, shooting him a nasty look, as if he could read his mind. “Most of the players kept to themselves, and other than some very questionable tastes in cologne that we were subjected to in the break room and locker room, they were fine to be around. But then there was the team captain, Sergei…who just straight up sucked.”

Yuuri decided to adopt a neutral expression.

While he hadn’t been the biggest fan of Sergei, he’d also never known what to make of his love’s opinion that the man had had a crush on him. It was true that Sergei had sought him out for conversation more than a lot of Yubileyny’s other skaters, but he’d chalked this up to the fact that at that point, he had still been extremely new to Russia in general, and had probably seemed starved for friendly faces. 

And, if Madame Baranovskaya had shot laser beams out of her eyes whenever she was in Sergei’s general vicinity, Yuuri had suspected this was due to her distaste for hockey, and not anything to do with a sense of protectiveness over him.

“There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to explain all the assorted means of suckage, but it was sometime in May that I snapped,” Yura continued on, looking impressively impassive. “Sergei had the most douchey hairstyle by the way…this platinum blonde, dyed sort of swoopy-thing that was his entire personality, to the point he never stopped talking about it.”

“He’s not exaggerating,” Mila then called out, the cameras swiveling seamlessly the very next second to capture her in frame. “Like, it was the most inane drivel about how expensive his toner was, and how even though the upkeep was just sooo tedious, he felt “a duty” to maintain it because of how much his fans loved it. Vitya tore him to shreds one day in the break room because he mixed up his shampoo and conditioner products while monologuing.”

At this, Yuuri let a small peal of laughter escape his throat, remembering just how affronted Sergei had been by Viktor’s cross-examination. 

“Exactly, meaning that he really did have it coming,” Yura sharply announced. “Simple color theory: what do you get when you mix yellow and blue? The one-hundred-and-twenty-dollars that I spent on professional grade, tinted shampoo was fully worth it when Sergei’s signature blonde locks turned a vaguely seafoam shade of green. But not in a cool way.” 

Based on the explosion of sound that erupted on the sidelines, Yuuri guessed that the image that Mila was holding up for Aasha, Seamus, Viktor, and Kenjirou was visual proof of the aforementioned dye job.

“I can’t believe you still have that!” his spouse exclaimed, sounding overcome with joy (and also looking a bit like he was wiping tears from his eyes?). “I thought Yakov made you and Gosha swear to delete all of your pictures!”

Mila gave a shrug that basically equated to “honestly, Vitya, what was I supposed to do?”, and it was several minutes before enough quiet reigned on-set for them to move on to the second part of the round.

“Ok, Katsudon, I’d say ‘good luck’, but I think we both know I wouldn’t actually mean it,” Yura declared, picking up the first card in his pile. 

Yuuri attempted to swallow down his nerves and sat up straighter in his seat, hoping this first question would ease him into things rather than outright walloping him in the face. 

“I believe in you, luchik⁴!” Viktor cheered, spreading his arms wide with so much zeal that he almost decked Aasha in the face.

The good-natured production manager let out a tiny squawk of alarm, but on the plus side, Yuuri was now smiling.

“Thank you, Viten’ka,” he answered, feeling encouraged by Viktor’s constant faith in him.

He clasped his hands together, fiddling a bit with his wedding band. 

“Even after getting married, you’ve made no secret of your fan-boying tendencies when it comes to our coach– ” (he squinted, confused around how elated Yura looked while reading such words, when he could normally be counted on for some fake-retching) “ –specifically, your admiration for his distinct style when it comes to his skating costumes. While Viktor is known for some iconic program outfits, his looks have also been polarizing.”

Yura’s enunciation of the last word made his opinion clear: it was a rather mild descriptor. 

“With that said, pull up a picture of your least favorite of your husband’s costumes, and give us your first impressions of it. Or, you can scarf down a death wing,” Yura finished, triumphantly.

Yuuri’s jaw dropped in indignation.

“That’s such a mean thing to ask!” he hotly exclaimed, as the Ice Tiger began to cackle. “Don’t worry, Vitya, I’m not answering that!”

But rather than being appreciative of his restraint, Viktor looked rather disturbed.

“Love, you don’t have to eat a wing for something like this!” he cried, flapping his hands a bit and stepping forwards. “Don’t worry about my feelings, I think we can all agree that my Junior days were a disaster…there’s plenty of eyesores you could choose from!”

Yura made a noise of agreement that only served to make Yuuri dig his heels in even more. 

“Well, I strongly disagree,” he loudly countered, already able to imagine the slew of disgruntled comments this loyalty might generate. “Your costumes are bold and unique, every single one. It doesn’t feel right to make fun of them.”

Viktor made a sort of helpless-sounding noise, but with this fervent declaration hanging in the air, Yuuri snatched up a wing.  

And then just sort of looked at, his insides squirming in revolt.

“Awww, but Vitya even said he doesn’t mind!” Mila whined, sounding a bit put-out.

Yura’s commentary was much more incendiary.

“Come on, Katsudon. You’re being an absolute square,” he griped, though Yuuri thought he could detect a hint of admiration mixed in with his overall displeasure.

Knowing his anxiety would build the longer he allowed himself to get worked up, he braced himself for the trial before him and tore off a sizable chunk of meat. 

And, honestly? It wasn’t that bad. 

Yes, his lips were tingling uncomfortably, and it was definitely spicier than he preferred to make his own chicken wings, but it was nowhere near what he and his love had endured on Hot Ones. Then again, Yuuri knew he couldn’t afford to get cocky; the heat would surely continue to build, sneaking up on him when he least expected it.

He chewed steadily, and with Yura’s assertion that he was “a square” still ringing through his mind, he decided to troll a bit, amplifying his reaction in order to scare him. Just a little.

“Chikusho!”⁵ he fervently swore, reaching for a nearby glass of milk as though parched. 

He began to chug from it in earnest, noting with satisfaction that Yura looked a shade paler than just a few seconds prior. After a few noisy glugs, Yuuri slammed his glass down on the table and gave a heaving gasp.

