Chapter Text
When Viktor woke in the pitch black of a northern European winter morning only hours later, the distant noises of the awakening city were strangely muted. In his bedroom, arctic winter reigned because he had left the door open when he had watched the fireworks.
He checked the time. Right. I set the alarm early because I wanted to go running. He rolled to the side and hugged the T-shirt that he kept in his bed to his chest, inhaling its musky scent and the residues of Yuuri’s aftershave. I didn’t miss this part of my training routine at all. Running is more fun when I can do it with Yuuri.
Somewhere near his ear, Makkachin made a high-pitched noise that hurt Viktor’s eardrums.
Groaning, Viktor pushed himself up. His head spun in protest. Maybe, I should have drunk only one glass of champagne. I’m getting old.
“Sorry, sorry, Makkachin,” he said. “Dog Daddy is just getting ready to take you on a very long walk.”
Tiny snowflakes were tumbling out of an anthracite sky that glowed orange towards the city centre, when Viktor and Makkachin stepped outside. The soft crunching of pristine snow and Makkachin’s excited panting were the only sounds as Viktor jogged along the Neva. The city was fast asleep under a blanket of white, drunk on celebrating the new year. In the distance, a lone car approached on the other side of the street, silent except for the soft crunching of the tyres grinding the snow.
As he neared Troitskiy Bridge, it struck him that the last time that he had taken this route in his running gear, he had thought there was no future for neither his career nor his heart. The thought bore down on him from the grey and glowing sky like a Nazgul mount in his current reading, sucking all strength out of him. As the lights of the bridge came into view, Viktor decided that he would not let this dishearten him. It was time to change the track.
By the time reached Admiralteysky, he was panting and sweating. Two weeks, and the little stamina he had gained by running with Yuuri seemed to have been a fluke. The yielding snow exacerbated the strain on his muscles, generating an exhaustion which he only felt after Yuuri had gone full eros on him but without the echo of his lust.
I really need to get fit again to fulfil the requirements of my training schedule. I will never keep up with Yuuri if I don’t go running more often.
He took the usual route along the main arm, past Hermitage, parks, and palaces magically dressed in white, the lights of the neighbouring islands blurred behind the snow that by now was falling in dense veils, soaking in the estranged familiarity of home. At Nikolai Palace, Viktor crossed the river to Vasilyevsky Island. There, he took a shortcut past the distinguished red-and-white university building, now orange in the feeble light—Viktor could not tell whether the construction was baroque or rococo or something entirely else—to the next bridge back to Petrogradsky since it had already taken him one hour to get here, feeling pathetic because of his poor physical condition.
He returned home, frozen and sweat-soaked at once, his shoulders and arms covered with powdery snow, ice crystals gluing his eyelashes together.
“Makkachin!” he panted, holding his side. “You look like the Ded Moroz of dogs!”
Makkachin panted and wagged his tail. Laughing, Viktor took a photo. Yuuri will love this.
“You like to be famous, huh?” Amused, Viktor squatted down and brushed the show off Makkachin’s red coat. “Let’s get this off before we go inside.”
In the lift, he checked his inbox. He had one text from Chris and two from Yuuri.
[Happy New Year, darling. I hope you and Yuuri had a sexy night.], Chris had texted and attached a selfie of him and his boyfriend from the Skating Federation of Switzerland, both puckering their lips.
Viktor unlocked his door, reading Yuuri’s messages. Before he could step inside, Makkachin had dashed ahead.
[Thanks for the video. I had toshikoshi soba with my family. Afterwards, I fell asleep thinking of the nights we’ve spent in my room. I’m looking forward to doing all the dirty things we’ve talked about yesterday,] Tasty Katsudon had texted. Attached was a selfie of Yuuri sprawled on his bed, wearing nothing but the bed sheet wrapped around his lower body. A seemingly shy smile played around his lips. Viktor whistled quietly. I miss you, too, Yuuri.
[Oh, and I hope you slept well. Please tell me how your meeting with Yakov went.]
[Naughty, Yuuri. You really know how to torture me. I got up early to go running in the snow—it was magical! I wish you would have seen it. Will seek out Yakov now. When you go to the rink, don’t be too naughty while I can’t watch you ;-)], Viktor texted back and attached the picture he had taken of Makkachin.
He tucked his phone away and slipped. Right before he slammed onto the tiles, he caught the chest of drawers that contained the shoes he wore more often than the collection in his bedroom. The movement had ripped the drawer out of the cupboard and sent sandals, sneakers, and slippers across the puddle that had formed in the hallway from residual snow in Makkachin’s fur and on Viktor’s clothes. Viktor commanded his dog to sit and fetched a towel.
“Does this please you, Makkachin?” He cooed as he gently rubbed Makkachin dry. “Or shall I give you a soap bath?”
Makkachin barked.
Viktor laughed. “Okay, I’ll bathe you later.”
Viktor took a long, hot shower and some selfies which he captioned “thinking of you, too” and sent them to Yuuri. After an extended stretching session in his studio, he dressed in chinos and a sweater and poured some milk and cereal into a bowl.
Armani still hasn’t responded to my request. I thought they would be more eager to work with me again. They must have heard about my comeback by now. Strange. At least, there was a new chapter of “Stay by my side, Viktor!” about their first New Year in St. Petersburg. Viktor decided to read it later and imagine Yuuri was here.
Next to his feet, Makkachin slobbered through his bowl of dog food.
“Want to see good old Yakov again?” Viktor asked.
Makkachin ignored him.
“Come now, Makkachin. You used to love him because he always had treats. Don’t you remember, you greedy scoundrel?”
Makkachin continued licking his bowl.
“Well.” Viktor finished his cereals. “I’ll take you with me whether you like it or not.”
Viktor’s phone buzzed. [Thanks for the shower photos. Can’t wait to shower with you. I’ll ask Yuuko to take some pictures of me skating Eros], Tasty Katsudon replied.
Viktor chuckled. [I’m looking forward to both. If you think of me again, I’d be happy to hear about it], he replied.
As the streets were in no condition for cycling and Viktor’s thirst for exercise was sated, he took the car. The snow was still falling in tiny flakes, heralding a period of arctic weather, but so densely that Viktor had to drive slowly. Eventually, he found himself behind a snowplough and followed the vehicle along the Kronverkskiy Strait that separated Petrogradsky from the smaller Zayachy Island.