“Agh! Wow, I was not prepared for that,” he choked out, proud of the authentic-sounding rasp he’d managed to weave into his dramatics. 

“Sweetheart? Do you need me to fan you?” Viktor called out, sounding stressed and ready to run over, no matter his answer.

A frisson of guilt licked up Yuuri’s spine for worrying him but before he could give it a second thought, Yura was leaning forward in his seat, his eyes wider than he’d ever seen them.

“It’s really that bad, even the first one?!” he questioned, dread reflecting palpably in his visage. “We’ve got four more rounds!”

Yuuri gave a raw, labored cough in response and shook his head a few times wordlessly, as if all capacity for speech had abandoned him. 

“I think you’ll…sorry, give me a second – ” (he cleared his throat obnoxiously loudly before continuing on in a grave tone) “ – I think you should mentally prepare yourself, Yura. After all, like you said, you’ve never – cough cough – benefited from Phichit’s desensitization training.” 

Yura sat back in his seat with a haunted sort of air, and Yuuri fought a shit-eating grin as he turned to face their spectators. 

Kenjirou was rocking back and forth on his heels like he didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing. Indeed, his kōhai had begun to fan himself, though based on the sort of distant, robotic way he was doing it, Yuuri guessed that he wasn’t even aware of his actions.

“It’s tough, but I think I can h-handle it,” he said, forcing his voice to quaver before catching Viktor’s eye. “Don’t worry, honey.”

His spouse gave a barely perceptible nod while wringing his hands and he turned back to his question pile, plucking the next one up for the start of Round 2.

Something karmic seemed to be happening, however, because a stinging sort of pain had crept in, making itself known on the tip of his tongue.

The print on his card swam in and out of focus. 

Shit. 

"You've got this, Yura, you're a soldier!" Viktor sing-songed, and Yuuri had to blink a few times through his blurred vision to see the exact way in which his rinkmate looked begrudgingly pleased at their coach's support.

“Round 2: you gave an interview last year where you said that your Notes app is one you use daily, jotting down random songs you like, inspiration for programs, and thoughts on your favorite video games and tv shows,” he read off, each subsequent word fanning the scorching flames in his mouth. “Read us the last entry in your Notes app.”

Mila’s response was swift, like she’d been waiting for this moment all of her life.

“Don’t worry, Yura, it can’t be anything worse than your rejected exhibition skate theme, a few years back!”

Perhaps for her own sense of self-preservation, Mila neglected to actually say the words ‘Yuri on Darkness’ aloud, but Yuuri was confident that she knew that they knew what she was referring to. Honestly, though much of the Viktor and Friends Chihoko drama had seemed like a fever dream – had reticent Seung-Gil really kissed Takeshi?! – he knew he’d always remember that bizarre list borne of Yura’s imagination.

In any event, the Ice Tiger’s reaction to Mila’s words was just as quick: two very enthusiastic birds flipped her way. 

“Please at least try to exercise restraint, Yura, your sponsors might watch this,” Viktor spoke up, in the dangerously silky tone of voice that Yura so often liked to mock.

The Ice Tiger glared at him but then reached for his phone, and only a few clicks and seconds later, his cheeks were flaming.

“I can’t read that,” he said through a tortured groan, which was accompanied by several jerky shakes of his head.

Yuuri’s curiosity mounted with each one, noting his strange shiftiness. He wasn’t making eye contact, and his gaze was glued to the wing he’d picked up. 

What could be so embarrassing, to make Yura act this way? 

End of Chapter 1

Footnotes:

1. For those unfamiliar with Hot Ones, ‘Sean’ refers to the host, Sean Evans, who is known for the considerable amount of research he puts into his interviews, which generally has him asking “deep cut” questions that thoroughly take his guests by surprise
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2. Viktor and their Russian friends refer to Yuuri with the diminutive ‘Yusha’, though Viktor also likes to call him the more affectionate ‘Yuranya’. Mila’s standard diminutive is Milasha (though Yuuri sometimes calls her Mila-chan), and Georgi’s standard diminutive is ‘Gosha’. They all generally call Yuri ‘Yura’, though if they want to annoy him, they’ll revert back to saying ‘Yurio’
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3. Romanized version of the Russian term of endearment translating to “my sweetheart” or “my darling”. This particular endearment is gendered male
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4. Romanized version of the Russian term of endearment translating to “sunbeam”. This particular endearment is also gendered male
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5. You have probably heard this common Japanese swear in anime. It’s basically only ever used out of frustration and translates to “damn it!” or “fuck!”
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Chapter Text

Yurio

First We Feast’s make-shift filming set, Papio Ice Arena (Fukuoka, Japan) – just before the end of Chapter 1

Shit! 

Shit, shit, shit.  

This and a number of other choice curses flitted through Yuri’s head as he gazed down at his Notes app. He’d completely forgotten about creating this entry only two days ago, typing furiously while Viktor had made suggestions. 

July 5, 2021 at 1:21 pm

Convincing Katsudon to be my head coach¹

• My skating goals, post-Olympics 
• list 3 or 4
• don’t want to overwhelm him
• need to demonstrate this goes beyond “I think you can help me grow”
• how these align with: 
• Katsudon’s assistant coaching plans/timeline
• Taku’s transition to handling other students 
• Mention I already talked to the geezer about it. Viktor was fucking elated
• says this would give him more time to devote to choreography commissions, his “true calling”
• his reaction, verbatim: “Yuuri would be a better head coach than I am in every single way that matters. You respect him, and he respects you”
• Note: if Katsudon starts looking all panicked over this, try to make him laugh by mentioning that Viktor wants the excuse to buy him more “coachly” designer suits (need to have a good definition ready for WTF “coachly” means)
• ISU credentialing process
• need to talk w/ Yakov to understand costs/timeline
• can JSF off-set costs if he is coaching a non-Japanese skater?
• Yakov, Lilia, and others willing to help liaise with the federation/smooth over any rough patches
• Yakov and Lilia also approve/willing to help 
• Lilia, verbatim: “Finally, someone actually capable of helping you imbue your skating with the nimble beauty of ballet” Note (2): If Katsudon needs another laugh, tell him about Lilia’s savage commentary on Viktor’s understanding of Vaganova
• Yakov, verbatim: “Yusha will be good for you. He is able to explain things in a way that is technical enough but also doesn’t simplify the things that can’t be put into words”
• Reasons he might say no
• his anxiety (duh > need to flesh things out with the geezer)
• worried Viktor would be upset (idiotic…re-iterate the old man is over-the-fucking-moon)
• afraid it would affect the friendship (???)
• potential stress of having to interact with the federation
• potential stress of having to handle sponsor stuff 