Yubileyny Sports Club was on the southern tip of Petrogradsky on yet another branch of the Neva called Malaya. The sky was still far from brightening when Viktor pulled up in the car park next to Yakov’s old Volvo. He turned off the motor and took a deep breath.
I don’t feel like coming home at all. He gazed at the flat blue building that lurked in the dark near the river, memories of training sessions that had soaked the ice with the blood and sweat his career had been built upon, washed over him, clipping the wings he had grown over the past year. The last time he had been here he and Yakov had fought. How would he react when Viktor detailed out his plan?
He checked his phone. [Good luck. Don’t annoy Yakov too much. Thank you for the pictures. I want to go running with you in the snow soon], Tasty Katsudon had texted.
Warmth spread through Viktor, lighting up the darkness lurking on the edge of his mind. Smiling, he replied, [Have faith in my two decades experience of handling Yakov, Yuuri. We will go running in the snow together soon <3]
Still smiling, Viktor crossed the car park. With Yuuri’s love, he would not let the darkness hook its claws into him again.
At the entrance, a hooded figure nearly slammed the door into Viktor’s face.
“Sorry.” The hood was low in the person’s face, but the gruff voice was familiar. “Didn’t see you in the dark.”
“Good morning, Yurio,” Viktor replied. “Congratulations on becoming the new national champion.”
“Didn’t know you’re already back, geezer,” Yuri Plisetsky grunted, scowling up at Viktor. “I thought you and that pig were still skiing. Was Sapporo so boring?”
“Actually, Yuuri and I had a great time,” Viktor said, ignoring the insult. “But a relocation needs careful planning and I want Yuuri to settle in well before his next competition. How’s your training going? I’ve heard you were assigned to Europeans?”
Yurio grunted again. “Screw Europeans, I’m going to win Worlds and put your pig in his place!”
Viktor put on a non-committal smile. “Good luck trying. Now, excuse me. I must talk to Yakov.”
“I must go anyway.” Yurio grimaced. “My parents expect me home for some family breakfast bullshit. This fucking weather is not for bicycles.”
“If you wait for a few minutes, I could offer you a ride.”
Yurio’s emerald eyes flashed. “Spare me your fake generosity, Viktor! I’m not a child!”
“Right,” Viktor said. “You’re fourteen. That’s almost—”
“Almost sixteen, dumbass!”
Viktor put on a smile. “Ride safely, Yurio!” He raised his hand in farewell, then strode inside, wondering what kind of faces Yuri would pull at his back.
An unpleasant familiarity smothered his resolve as he crossed the foyer. The tiled floor, the lights, the blackboards on the left side with ads and events, and the smell of concrete and sweat-soaked skates immediately threw him back to the time before Yuuri—his era of desolation that had lasted a lifetime.
It won’t be like before because I will train together with Yuuri. I will no longer sell my body and soul to the ice.
As Viktor pushed open the door to the rink, he walked right into a world stuck in time.
Although it was a public holiday, several skaters were circling the ice. Yakov stood at his usual spot at the barrier, yelling orders at Georgi to repeat a quad Salchow. Viktor watched as Georgi took off, his rotation axis heavily tilted to the side. Georgi crashed onto the ice after three-and-a-half rotations and rolled onto his back, wailing.
Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Viktor approached his old mentor.
“Good morning, Yakov! How’s coaching going?”
“Georgi! Get up and do that quad again!” Yakov barked, his voice scattering off the far walls. His small eyes focused on Viktor. “Didn’t expect you to return from your honeymoon in Japan before Christmas.”
“You told me to return by New Year,” Viktor replied, trying to remain calm.
When Viktor was with Yuuri, it was easy to forget that there were two people in the whole skating world who resented him for his life choices. And unfortunately, they were both at his home rink.
Yakov’s gaze fell on Makkachin and eyes narrowed. “Where are your skates?”
“Actually, I came to ask you a favour,” Viktor said. “Can you spare a few minutes of your time, Yakov?”
“If you want advice on how to coach a student you share a bed with, Vitya, I can’t help you.”
Stay calm, Viktor reminded himself. He’s angry because you followed your heart when his marriage broke apart. He deserves sympathy.
“I need your help to get Yuuri enrolled in Yubileyny,” he said, smiling away his indignation. “I can’t send the invitation letter for his student visa and take care of the formalities myself because I’m not listed as a coach here. But you are.”
Yakov’s eyes narrowed. “If I do this, I expect you to acquire a coaching licence before the next season starts, Vitya,” he grunted. “Legally.”
“Sure,” Viktor said.
“And I will co-coach Yuuri. You’ve done a mediocre job so far. You won’t become a better coach when you don’t dedicate all your time to coaching.”
How rude! Yuuri broke my world record! Viktor put on a smile. “Thanks, Yakov. I’d appreciate your help with the paperwork. Yuuri needs the visa to be ready in five days. I brought all the required documents with me.”
At once Yakov’s face turned purple. “Five days? All administrative buildings will be closed for the next week!”
“I am aware of that,” Viktor replied. “Yuuri and I thought getting the invitation would be a quick thing. He has already booked the flight and all.”
A vein on Yakov’s temple bulged in a way Viktor was all-too familiar with. His voice reverberated in the rink when he yelled, “Then he must reschedule the flight!”
“That will be the least of the problem. I can coach Yuuri better when he’s here. With two competitions still ahead, he should move here as soon as possible.”
Yakov scowled. His gaze snapped to Georgi, who was scrambling to his feet after another fall. “Train your step sequence until I’m back. Then we go back to the basics!” He glared at Viktor. “Come with me, Vitya. If you weren’t so chaotic, you would have taken care of everything already.”
Viktor pouted. How should I have known that I need a licence to teach Yuuri here? I didn’t need one before. Russian bureaucracy is wild.
“Thanks, Yakov,” he said softly. “You’re the best.”
Yakov grunted. “And he must pay the regular fee.”
“Of course,” Viktor said and made a mental note to address the issue with whichever former sponsor would react to his request. “I owe you, Yakov. If you ever get sick and need someone to train your students, I’ll gladly help out.”
“Don’t push it too far, Vitya. Get this damn licence, then we’ll see if I’ll let you near my students.”
“Don’t worry, Yakov. Getting that licence will be cake.” Ignoring Yakov’s grunt, Viktor smiled. “Now, let’s talk about lining me up for Europeans and Worlds. I’ve heard the third of the three slots in the men’s category is still available.”
Yuuri reclined in his parents’ hot spring and closed his eyes as the scalding water loosened the knots in his muscles. Since his relocation in the middle of the season had just exhibited unexpected potential to become chaotic, he had gone to the rink although it was New Year’s Day. Focusing on skating for a few hours had distracted him from the void, which Viktor’s departure had torn and the uncertainty of the next few weeks.
Bathing was more fun while Viktor was here. I miss the long gazes, the awkward gazes, the flirting, the tender touches, the planning of evening activities, the yearning to ignore the onsen rules. And that one time when I allowed him to kiss me in here when it was late and we both were drunk on sake.
Heart heavy with longing, Yuuri reached for his phone and opened his messages. There was a tick mark under the images, which he had sent in the afternoon, indicating that Viktor had seen them. Viktor must be busy today.
He checked the time. It was half past two in St. Petersburg.
[I’m in the hot spring. Practice was good. Call me when you have time to talk,] Yuuri texted, then rested his head on his arms. Please don’t let me wait for too long. I miss talking to you.
This afternoon, Yuuri had confided in Yuuko about his visa issues. She had no advice for him but promised to help in setting up remote practice session if Yuuri was stuck in Hasetsu for longer.
A long-distance relationship is so exhausting! I wish getting a visa wasn’t so complicated, because then, we would be together now.
His phone buzzed. Yuuri jumped. Water sloshed and a few droplets sprayed onto the display where the word Vicchan was throbbing rhythmically. Fingers wet, Yuuri picked up.
“Hi, Yuuri!” Viktor waved through the display, his cheeks flushed. Yuuri wanted to bury his fingers in his windswept hair and revel in its silken feeling. Behind him were kitchen cupboards and a window. “Sorry for letting you wait, but on my way from the rink I had to find an open supermarket, which took a while. It’s a public holiday, most shops are closed until after Christmas.”
“Oh, it’s fine. I’ve just returned from practice.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Yes.”
“Good boy,” Viktor cooed as if Yuuri was a dog. Was he asking for it? The background changed as Viktor moved away from the kitchen and flopped onto the sofa. “I liked the photos from your training. You looked sexy in that red practice skirt.”
Yuuri’s cheeks went up in flames and he could not blame it on the hot spring. “Yuuko gave it to me for the photos. I like how it swished around while I was skating. She said I could keep it.”
“Cool! I would love to see you wear it when you skate Eros for me.”
His words warmed Yuuri from the inside as if the spring was not already hot enough. He vowed to wear it at the rink for Viktor. “What did Yakov say?”
Viktor beamed. “I have good and bad news!”
Instant panic took Yuuri’s breath away. He braced himself and asked, “Viktor, what does that mean?”
“That’s the good news. Yakov agreed on enrolling you in Yubileyny under the condition to co-coach you. He’ll use his contacts in Rusfed to accelerate the visa process.”
“But that’s good news!” Yuuri exclaimed. “How long will it take?”
“Only a few days.”
“So, then I don’t need to reschedule my flight?”
“Actually, that’s the bad news.”
Yuuri froze up.
“The government offices will be closed for the next week.”
“What?” Yuuri almost dropped the phone into the pool. “And you’re saying this only now?”
“Sorry, Yuuri!” Viktor scratched his neck. “I totally forgot that the week from New Year’s Day to Christmas is a public holiday.”
Groaning, Yuuri banged his head against the stone in front of him. I don’t want to be separated for one more week.
“Don’t worry, Yuuri,” Viktor chattered on. “With Yakov’s help, the entire process will be down to two or three days. We’ll be reunited long before Europeans.”
Let’s hope he’s right. “What did Yakov say about Europeans?” Yuuri asked.
“He said if I can come up with two new programmes by next week, he’ll make sure that I get the third spot.”
“Great!” Yuuri exclaimed. “Do you have some ideas already?”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about this on my way home.” Viktor winked. “It will be a surprise.”
He said it like it was a surprise for Yuuri alone. “You’re making me very excited, Viktor.”
Viktor flashed him one of his Viktor Nikiforov smiles that had been the air Yuuri breathed for twelve years. “That’s the idea.” The smile faded as a blush crept up his cheeks. “Have you thought of me again?”
“I…” Yuuri’s face turned even hotter. “A little since I entered the spring. But no naughty thoughts,” he spluttered. He sighed as he remembered something. “My mother told me to change the bedsheets, so… um…”
This is awkward. It was less awkward last night when we skyped!
“You could take my sheets,” Viktor said. “Your mother hasn’t changed these yet, right?”
“That’s a great idea!” Yuuri exclaimed. “I’ll bring them upstairs once I’m out of the bath.”
Viktor blushed a little more. “Okay. I—” He sniffed and jumped off the sofa. “My dinner! Yuuri! Let’s talk again later! I’ll call you! Be naughty!”
“Okay,” Yuuri said to his lock screen, a picture of him and Viktor skating at the Grand Prix Final gala. He left the hot spring and dressed. Chatter, the noises of clanking dishes, and the humming of the TV floated over from the restaurant. The kitchen door was closed. Yuuri slipped into the corridor with the private dining rooms and pushed open the shōji door to the old banquet room. The feeble light coming from the corridor, illuminated tatami flooring, empty shelves, a lone coffee table, a sofa and neatly made bed—items Yuuri had helped Viktor buy and assemble when he had just arrived here. His heart heavy, he headed to the bed.
It’s so strange to be in here without Viktor, Yuuri thought as he scooped up Viktor’s blanket and pillow. This room looks so sad without his things in here.
He inhaled the waning scent of summer meadows and sex that still hung in the sheets. Three days since they had said their goodbyes at Haneda, and Yuuri missed Viktor already a breathtaking amount. Yuuri cast one last gaze at the abandoned room and hurried to the staircase.
He had just put his foot on the first stair when the kitchen door banged open. In a flash of panic, Yuuri fled upstairs, tripped over the blanket that had come off in his arms, and crashed against the hard edges, his fall only cushioned by the down filling. He yelped.
“Yuuri?” Mari’s voice came from below. “What are you doing?”
His face hot, Yuuri scrambled to his feet. “I… um… just bringing fresh bedding to my room.”