They’d been interrupted by a sponsorship call, so the list was incomplete and would probably end up being much longer once he’d talked to Yakov and a few others. But even aside from it being unfinished, there was no way that Yuri wanted to broach this topic in front of all these cameras. 

When the time actually came for him to make his case to Katsudon, he knew he’d be an awkward mess. The idea of it being captured on film was mortifying.

He began to shake his head and pocketed his phone, being sure to avoid eye contact with Yuuri lest the truth come spilling out.

“I can’t read that,” Yuri resignedly groaned, reaching for a wing.

It was actually a little annoying how hungry he was, because his appetite was screaming at him to gnaw it right down to the bones rather than to take a conservative bite or two. Then again, Katsudon’s animated reaction only a minute prior was still fresh in his mind.

Suddenly, all the “mind over matter” YouTube videos that he’d watched in preparation seemed inconsequential. 

“You’ll be great, Yuri-kun! Ganbatte!” Kenjirou called out, and Yuri experienced a moment of…well, perhaps not fondness, exactly. 

Rather, something like gratitude (?) when he remembered how Kenjirou had adamantly refused to take part in the bet that Mila had going with some of their other friends. 

He’d been sure that his rinkmate would come out on Yuuri’s side, but when Kenjirou had told him that he was rooting equally for each of them, Yuri would have been lying if he’d said he hadn’t felt a bit touched.

Raising the wing to his lips, he tore off a sizable bite of meat. He might have been apprehensive, but Yuri Plisetsky was not a coward. Any moment, now, he was expecting blistering flames to engulf his tongue.

Ten seconds in, his lips were stinging, but the instant punch of pain he’d been anticipating had failed to materialize. 

It was now clear that Katsudon’s reaction from earlier had been exaggerated because the sensation in his mouth actually reminded him of the birthday dinner Viktor had treated him to four months ago. 

His own hubris that night had led him to ignore Yuuri’s advice to avoid the Fire Squid platter, which was a dish whose heat steadily built over time as opposed to assaulting you immediately. On the way home, they’d had to stop at the grocery store for milk, and Katsudon had very graciously held back on any “I told you so’s”. 

“Annnnnd? How is it?” Yuuri questioned in a leading tone.

When Yuri met his eyes, he saw that his brow was raised in an obvious show of amusement. 

“You’re such a troll,” he bit out in reply between gritted teeth.

Katsudon laughed, though he thought he could detect a distinctly tortured edge to it.

…maybe another indication of the latent effects of the spice? 

Yuri actively had to resist the urge to reach for the milk as he picked up the next card in his pile. He’d requested that Aasha keep a tub of sour cream on standby, but would only turn to that if the milk didn’t seem to work.

Reading the card silently, Yuri almost laughed, but managed to keep his (smarting) lips clamped together.

“At this point in your career, you’ve participated in many off-season ice shows hosted by the world’s top skaters, including our geezer coach’s annual Viktor and Friends ice show, and your best friend Phichit’s Bangkok-based show over the 2019 off-season,” he read off, pausing to allow Yuuri to let out an admittedly endearing “hiiiii Phichit-kun!” for the cameras.  

“Name a skater whose ice show you’d refuse to participate in again,” he finished, unable to hide the smile creeping over his face at Yuuri’s dropped jaw, Kenjirou’s dramatic gasp, and the pointed whispering that began to travel around the room. 

He was tempted to advise Katsudon to close his mouth, because too much air circulation made the burning worse.

“How…how can I answer that?” he cried in reply, a bit despairingly. “I’m friends with every single person I’ve ever agreed to do a show for, I can’t just throw them under the bus!”

Yuri just shrugged, affecting a deliberately blasé disposition that he knew would irritate him.

“I guess that means you’ll just have to eat a wing, won’t you?” he replied, practically able to hear the stream of irate Japanese that a less diffident Yuuri might issue. 

In actuality, he already knew what Katsudon would answer if he felt empowered to speak freely. 

Last year, he, Viktor, Yuuri, and many others had made the grave mistake of participating in the Crispino twins’ Milan-based ice show, which, for all of its professionalism in front of the crowds, had ended up completely devolving behind the scenes. At his wits’ end over Sara and Mila’s PDA, Mickey had outrightly refused to join his sister for their pair skate just prior to intermission, meaning that Sara had had to improvise. She’d performed a beautiful yet disjointed solo and when she’d come barrelling through the backstage changing doors afterwards, it was clear that she’d had murder on the brain. 

The whole cast had to hear the Crispinos bellow at one another for the entirety of the show break. Understandably, Mila had been pissed for the remainder of their time in Italy, but enough time had passed by now that she was able to laugh about it.

Yuri turned to look at her, unsurprised to see that she was whispering back and forth to Viktor with all the subtlety of a freight train. He permitted himself to roll his eyes and faced Katsudon just in time to see him fervently swear – chikusho! – grab a wing and take an absurdly large bite. 

And then another.

The fuck?!?

“Do you have a death wish?” Yuri demanded, feeling a bit ill at the sight of his enthusiastic chomping. 

“I’m hungry,” Yuuri succinctly responded, staring at him intensely before casting a meaningful look in Viktor’s direction.