Her eyes narrowed at the floral print of the bedsheets and at the green yukata he had donned. “Isn’t that Viktor’s?”
Yuuri turned as hot as a supernova. “It’s not what you think!” he yelled and fled upstairs.
Mari’s laughter followed him all the way to his room. “I will know when I hear you moan tonight!”
Mortified, Yuuri slammed his door shut. He dropped Viktor’s bedding on his bed and buried under it, inhaling the residuals of Viktor’s DNA with all his senses.
I don’t care what Mari thinks of me. She’s just being mean.
Yuuri closed his eyes, picturing what living in St. Petersburg would be like. What sleeping in Viktor’s bed would be like.
And that was when it struck him that he would live together with the figure skating legend Viktor Nikiforov, the man Yuuri had idolised to godhood for half his life.
And suddenly, he was glad that he had some more days to adjust to this notion.
“Stop!” Yakov’s gruff voice echoed through the rink. “Vitya, what was that?”
The ice crunched under the violent force of his blades digging in as Viktor stopped. He flung back his hair. “A quad Lutz.”
“That was almost a flip. Where was your outside edge, Vitya?”
Viktor eyed his coach, one hand at his hip, the other stroking his chin. In the two weeks since he had prepared Yuuri for Nationals, more pressing matters than practising jumps had occupied his mind. Has Yakov decided to make me suffer for making healthy decisions about my life for once? “I was leaning towards the outside edge, so…”
Yakov let out a long, low grunt. “Not enough. Every technical panel would give you an edge call for that disaster of a take-off! Did you do nothing but fool around in Japan?”
Exercising with Yuuri, ballet, ballroom dance, skating together, and demonstrating elements were not on the list of things Viktor would call ‘fooling around’. However, he had trained far below the intensity he would train if he had been competing. Many of these things he had done to keep Yuuri company and because he had been loath to let his strength and flexibility deteriorate. The quad Lutz had not been on the list of jumps Viktor had jumped often in the past nine months because Yuuri’s programmes did not include it.
Yuuri didn’t need gulag conditions to excel because his ambition and his love motivate him. As my love for him motivates me.
Viktor smiled.
“Repeat that jump and focus on your edge!”
This time, Viktor focused on his take-off edge and leaned towards his left side. “Don’t exaggerate!” Yakov barked, but Viktor was already in the air. His axis was off, but his repertoire of tricks to land a poorly executed jump saved him—adjust arm position, open the air position not too late, deep-knee landing, outbalance an unstable landing with the arms and make it look like a choreographic feature rather than flailing. The landing sent a jolt through his body, but he managed to swing back his free leg in an elegant arc. Using the residual momentum, he exited the jump with a sloppy twizzle.
“Hum,” Yakov said. “Even the quad Lutz of that Suisse skater you’re so fond of is better. To beat him in Bratislava, you need to jump with the quality that I used to see from you.”
It would be lovely if, for a change, Yakov would be satisfied with Viktor’s skating at least once. Even when Viktor had broken his own world record, his coach had found and called out some mistake and deemed it the fulcrum of Viktor’s shortcomings as a skater while Viktor had a whole list of other issues demanding improvement to agonise over.
“Then, I’ll exchange it for another quad,” Viktor replied. “It’s not as if I needed it for Europeans.”
“You want to change the composition?”
Viktor shrugged. “It’s a recycled programme. Of course, I’ll change the jumps. I was nineteen in that season; my skating has advanced.”
His coach grunted again. “Show me your other quads. I need to see how much overtime this is going to cost me.”
And so, Viktor demonstrated the quad toe, the quad Salchow, and the quad flip. Of course, they worked much better since he had demonstrated them numerous times for Yuuri. Yakov dismissed them all as if Viktor was a foolish junior who had just discovered the joy of jumping quads. He certainly was displeased about Viktor’s mid-season comeback and used every opportunity to remind Viktor of that.
“You’re in better shape than I expected, Vitya, but that’s not enough to make it to the podium,” Yakov remarked at the end of the session. “Of all of my students, I can only see Yuri on the podium.”
Huh? Is my skating that bad? “Don’t worry, Yakov. By the end of this month, I’ll have caught up.” Viktor winked. “I only need to get the hang of it again.”
“Vitya, why do you insist on returning unprepared mid-season? Wasn’t it enough I had to talk you out of Nationals?”
“If I wait until next season, I’ll drop too low in the world standings. Rusfed will send me to qualification competitions for which I won’t have time for when I’m also coaching.”
Yakov jabbed his finger at him. “You’re the Russian Hero! You need to drop out for more than one season to be sent to qualification competition again, Vitya!”
“Then regard it as a test of how well coaching and competing will work.”
Yakov let out a long, low grunt that Viktor translated as “as expected”. “Prepare for overtime. No making out with your boyfriend when he arrives.”
Yuuri and I will make out as much as we wish, Viktor thought. He smiled. “Sure,” he said. “Yuuri will put on his skates as soon as he has cured his jetlag.”
“What exactly did you practise in Japan?”
“Skating-wise, Yuuri’s programmes. But we also worked out together, did ballet, ballroom—”
“You taught Yuuri ballet?” Yakov barked.
“Of course not.” Viktor chuckled. “We’ve practised under Yuuri’s ballet instructor. Minako Okukawa.”
“What kind of ballet does she teach?”
“Classic ballet.”
“Well, that’s better than nothing,” Yakov remarked.
“Minako-sensei is a well-travelled former ballet dancer. She danced at the Bolshoi Ballet for some years. I think Lilia knows her.”
“Hum,” Yakov said. “Discuss ballet with Lilia. See that you get enough lessons. You need to stay flexible.”
Knowing Lilia, she would have a lot to say to the style which Viktor had adopted in Japan. He put on a smile. “Okay.”
Yakov’s eyes narrowed. He hated it when Viktor smiled unpleasant things off because he thought it was a display of arrogance. “Now to your programmes, Vitya. Your idea to recycle a routine you skated ten years ago is nonsense. Stick with your programmes from last season.”
A typical piece of Yakov advice. Viktor had learned how to deal with them. Take what’s useful and ignore the rest to protect your peace of mind. “Nah, that won’t hardly surprise the audience. Since I don’t have time to create two new programmes, I will use a refurbished version of an old fan favourite. That will also take the sting out of my fans’ resentment because they thought I’d retire.”
“Recycling is always a sign of poor imagination, Vitya. Do something new.”
Viktor pouted. “I choreographed four routines this season and two of those broke my world records!”
His coach groaned. “Since you met that Japanese skater, you only think with your dick, Vitya. This will stop when he’s here. Do you understand?”
Why does Yakov always have such a bad opinion of me? Some things really never change, huh? Viktor cast his coach another smile, hiding the familiar sting. “Give me two—no three days to come up with a new free programme. And then we’ll talk programmes and competitions again.”
His mentor facepalmed. “As always, you’re riding my last nerve, Vitya. Do as you please as long as you don’t disgrace yourself with a sloppy performance.”
Viktor cast Yakov a sweet smile. “I’d be happy to.”
His coach’s eyes narrowed. “I expect a new, passable free programme by the end of next week, Vitya. Or your comeback will happen next season!”
Back in the changing room, Viktor had a new message on his phone. But it was not from Yuuri.
[Dear Mr. Nikiforov, we are very sorry to inform you that currently all our offers for sponsorships are exhausted. We would be pleased to hear from you in the future. All the best, Amanda Benson, Marketing manager of Armani.]
Well, Viktor thought and dropped the phone on the bench. Looks like modelling together with Yuuri is out of the equation, then.
Viktor cycled downtown under a monotonous sky. He was used to Yakov being dissatisfied with his skating. He was used to Yakov not liking his ideas. And he was used to Yakov thinking him foolish, which was one of the last things Viktor associated with himself. As he pedalled through the eastern tip of Vasilyevsky Island, the familiar emptiness he had left behind nine months ago came crashing into his soul from the grey clouds above as if the latest message on his phone had opened the gates and allowed it back in.
But recycling an old programme was not Viktor’s only option. He could use one of the ideas which he had in mind for Yuuri’s next programmes and adjust it to his taste. It would cost him less time than coming up with something completely new in the chaos of getting back in shape and preparing his home for Yuuri’s arrival. The streets were clear and there was little traffic. It was one day before Christmas. An icy wind battered Viktor as he pedalled over the bridge to Admiralteysky, snaking its frozen fingers under his coat. There was more ice floating on the Neva than one week ago. Viktor took a photo and sent it to Yuuri with the text, [When you arrive, the river will be completely frozen.]
Like Yubileyny, Vaganova Academy was open on public holidays. Only a few tutors were around, but many dancers came to practice.
Piano music poured through the historic building from one of the higher floors. Viktor climbed the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the entrance hall, his body slowly tensing up. No time has passed in this place, either. And I want to be here even less than at the rink.
He heard the woman snap commands in a militaristic tone the moment he reached the first floor. Another thing that had not changed. He followed the stern voice and gently knocked at one of the wooden doors.
“Continue!” the woman snapped, then the thunder of heels on the parquet floor approached.
Viktor put on a smile. The door opened and the sour features of a stern, middle-aged woman in a pencil dress appeared in the gap. “You’re back.”
“Hi, Lilia,” Viktor said. “I came to resume my training under you.”
She eyed him up and down. “Did you bring your ballet shoes?”
“I’m here to make arrangements for private lessons for me and Yuuri.” Viktor handed her a sheet. “These are the times when we’re available.”
She studied the note, her lips pursed in disdain. People who did not know her would feel unwelcome when in truth, it was her neutral face. “I must check,” she told him. “I’ll tell you after this lesson.”
“Thank you, Lilia. You have my deepest gratitude.”
She snorted. “You can wait inside if you don’t distract my students.”
“I assure you I have no interest in distracting your students, Lilia,” Viktor replied and entered.
The dancers, a group of women and one man—all younger than Viktor—were dancing with a precision that indicated they were from Mariinsky Theatre. Who else would practise on a public holiday?
Viktor checked his phone. Tasty Katsudon had sent another series of pictures of him wearing Viktor’s yukata in bed, making his innocent face again. [Thinking of how I wrecked you in my bed. I had a lot of fun that night.]
Viktor’s mouth watered. [Wow! I like that you think of me so much. I’ll send you some photos of me once I’m home!] he texted back. Then he read Yuuri’s next message.
[I thought about the photos you sent me from your spare room. You don’t need to change anything in it for me. All I need is some space for my books and games.]
[I was thinking, I could buy furniture you like and paint the walls in your favourite colour. Maybe Japanese style? I want to make it my welcome gift,] Viktor texted back.
[Thank you, Viktor. This is very thoughtful of you. But I really like how the room looks. If you insist on making me a welcome gift, I would like a gaming chair. I never had one,] Tasty Katsudon replied.
A gaming chair! Of course! Viktor thought and googled recommendations for gaming chairs. Yuuri would get the best gaming chair Viktor could find.
His phone buzzed with another message. [Looking forward to your photos. There are so many things I want to try out with you.]
[Kinky things?]
[Yes.]
Viktor chuckled softly. He loved that doing kinky things with him turned Yuuri on. Viktor did not need his partner lusting after his body if he could have that. [Think of me as much as you like, my kinky katsudon, and time will fly by.]
“I’m teaching at the times you’re available,” Lilia told him with an impassionate face when the lesson was over. “Ask again at the end of the season. Until then, I will assign my assistant to you. He is available at these times. Tell him, I sent you to him.”
Mikhail. Viktor’s innards constricted. “Thank you, Lilia,” he said and left.
He found Mikhail in an empty practice room on the ground floor, bending his body back and forth at the barre. Viktor watched him absorbed in the exercise, his heart beating uncontrollably and his palms slick with cold sweat. He would have been content exercising in his studio at home for the final season of his career.
I’m doing this for Yuuri.
Viktor took a deep breath and knocked against the doorframe. It seemed to take an eternity until Mikhail stopped and his cold blue eyes focused at the door, a smile curling up the corner of his mouth. A shock ran through Viktor as if he had touched an electric fence.
“Vitya! What a pleasant surprise!”
“Hi, Mikhail,” Viktor replied.
Mikhail lifted his foot off the barre. When he crossed the room, Viktor felt exposed despite his thick coat. “I heard about your return, but I thought you planned your comeback for next season.”
“I came to resume private lessons. Lilia sent me. She said, you’d be available at the times my partner and I have a free timeslot in our practice schedule,” Viktor said curtly.