Yuri followed his gaze but then quickly squeezed his eyes shut; their coach looked vaguely turned on, like the horny idiot he was.

Yuri shook his head a few times to clear it of that cursed image. 

“For round 3, Yura,” Katsudon read off of the next card, before pausing. 

His eyes widened, and what came next was an inhuman sound, followed by extremely exaggerated breathing in through his mouth and out through his nose. Yuri could see that his eyes had turned glassy, a fact made obvious to everyone else on set when he whipped his glasses off to wipe at his face with his “Bring It On, I’m Not Chicken!” bib.

It was almost comical, how fast Viktor then proceeded to zip over. Suddenly, great gusts of air were enveloping them both as the old man brandished his ridiculously large fan with panicked vigor. 

“Don’t use your bib for that, Yusha,” he urged, and Yuri cringed, feeling a bit incredulous at how easily Viktor brought a napkin up to begin attending to his husband’s running nose.

(...was “true love” a disturbing willingness to attend to your partner’s bodily fluids?)

“Th-thanks, Vitya,” Katsudon thickly replied, in between sniffles. “The worst is – shit! – when you have to breathe out. The air on your t-tongue makes it…”

He didn’t manage to finish his sentence, but he didn’t have to. Yuri was becoming well acquainted with what he was getting at, and he, too, began to breathe in through his mouth and out through his nose.  

God-damn. 

And this was only after one wing!

“I think I’m getting a second wave,” he choked out, the scorching sensation around his gums amplifying alarmingly.

Viktor’s earlier advice to not be a hero echoed in his ears, and Yuri mentally told his pride to go to hell. He made a quick grab at the nearest glass of milk and began to chug unashamedly at the cooling balm. Though he distantly registered some pressure on his shoulder, it was only after several swallows that he was able to take in Mila’s hand on his shoulder.

“...–ra? You ok?” she asked, looking worried.

He blinked, not immediately able to parse her words.

O-K?

Was he ok? He honestly didn’t even know if he could recall the alphabet at the moment, so the jury was out on that even more consequential matter.

“Yeah…yeah, I guess so,” he mumbled, but was secretly glad when she chose to stay at his side instead of rejoining Kenjirou. 

Even though Yuri was pretty sure it wasn’t typically allowed, the camera crew didn’t say anything about her or Viktor remaining in frame. By this point, both he and Yuuri were breathing shallowly, and were somewhat composed enough to resume the game. 

“Ok, Yura, shortly after your World’s victory in Stockholm back in March, you and your best friend Otabek Altin made an appearance on the pod– ” (Katsudon paused, clearly struggling a bit) “ –on the podcast The Runthrough, hosted by retired American figure skaters Adam Rippon and Ashley Wagner.”

Yuri nodded.

His thoughts were a bit hazy but he could still remember what a good time he and Beka had had. He’d initially been nervous, unsure if he’d be able to keep up with Adam and Ashley’s legendary banter. However, when the co-hosts had easily agreed to allow Otabek to join in on the recording call, his anxiousness had given way to genuine excitement. Viktor had scolded him a bit afterwards for oversharing but he hadn’t been able to regret his candidness.

Yuuri was now grinning, and an irksome current of foreboding settled in his stomach at the sight.

“At one point, you made the claim that the official commentating in Ericsson Globe was some of the worst you’d ever heard, not necessarily due to any egregious oversights in technical or PCS evaluation, but because of the sheer number of mistakes when it came to correctly pronouncing competitor names.”

At this, Kenjirou didn’t bother to muffle his laughter, and he and Katsudon turned in unison to grin at him.

It had become an inside joke over the last few months. 

Many of Papio Ice Arena’s skaters and coaches had joined in on the game to come up with increasingly bizarre ways to pronounce ‘Minami Kenjirou’. Yuri’s personal favorite so far was Viktor’s suggestion of ‘Miniature Kangaroo’, mostly because Kenjirou perfectly embodied the spirit of a bouncy, upbeat marsupial.

“That being said, look directly into the camera and apologize to the commentators for your savage takedowns regarding their duties. Or, feel free to eat a death wing,” Yuuri went on, his voice colored by barely-suppressed laughter (and labored breathing).

Yuri didn’t even have to ponder the choice. 

Though his brain protested, his hand made a confident grab for a wing, and before he could psych himself out, he’d turned to face the camera and bitten off a sizable chunk. Clapping resounded from a few members of the production crew.

“I’m so proud, Yurotchka,” Mila murmured, with mock-tearfulness. “Look at you, defending Kangaroo’s honor.”

“How is it, Yura?” Viktor asked, looking torn between continuing to fan Katsudon versus leaping over to attend to him.

The answer was that in his eagerness to prove just how not sorry he was for what he’d said on the podcast, Yuri may have been a bit too zealous. His tastebuds seemed content to go along with his actions for all of three seconds before declaring war. 

"Gavno!² Fuck. FUCK!”

The curses were out of his mouth before he could really even give them any conscious thought, and he might have apologized to Aasha and Seamus for his increasing volume if his nose hadn’t chosen to start running like a faucet at that very moment. 

“Get me the sour cream, someone, anyone,” Yuri demanded while wadding up several napkins. 

Thanks to Mila’s proximity, he only had to wait a few seconds before a spoonful was being shoved at his face. He experienced a distinct moment of horror around what a thumbnail of this moment might look like to viewers, but the pain he was enduring rendered him unable to care about maintaining appearances. 

“Is it helping, Yura? Do you want Vitya to fan you more?” came Yuuri’s anxious voice.

“GAHHHHHH,” he answered, coherent speech failing him as he prepped another (more heaping) spoonful of sour cream. “I don’t understand, how can it be getting even worse with time?!”

Yuri wasn’t sure how many minutes (or spoonfuls) passed until he was able to gather himself, but when he “came to”, it was to the visual of Mila struggling to turn on a mini electric fan, Viktor pressing a damp cooling cloth to Katsudon’s forehead, and Kenjirou topping his milk off while pushing the next card into his hand. 