A small smile crossed Mikhail’s face. “So, that Marfusha you found finished your duet.”
“It has always been Yuuri. We’ll get married in April.” Viktor handed Mikhail the practice schedule.
“Why, congratulations,” Mikhail said softly. His eyes remained cold.
Viktor forced himself to smile, fighting the urge to bolt from the room. “Thank you.”
“I can teach you on Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays for one hour. What level is your Marfusha at?”
“Yuuri has been doing ballet since he was five. His flexibility and sense of balance are amazing,” Viktor said, smiling against Mikhail’s condescending tone.
“I will check his condition. When do you intend to start?”
“Once Yuuri has arrived.”
“Well,” again that smile, “see you then, I guess.”
When Viktor left the institute, he felt like he had just sold his soul. Who would have thought that I could feel even more miserable than when I was still active? He would not bring himself to send Yuuri any photos for the rest of the day. He had work to do, anyway.
As he pedalled upstream to Troitskiy Bridge, the idea for a new free programme formed in his mind.
Time to call Oksana.
“So, this is goodbye, then,” Yuuko said as Yuuri closed the zipper of his backpack. He had come to the rink to skate one last time. Earlier, he had said his farewells to Nishigori and the triplets. Only his oldest and closest friend was still here. “We all will miss you.”
“Viktor and I will return for holidays,” Yuuri said. That is unless he drags me on a city trip across Europe or to a Caribbean Island.
“But you two want to move here, once Viktor retires, right?”
“Yes,” Yuuri said. “That’s our plan, but… it’s still so far in the future.” In Barcelona, Viktor had told Yuuri that he had never been happier than in those eight months in Hasetsu. But so much could change over the next few years. They might stay in St. Petersburg because Viktor had acquired a taste in coaching. Or because Yuuri benefited from the advantages of training there. They might settle down at a place that was a compromise between the hot Kyushu and the cold St. Petersburg.
“Of course,” Yuuko said, her smile warm with compassion. “Settling into your new life as a couple right now is more important than planning a future after retirement.”
New life as a couple…
Viktor and Yuuri had been a couple for three months while still living in Yuuri’s parents’ house. But living in a place that belonged to them alone was only two days away…
Yuuri shrugged into his parka. “Let’s skype every few weeks, Yuu-chan. I don’t want to lose contact again. I promise I will tell you and Nishigori everything about my and Viktor’s life in St. Petersburg!”
Her eyes glazed over and her ponytail whipped as she jumped and clapped her hands. “I’d be happy to!” She threw herself into Yuuri’s arms. “I still can’t believe you’re moving in with Viktor Nikiforov! I’m so happy for you, Yuuri-kun!”
Yuuri yelped as she pressed her huge chest against him. I’m moving in with Viktor Nikiforov. The five-time world champion. The man I’ve been chasing since I was twelve. His mind was reeling. We’ll officially live together as a couple…
“Yuuri-kun?” Yuuko’s voice filtered through the blood roaring in his ears. She stepped back, her fingers curled around his arms. “Yuuri-kun, are you okay?”
“I… um… sure,” Yuuri spluttered, trying to control the sudden trembling.
The worry in her brown eyes told him more about his state-of-mind than he liked. Yuuko knew him too well. “I understand that moving in with your idol is a bit overwhelming, Yuuri-kun, but I’m sure it will be fine. You and Viktor can talk about everything, right?”
Feeling his cheeks heating, Yuuri nodded.
“I’m sure living in Russia will be easier than living in Detroit. You’ll have Viktor around to help you. And if you need relationship advice, you can call anytime.”
“Right,” Yuuri said. “Thank you, Yuu-chan.” Living as a couple surely had its own challenges. My parents said I should be prepared for fights... I hate fighting with Viktor. He jumped as his phone buzzed. “Sorry, I must check this,” he told his friend.
“Oh, don’t let me keep you!”
“It’s from Viktor,” Yuuri murmured as he checked the sender of the incoming message. I have a surprise for you ;-) Attached was a video. “He has started working on a new programme. Looks like he made a video about it.”
“Oh! Exciting!” Yuuko squealed and peered over his shoulder.
“Hi, Yuuri!” Viktor’s face was flushed and his hair was mussed up as he smiled into the camera. “When I returned from the rink, I showered and took a nap. And I was thinking what it would be like if you were here.”
“Oh my god! This is so cute!” Yuuko screamed. “Yuuri-kun you’re so lucky because you have a boyfriend who sends you such sweet video messages!”
Yuuri’s cheeks glowed with pride.
“I thought that… we would hold each other and I would kiss you and caress you.”
“He misses you so much, Yuuri-kun!” Yuuko cried.
The view shifted as Viktor placed the phone somewhere next to him. And that was when Yuuri realised that Viktor was in bed. “Can you see what I’m doing, Yuuri?” Viktor inhaled sharply as his hand moved down his chest. “I hope you can see it because this is only because of you. I… oh, Yuuri!”
Then Yuuri saw where Viktor’s hand had gone. He screamed. Yuuko screamed. The phone clattered on the floor. “Yuuri, I’m imagining that you’re touching me. I still remember how it feels like when your tongue—”
“Yuuko! Don’t watch this! This isn’t what it looks like! Viktor is just being weird!” Yuuri yelled, waving his hands.
Yuuko giggled, both hands pressed to her mouth. “Oh, I know very well what this is, Yuuri-kun!”
On the floor, Viktor was moaning softly. “Oh, Yuuri!”
Hastily, Yuuri grabbed the phone. In his panic to turn off his phone, he hit the button that increased the volume until Viktor’s moans echoed in the changing room. He hit the next button, but only when his phone initiated a ringback, he realised his error.
“Sorry, Yuu-chan.” Mortified, he tucked his phone inside his parka. “He’s been sending me stuff like this all week. He—” He grew hot and cold at once. “I mean, not this! But videos! Of his home! Of the city! From practice!”
“It’s okay, Yuuri-kun.” Yuuko was fanning herself. “I know that you and Viktor must have been doing it since the Cup of China at least because of that one picture my daughters took of you in the shower.” She showed Yuuri her phone.
Yuuri stared at a picture of Viktor standing behind him in the Ice Castle shower and gasped. “When did Axel, Lutz, and Loop take this?”