It was a bit unsettling, how solemn his typically bubbly friend/rinkmate looked. Yuri accepted the card from him with a nod and then tried to hype himself up to continue.

“Okay, mind over matter, mind over fucking matter!” he declared, eager to proceed so that they could get this torture show over with. “This one’s a wildcard.”

As soon as the word had left his lips, an airhorn blared 3 times somewhere on-set, and he and Yuuri nearly fell from their seats in shock.

“Chikusho!”

“As if your hearts aren’t beating quickly enough!”

Viktor and Yuuri’s frazzled voices overlapped for a few chaotic seconds, and Yuri took a moment to be grateful that he’d put his sour cream spoon down. He probably would have jabbed himself in the eye from shock, otherwise.

“For all that figure skating movies like Blades of Glory or The Cutting Edge have done to rouse interest in the sport, these films also leave much to be desired in terms of their banal titles,” he began to read, nodding his head in agreement. “Take turns with your opponent coming up with the most unhinged figure skating movie titles that you can. The first person to laugh must eat a death wing.”

“Oooooh!” 

This time, it was Mila and Kenjirou’s voices that overlapped.

Yuri was more preoccupied with Katsudon’s reaction, however. 

He was sure they wore matching expressions of skepticism, because while they were both pretty creative ordinarily, the delayed heat from the wings they’d already consumed was messing with their capacity for thought, and he wasn’t sure if anything that came out of his mouth would actually make sense.

“That sounds…difficult,” Yuuri commented, uneasily, startling a bit when Viktor began to clap.

“Like Yura said: mind over matter, mind over matter, my love!” their coach repeated, with forced cheer. 

Katsudon sort of looked like he wanted to pinch him.

“We’ll put thirty seconds on the clock. Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, you’re up first, and then Yuri Plisetsky will follow, ok?” Seamus announced. 

Yuri managed to nod though his thoughts were far away, scrambled in a search for topics that he suspected would make Yuuri laugh. Or, at the very least, make the geezer laugh, because Katsudon generally wasn’t able to keep a straight face if Viktor found something funny.

“Before we begin, I want to take this time to sincerely apologize, firstly, to any of my skating friends if I end up exploiting your quirks for comic fodder, and secondarily, for the ludicrous level of punning you’re about to witness,” Yuuri remarked, in a tone of complete seriousness.

Yuri snorted just before Aasha called out a 3 second countdown.

“Ok, you two: 3, 2, 1!”

“The Quad-father,” Katsudon blurted out, which…

Ok, Yuri’s lips did twitch, but he wasn’t anywhere near laughter.

Before he could offer a rebuttal, Yuuri’s face took on a pained visage and he proceeded to do a Don Corleone impression that he was certain would give everyone in their general vicinity a substantial dose of secondhand embarrassment for weeks to come.

“Look how they massacred my PCS,” Katsudon choked out, his eyebrows contorting in ”anguish”.

And that did it – Yuri (and several others) wheezed a laugh.

“No, that can’t count!” he protested, slamming his hands together. “It was his lousy Don Corleone imitation that made me laugh, not the title!”

“I’m afraid he’s right, that can’t count,” Aasha weighed in, though her broad grin suggested that she also appreciated the abysmal theatrics.

Yuuri pouted, but seemed mollified by the fact that Viktor and Mila’s shoulders were shaking with laughter.

The twist on such an iconic movie title had given Yuri an idea for his own take, so he was doubly glad to be able to go second.

“My turn. Gone with the Wind, subtitle: when you forget to retract your arms on a lutz and land on your ass,” he stated, the glow of triumph burning bright in his chest when Yuuri immediately giggled and clapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Good one, Yuri-kun.” 

“So tragic.”

Kenjirou and Viktor spoke at the same time, the former fighting giggles of his own and the latter speaking sarcastically (and with enough ambiguity that it wasn’t clear if he was referring to the fact that his husband had broken so soon, or that all-too-familiar phenomenon when one got the wind knocked out of themselves on a failed lutz). 

“YESSS!! Eat that wing, Katsudon!” Yuri taunted, feeling high on life and allowing himself a moment to bask in his victory.

Far from wallowing in defeat, Yuuri plucked up a wing as soon as his laughter had died down. 

“You won fair and square, Yura. Well done,” he graciously commented before accepting his fate.

His reaction to his third wing was anything but gracious, however.

“Oh, Godddd,” he groaned, wordlessly gesturing for Mila to hand over the electric fan. “Who seasoned these wings, the devil?! I officially think I’m overheating. Vitya, you’ll catch me if I pass out, right?”

It wasn’t clear if he realized the extent to which he’d begun slurring his words – indeed, ‘wings’ had come out sounding more like ‘wnnngs’ and ‘right’ had come out more like ‘rye’ – but the geezer immediately swore a promise to catch him, all the same.

“You should take your shirt off, Yuuri!” Mila suggested with a giggle, which caused Katsudon to face-palm and Viktor to immediately turn her way with a huff.

“Hey, now!” Viktor chided, the unspoken message plain as day: that’s my line!

“Well, someone had to say it. Does he really need two layers plus an undershirt?” she “innocently” questioned. “It’s summer! I’m just being practical.” 

Kenjirou guffawed and Yuuri revealed thin slivers of his reddened face between his fingers.

“Well…she has a point,” the old man mumbled, resignedly. “You might want to shed a layer, Yusha.”

And then, a bit more quietly, Yuri heard the latter half of his sentence, which sort of sounded like “...spectacular view of his arms, at least.”

Ugh. Why was he even surprised?

…

Viktor

After reminding Yuuri that his off-season tummy was adorable and certainly not anything to be ashamed of (a sacred duty he’d originally listed in his practice wedding vows before his then-fiance had threatened to call off the engagement), Viktor happily watched Yuuri shed his t-shirt, stripping down to his well-loved Detroit Skating Club tank-top. 

And could he really be blamed for being unable to hold back a small wolf-whistle at the sight of his husband’s curvy stomach and hips? Or, his toned arms? Or–

“Vitya!”