“Oh, that was shortly before Nishigori and I decided to give you privacy during your evening sessions.” Giggling, she covered her mouth. “I kept it because Viktor has such a nice bum.”
“What? We didn’t have sex that night! Yuu-chan, you must believe me! Viktor was just hugging me, really!”
His friend giggled. “Oh, of course he was.”
“We only did it in the shower once you gave us—” He froze, realising what he had said. “I must go now!” He closed the zipper of his parka and flung the backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll call you once I’ve settled in.”
“Have a safe journey, Yuuri-kun!” she called after him, barely holding it together.
Yuuri was glad he would not return to Ice Castle for a long time.
Is it too early to move in together? he wondered as he walked home. A cold drizzle was drenching the town in the late-afternoon tristesse of winter, melting the snow that had fallen a few days ago. We send each other dirty photos and videos and we’ve spent so much time together when Viktor lived here. Is this enough for a life together? Should we have a long-distance relationship first?
Yuuri struggled to understand how it had come to this. What had happened to his decision to only take the next step when he felt ready to? Had he not been ready when he had confessed his love? Had he not been ready when he had seduced Viktor as himself, when he had proposed to him, when he had bought the rings? This morning when Yuuri had received an email from the Russian Embassy with his visa, he had been bursting with anticipation and pestered Japan Airlines to reschedule his flight to the next available date. Now, he wanted to cancel it and hide in his room forever.
Maybe it’s good that I will have a room to myself at Viktor’s place.
The sky had darkened when Yuuri finally arrived home. He had made a detour through the city to say goodbye to Minako, who had briefed him with a list of cases in which he should disobey his coach.
His room looked like a construction site with all the moving boxes and luggage. A set of clothes to bridge the time until his cargo arrived in St. Petersburg, his skating gear, and the few items he would put in his hand luggage, was all that was left to pack.
His mother had stacked piles of freshly laundered T-shirts, jeans, and underwear neatly next to each other on his bed. Yuuri packed his skates, then started stacking sweaters and jeans in a suitcase. When he went through his T-shirts, he paused.
Where is my ‘skate strong’ T-shirt?
Yuuri sifted through the pile of long-sleeved shirts in his suitcase, then through the pile of T-shirts in one of the boxes. No dark blue T-shirt with white katakana script, either. Confused, he searched his wardrobe. But it was neither between the pyjamas he had yet to pack nor in the pile of old and worn T-shirts he had used for workout before he had discovered functional wear.
Where else could it be?
Dread festering inside him, Yuuri bolted downstairs. “Mom!” he called as he burst into the kitchen. “Have you seen my ‘skate strong’ T-shirt?”
His mother looked up from chopping vegetables. “Yuuri!” she said. “I’m sorry. Wasn’t it in the laundry?”
Yuuri shook his head. “No.”
“Between your other clothes? Sometimes I mistake T-shirts for shirts with long arms.”
“No! Mom, please try to remember. I can’t go to Russia without it!”
His mother frowned. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen it last. I think it was before Barcelona. Did you take it there?”
“I did. But I’m sure, I threw it in the laundry when Viktor and I returned.”
Now that Yuuri thought of it, he was not so sure any more. Their last day in Barcelona had been crammed with gala, banquet, packing, and lots of make-up sex. The next morning, they had departed before breakfast. Panic took his breath away. Had he checked every drawer and every corner of their hotel room before the departure?
“Could Mari have it?” his mother asked.
“What?” Mari asked from the door, drawing on her cigarette.
“My ‘skate strong’ T-shirt,” Yuuri said.
His sister pursed her lips. “Why should I wear your clothes, Yuuri? Maybe your boyfriend took it.”
Yuuri shot her an exasperated glance. “Viktor is taller and more muscular than me. Why should he wear something that doesn’t even fit?” I must have forgotten it in Barcelona. I must call the hotel and ask if someone found it. But what if the next guest took it? What if the staff stole it?
The ground seemed to open under Yuuri. “I must check something!” he yelled and staggered back upstairs.
Twenty-one minutes and a discussion in broken English later, Yuuri’s nerve was on the verge of snapping. The staff of Hotel Barcelona Prince knew nothing of the whereabouts of his T-shirt and if Yuuri was honest with himself, he had not expected it to be still in Spain. Shaking, he hunkered down in the middle of the havoc he had wreaked on his clothes, hugging his legs, and fought the lump in his throat and the burn in his eyes.
It’s gone. I can’t believe it’s gone.
There was a soft knock at the door, then his mother entered. “Yuuri,” she said gently. She wove her way around moving boxes and tiptoed over clothes as she carried a tray with miso soup on his desk. “We’ll find your T-shirt. If you tell me where you bought it, I can check and buy you a new one.”
“That’s six years ago, Mom! They don’t make these anymore.”
“You could check on eBay.”
“No, Mom. I want mine.” Resting his chin on his knees, Yuuri sighed. “I think I need to accept that it’s gone.”
“Oh, my sweet boy. I’m so sorry. I don’t believe it’s gone. If I find it, I’ll send it to Russia via express mail.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She gently patted his head and left.
When she was gone, Yuuri hugged his legs tighter and squeezed his eyes shut. Why am I so sensitive? It’s just a stupid T-shirt. Other people have so many clothes that they dispose of them regularly. It wasn’t even a figure skating T-shirt or part of my Viktor merch. I’ve only bought it because the text motivated me.
A melodious chime from his laptop cut into his stupor. Yuuri rubbed his face. This must be Viktor. I shouldn’t let him see that I’ve been crying over a stupid T-shirt.
Taking a deep breath, he scrambled to his feet and wiped his tears away. Then, he stumbled over suitcases and boxes to his desk and accepted the call.
“Hi, Yuuri!” Viktor said, waving into the camera. Behind him was the blue backrest of his sofa and a part of his living room. He had blue paste smeared across his forehead. “Wasn’t it your turn to call?”
“Sorry,” Yuuri panted. “I’m still packing and my mother just brought some food.”
“But you tried to call me, a few hours ago.” Viktor’s eyes lit up. “Have you watched my video? How did you like it?”
The video! Over his distress Yuuri had totally forgotten about it. “I’ve only watched the beginning. I… was at the rink.” His cheeks heated as an image of his phone lying on the floor and Viktor jerking off on the screen flashed through his mind. “Yuuko was there. Um, what’s that smudge on your face?”