“Yes, my spicy, overheated cutlet?” he sing-songed in Russian, delighted at the fact that Yuuri appeared a bit more pleased than embarrassed at his ogling (the latter of which he realized he was in good company for; a quick glance around set revealed several flustered faces).   

“Just…can you get me another cooling cloth, please?” came Yuuri’s mumbled reply. 

He was all too happy to come to his love’s aid, and was soon pressing a fresh cloth to his sweaty forehead. Meanwhile, Mila tried to persuade Yura to wipe his face with his unused poodle bib, but the Ice Tiger grouchily refused.

“On to Round 4…we got this, Yura,” Yuuri firmly declared. “Last spring, you asked me to choreograph your gala exhibition skate for the most recent season, set to a song that came out before you were even born.” (Yura gave a very put-upon sigh at this light ribbing.) “This was the first time we collaborated on choreography so naturally, we didn’t see eye-to-eye on everything. Describe the biggest argument we had while working together.”

He gave a nervous laugh before looking his way and Viktor shot him a sympathy-laden glance, wishing he could pause things to ask him what he was thinking.

Assuming that all three of them would recall the same incident, he obviously knew how he, himself felt about the situation in retrospect, but the more important question was how did Yuuri feel about it? Specifically, how did his spouse feel about Yura’s perception of the aftermath? 

Personally, Viktor felt that the anecdote he had in mind was a wonderful testament to how his students’ relationship had evolved over time. Not to mention, it was an opportunity to shine some light on Yuuri’s skill as a choreographer: something that filled him with pride, considering how nervous Yuuri had been when he’d agreed to work with Yura in the first place. 

It hadn’t been his husband’s first time getting commissioned to develop a program for someone else, but it had been the first time he’d done so for someone he knew so well. Moreover, someone he saw everyday and had to train alongside.

Yura seemed to have grasped the emotional weight of the question because any trace of nonchalance had vanished from his face. He was suddenly sitting up straighter and regarding the cameras head-on, and when he spoke, his tone was devoid of any of the typical gruffness. 

“I think I first commissioned you in…June of last year, and then we had our, uhm, tension, shall we say, the next month?”

Yuuri nodded, his expression bearing no trace of his feelings. 

He had come so incredibly far over the years when it came to developing a more accurate picture of himself and his abilities, but Viktor had long since learned that his anxiety was something that would never go away. Loving Yuuri meant loving all of him, including his anxiety, and it was something that he’d had to impress upon Yura very seriously before he’d agreed to coach him. Viktor had known instinctively that if the two of them were going to successfully “share” his attention, it would be necessary for him as a coach to address this up front.

He’d certainly made a lot of mistakes³ over the last year when it came to juggling his skaters’ vastly different needs, but if there was one thing Viktor was proud of, it was the foundational work he’d done so that they could all start from a healthy dynamic.

“So, I won’t get into the reasons why, but Katsudon had already been having a bad week, anxiety-wise. We had around eighty percent of the choreography done, but the other twenty percent beginning with the tone shift at the bridge was giving us some trouble,” Yura went on, fidgeting a bit.

“Keep in mind that I was still pretty new to Papio. As in, my trial period took place in April 2020 and I began my official membership in May. I’m not really sure if it was more self-imposed or external, but I definitely felt a lot of pressure to show how well I was adjusting to a new training environment, and in my head, at least, that directly translated to coming up with the best programs of my career.”

He paused to flash the cameras a rueful smile and Viktor could almost predict what he’d say next.

“The Russian skating federation doesn’t take kindly to its athletes training at non-Russian institutions, so I wanted to be able to prove to them as well as to my sponsors that I was just as capable a skater training away from home as I was in Piter.”

Their eyes met and Viktor gave his student what he hoped was an encouraging smile. 

Yura slightly ducked his head, and he felt his heart pluck with fondness. 

For all of his bravado, the Ice Tiger was still so young, and prior to last year, he’d been shielded from the realities of federation politics, all thanks to Yakov and his expert publicists. As such, their first few months working together had posed a test to Viktor’s ability to reassure Yura that it was ok to feel out of sorts and unsure of himself. And, it had also forced him to be intentional in discerning the things that separated his two students in terms of needs and goals. 

“On that day itself, I think it was one of those situations where everything was already a bit shitty; we were both tired. And frustrated and hangry, too. And anyways…”

Yura paused, looking to Yuuri in an obvious search for permission (which was quickly granted). 

It was hard to know who Viktor wanted to comfort more in this moment; both Yuuri and Yura looked so out of sorts, clearly hesitant to display this level of vulnerability after the frivolity of everything they’d already taped.

“I made a joke…something dumb about how Viktor would achieve Official Geezer Status before we finished developing the program, and it ended up doing a number on his anxiety. I didn’t realize it at the time,” Yura continued, looking genuinely remorseful. 

“And I really didn't realize that Katsudon had taken me seriously, like, as a critique…as if I’d meant that he was taking too long or overthinking things. So it blindsided me when Viktor told me the next day that Katsudon had suggested to him that I give the piece to Taku to finish, or to find someone else entirely to work with,” he went on, before clearing his throat. “And to reiterate, his suggestion didn’t stem from a place of “oh, I’m pissed you said something thoughtless, you jerk” or anything. Instead, it was Yuuri’ own inner critic saying “I suck as a choreographer, this should have been done by now, and literally anyone else would be a better fit for the job.”

Viktor chimed in before he could stop himself. 

“Which is obviously not true!” he blurted out. “If you go and watch that program, you’d immediately see how talented Yusha is with choreography!”

He hadn’t intended to steal Yura’s thunder, but his love’s stony features made his chest ache. Viktor followed his outburst by swooping down to press a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek, his worry easing a bit at the small smile this elicited. 

Pretty soon, he was preening internally when Yuuri slung an arm around his waist to pull him close.

“Love you,” Viktor whispered, feeling smitten at the fact that his spouse wanted to feel his touch even when he was overheating.

“Love you too, Vitya,” Yuuri murmured, tightening his hold.

It said a lot about how charged the topic at hand was that Yura refrained from scoffing at their PDA

“I think that was one of the first times that I realized the true extent to which Katsudon’s anxiety sometimes distorts how he sees himself,” he resumed. “Like, ask anyone who saw me debut it at Skate America last year, and they’ll all tell you the same thing: that choreo is fucking brilliant and so well-suited to who I am as a performer. It’s my favorite thing I’ve ever skated, and even when it was unfinished, I knew it was exactly what I’d been envisioning.”

As he spoke, Yura proceeded to sound more and more passionate, flapping his arms in the way he tended to do when it came to the few select topics he felt strongly about (Potya and video games, mostly).

“We’d been friends for a few years, so I’d known that Katsudon’s perspective on his own talent could sometimes be skewed, but that was my first time really engaging with it when it came to my own career. And I didn’t know how to deal with it. I basically hounded him for, like, a solid week. And he fought me on it,” he continued, with a humorless laugh.

Viktor spied Kenjirou fervently nodding in his periphery, and remembered how Yura’s step to confide in the other man had been one of the first things that had helped solidify their friendship. After all, Yuuri had choreographed Kenjirou’s exhibition gala the prior year, so he’d been able to provide Yura with some perspective.

“I eventually told him that I was sorry for speaking carelessly and that no one else but him would be able to help me develop the program with the level of artistry that I wanted. To which Katsudon told me that I didn’t have to blow smoke up his ass. And that really genuinely pissed me off. Because anyone who knows me well will vouch: I don’t give out praise meaninglessly.” 

Yura stopped rather abruptly, suddenly looking a bit shy.

Viktor’s heart swelled in response and he itched to step over to hug him, too.

“Especially when it comes to people I respect. And I don’t even mean that just with regards to Katsudon as my choreographer, but as…”

Yura faltered and shot Yuuri a furtive glance, his eyes flitting between various spots on his face. For some reason, Viktor felt the need to hold his breath, and he wondered if Mila and Kenjirou had this same strange urge.

“...as my friend. As someone who deserves to believe in himself as much as others believe in him,” Yura finished, with surprising firmness.

Mila’s hushed awwww-ing was drowned out by Yuuri’s slightly croaky “Yura”. Any hesitation Viktor might have felt around embracing his other student vanished when the Ice Tiger cleared his throat just a touch too loudly.

Self-consciousness began to radiate off of him and Viktor rounded the table, closing the gap between them in two strides.

“Agh! Get off, geezer!” Yura yelped, nearly falling off of his seat in his effort not to succumb to his affection. “Enduring your hugs is more painful than scarfing down death wings!”

Boisterous laughter broke out on-set, and Viktor grinned, satisfied that he’d managed to diffuse any lingering feelings of awkwardness. 

“Yuuri…ah, Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, that is: no pressure to answer and we can definitely cut out anything you’re not comfortable with for the final cut but anything you want to add?” Seamus called out. “It sounds like this was a pretty pivotal moment in your friendship.”

When Viktor turned – not yet ready to relinquish his hold – his husband was in the middle of wiping his eyes. 

“I’ll keep it short because nobody's interested in witnessing my personal therapy session,” Yuuri replied, wearing a self-deprecating smile. “But to sum it up: yes, it was pivotal, and honestly, our relationship could have taken a hit if it hadn’t been for Yura being so doggedly determined to resolve things. And I mean not only trying to talk things through with me, but also really, truly trying to understand the way my anxiety warps things.”

He took a deep breath and their eyes met. 

“During my Detroit training days, I had some bad experiences with so-called “friends”...their impatience around my anxiety made me believe for way too long that I was too hard to love, and Vitya’s put in a lot of effort to help me unlearn that,” he went on.

There was an air of heartbreaking sincerity to the admission and Viktor began to bounce on his heels, impatiently; why couldn’t he have extendable limbs so he could hug both Yuuri and Yura at the same time?!

“And I’ve been so, so lucky that friends like Yura, Mila, and Kenjirou-kun have reinforced that I’m– ”

His love paused, clearly a bit overcome, and Mila’s throat-clearing indicated that she, too, had grown emotional. 

“ –have reinforced that I’m worth the effort,” Yuuri quietly finished, with a disarmingly soft smile.

Viktor instantly turned to gaze down at Yura, posing an urgent question.

“Yura, will you be ok if I let go of you? I think Yusha needs– ”

Yura’s response came in the form of a literal push, mid-query, that caused him to stumble a bit.

“For fuck’s sake, yes! Go hug him, please!” the Ice Tiger all but snarled. “And for any assholes getting ideas out there, my eyes are watering because of the spice, not anything else!”

Someone could have easily pointed out that Yura hadn’t had a bite of chicken in over five minutes, but they all seemed to be in silent agreement to keep their quips to themselves.

…

Living Room, Katsuki-Nikiforov Home (Fukuoka, Japan) – 2 hours later

“Oh my god…pleaseeeee, everybody, never ever let me eat chicken again,” Yuuri moaned, pressing his cheek to Viktor’s stomach.

Despite the fact that he’d been repeating some variation of this statement at twenty or so minute intervals over the last hour – could spice saturation lead to short-term memory loss? Viktor already had a few medical journals queued up on the subject – Mila and Yuuko still broke out into squawking laughter.

And, as had been the case beforehand, this clamor set Makka and Goya off in another spirited chorus of barking from their spots near Mari and Kenjirou’s feet.

Viktor smiled down at his slightly nauseous husband – whose head was in his lap – and continued to card his fingers through his hair. 

“You guys are so meannnn! Now I see the truth: Vitya’s the only one that cares about me,” Yuuri lamented, re-angling his face so that his words wouldn’t be as muffled. “Everyone else just revels in my suffering.”

The crack of manufactured emotion in his voice was pretty impressive to witness, but Viktor presumed that after 5 years of observing the myriad ways in which he had rubbed off on Yuuri, their friends had learned not to enable such dramatics.

“Funnily enough, I recall you making the same kind of plea after you and Vik-chan went on Hot Ones, and yet who was whining the following week? Who was telling all of Hasetsu that they were being deprived because their okaasan refused to make them oyakodon?” Mari drily questioned, pouring herself more iced tea.

Kenjirou (unsuccessfully) tried to disguise his laughing fit as a cough.

“Mari, have I told you lately that I think you’re a gem?” Mila questioned in between giggles, to which his sister-in-law smirked and clinked their glasses together.

“Nuh uhhhhhhh, Mari-neechan wants me dead so that she can have more oyakodon for herself,” Yuuri forlornly interjected, just before Yuuko piped up.

“Ok, but on a serious note, I still wish they’d allowed you all to bring more guests on set…I could have helped with the movie titles question, which might have turned the odds in your favor,” she wistfully remarked, with a poke at Yuuri’s leg.

It was at that moment that Yura re-entered the room, Meni following behind him and snuffling at his heels. 

“Don’t even start with that, Yuuko: Mila and Katsudon haven’t stopped punning since we left Papio,” he darkly announced, causing her to turn and brighten at his entry.

“Heyyy, there he is! The champion has graced us with his presence!” Yuuko joked, and Viktor allowed himself a laugh at Yura’s deliberately slow bowing (which was, presumably, due to a fear of moving too quickly and hurling).

The Ice Tiger’s narrow victory had come down to the very last question, as the two prior turns hadn’t required either of them to eat a wing. 

On the “friendship test” question to complete Round 4, Yuuri had correctly guessed that Yura’s favorite convenience store snack was maple-flavored Kit Kats, and on the first question of Round 5, Yura had managed to pay Viktor three non-superficial compliments with a surprising amount of sincerity. (Mila had made a very big deal of capturing her own personal footage of the latter, calling it a “historic moment” in Men’s Singles lore). 

This had just left a wildcard challenge, in which Yuuri and Yura were asked to perform off-ice skating jumps and ballet moves that he, Mila, and Kenjirou had to judge. Trust his two students to match each other trick for trick, which had necessitated a tie breaker in which Yura’s axel had justtttt beat out Yuuri’s, prompting his love to shed a fake tear and proclaim that “the student has become the master”. (And then, he’d shed several real ones and chugged a full glass of milk after ingesting a fourth wing.)

Yura seemed to have noticed Mari admiring his gleaming trophy, because he gingerly sat down next to her and pulled the absurdly realistic-looking chicken drumstick into his lap.

“It’s a more impressive award than some of my skating medals, to be honest,” he quipped, before letting his smile turn a bit goofy. “It certainly required just as much if not more mental toughness.”

“Here, here,” his love sleepily concurred, making Kenjirou and Yuuko laugh again.

Comfortable quiet descended upon the room as side conversations cropped up, and Viktor beamed, looking down at Yuuri and reflecting on the day so far. 

By all accounts, it had been a good one; Yura was in a pleasant mood due to his victory, neither he nor Yuuri seemed to be that physically ill – minus a bit of nausea – and best of all, Seamus and Aasha had told them after they’d wrapped that the First We Feast production team had decided to get a head start on getting out the word for the Kyushu flooding disaster relief fundraiser. Instead of waiting for the final video to be posted, they’d agreed to kick things off with a generous 5K donation. 

Yura suddenly came to stand in front of him, eyeing him intensely. 

“Geezer, you’ll let me sleep in tomorrow, right?” he asked, whispering so as not to disturb Yuuri’s dozing.

Viktor donned an angelic smile and Yura narrowed his eyes before he could even open his mouth.

“Now, what kind of coach would I be if I allowed for such leniency?” he sweetly responded, raising his hand from his spouse’s head to try and poke at him.

It was swatted away, immediately.

“I can’t believe you…I am gravely ill!” Yura huffed, causing Mari to splutter into her tea. 

“Awwww, but don’t you remember what you said earlier?” Viktor questioned, playing up the simpering edge in his voice. “Your last compliment to me was that you appreciate how I don’t go easy on you, and that I take you seriously both as a student and– ”

Yuuri suddenly shot up from his lap so fast that he and Yura yelped in unison. 

Viktor half-expected him to bound across the room in order to make it to the bathroom in time to vomit, but instead he turned to face the both of them with a clenched fist and an unnerving gleam in his eye. 

“There Will Be Blood!! Subtitle: what happens when you disobey your coach and bash your face against the rink boards during your very first competition together!⁴” 

End.

Footnotes:

1. Yurio wanting Yuuri to coach him, post-retirement, is a headcanon that I explore in the WIP series linked in the pre-notes. Though Viktor and Yuri make their coaching relationship work, I think the shared history between them would make things complicated. This is especially the case because I’ve set up my “Gold’s On The Inside…” fic-verse to focus on skating politics, corruption, and the Russian figure skating federation (FFKKR). As such, I’ve often thought Yuuri would be the better fit as a coach for Yurio
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2. Credit to this video for the info on the art of swearing in Russian. ‘Gavno’, essentially shit, if I’m understanding correctly, seems to be mid-tier in terms of swearing, in that it’s not really “PG” but it’s also not one of the more offensive things someone might hear you say
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3. After part 1 of my Olympics series wraps up, I’m hoping to write a one-shot set in that same fic-verse, taking place during the first season of Viktor simultaneously coaching Yuuri and Yuri (the 2020 off-season). I think it’d be fascinating to explore the ups and downs between the three of them, given that Yuuri and Yuri are such different skaters who, at that point, would have been at wildly different places in their careers
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4. This is a shameless plug to go check out my story revolving around the infamous “Oops, watch the nosebleed!” incident from episode 5. It takes place one year after Regionals, and focuses on Viktor writing a “fix-it” fic to atone for his failure to catch Yuuri that day. If you liked the crack-y flavor of this story, I think you’d enjoy that one too. I’m hoping to finish it soon!
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