Viktor rubbed his forehead, smearing the blue paste across his brow and wrist. “Oh,” he said. “This must have happened when I tidied up earlier.”
This sounded so much like a typical Viktor-reply that Yuuri’s heart ached. He picked up his laptop and carried it to his bed. Halfway, through his room, he hit his toe on a sturdy moving box. “Ouch!”
“Yuuri, is everything really all right?”
“Just hit my toe.” Yuuri flopped on the bed. “Hi.”
And awkward silence followed. I cannot tell him that I want to stay here. This is just my mental weakness again. I’ve been looking forward to living in St. Petersburg for so long. I can’t chicken out just because I’ll board the plane to Russia in less than twelve hours.
“Is really everything all right, Yuuri? You look upset.”
Yuuri winced. “I said goodbye to the Nishigoris. It was weird. And I’ve still got so many things to pack.” His hands were sweaty. He still felt like he was falling apart. “It will be better once I’m on the plane. I promise!”
A familiar smile spread across Viktor’s face, enamoured and reassuring. “I miss you, too, Yuuri.”
Yuuri wanted to throw himself into Viktor’s arms. “What are you doing?” he asked before Viktor could ask more questions about his current state of mind.
“This morning, I went running again and I put the last of my moving boxes into the cellar. I was skating and made that video.” Viktor blushed a little. “I hope you’ll have the time to watch it in a quiet moment.”
“I will,” Yuuri said, still mortified because Yuuko had seen that. He would make sure he would be alone then.
“Tomorrow after practice, I’ll buy groceries and clean up. I’ve made space for you in my wardrobe and on my bookshelves. And I’ve sold all the clothes I wanted to get rid of. I want everything to be ready for you. Is there any food you want me to buy for you?”
Yuuri had no idea what the range of products in Russian groceries were like. “Um, just buy whatever you like.”
“We’ll go shopping together until the end of the week anyway. And, oh, your room is ready!” Viktor sprawled on the sofa, propping his head on one arm. His silver-blonde bangs fell into his face, veiling the blue smudge. “Now, tell me what you want to do when you arrive in St. Petersburg! We have so much to catch up on!”
“Right. Um…”
“Would you like putting on my yukata first?” Viktor winked. “In celebration of the final day of our long-distance relationship.”
Yuuri turned all hot. “My mother put it in the laundry. Sorry.” He was not sure if this was true. He had not seen the green yukata Viktor had grown so fond of in the chaos of his bedroom. If his mother had noticed Yuuri taking it, she had not commented on it. “But I can make room on the bed and take off my clothes. I, um, put lots of stuff onto it while I was packing.”
Viktor brought a finger to his lips, which curled in a mischievous smile. “Nah. Let’s bottle up our desire until you’re here.” He ran his hand down his side and moistened his lips. It was the exact gesture he had made in the video. Yuuri found him impossible.
When we live together, we can sleep with each other whenever we want. That won’t be enough to maintain a working relationship, but I really miss being close to him. “How much time do we have until we must start training, Viktor?”
“Yakov allowed me one day off. You can take your time to unpack and settle in. The practice schedule I’ve devised allows us to skip everything that’s not actual skating.”
“Actually,” Yuuri said, “I wouldn’t mind staying in bed for one day.”
“Hum,” Viktor drawled. “Then all my preparations for the ultimate guided tour of the Venice of the North would be for nought.”
“What?” Yuuri yelled. “You’ve planned a city tour for me?”
“Sure. I’ve been waiting to show you my city since we’ve met.”
“Really?”
Viktor nodded, smiling.
“Then let’s make the tour when I’m sore from staying in bed!”
“Okay. But I must warn you, Yuuri. St. Petersburg is a huge city.” Putting a finger to his lips in thought, Viktor rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Although you have more stamina than I do, you get sore so easily. What shall we do about this, Yuuri?”
“I don’t know. But dirty webcam talk won’t help.”
“Right. Let’s discuss this once you’re here. I want to make your first night in St. Petersburg unforgettable. Would you like me to tie you up with your tie to connect the familiar with the unfamiliar? Or we could swap places. I’ve always wanted to know―”
The idea of tyin Viktor with the tie he despised roused more desire than Yuuri was prepared for. Oh, how he wanted to show Viktor how dear that tie was to him!
“No ties,” he said despite himself. “I mean, not on my first night. I just want to feel you again.”
“Okay. Then we’ll reserve the tie for when you’re naughty, Yuuri.”
“Or when you are.”
“I’m not naughty.”
“I remember several occasions on which you overstepped lines as my coach.”
Viktor pouted. “You hurt me, Yuuri. You enjoy flirting at the rink.”
“I wasn’t talking about the flirting.”
“No? How did you mean it, then? You can tell me everything, Yuuri.”
“I’ll tell you when I’ve arrived,” Yuuri said. “And now, davai! Continue your chores, Viktor!”
Viktor chuckled. “I really can’t wait to have you by my side again, Yuuri. I could kiss the screen, but it would not respond, and Makkachin would think I’ve lost my mind.”
“I’m sure he already thought that when you masturbated in front of your webcam.”
Viktor chuckled again. “Have a good flight, my little piglet.”
“Goodbye, Viktor. I’ll write you during the stopovers. Good luck with your sponsor!”
When Yuuri shut his laptop, his mood had lightened. This whole relocation was still a nightmare, his favourite T-shirt had still vanished from the face of the earth, and the thought of living together still terrified him to the marrow. But the time he had to exist without the love of his life had shrunk to thirty-two hours.
Viktor leapt through his studio as the melody the string orchestra was playing turned from a dramatic mood to a lighter one. He had fled his cage. He had found life and love, and now that he had returned, he was strong enough to shake off the shackles of his past. This was not for the audience, this was for Yuuri. This time, the surprise would be that he would skate for nothing less than for the love of his life. He finished with a pirouette, arms aloft and stopped one hand above his heart, the other pointing to where the judges would sit if he were in a rink.
A rush of joy flared up inside him. That’s it! The first successful choreography I’ve created in these walls since my last season!
He had worked on his new programme day and night between skating and preparing his home for Yuuri. He had slept and eaten too little and drank an unhealthy dose of coffee, the familiar excitement and the obsessive drive to continue until the piece was complete keeping him in its enticing chokehold. How much had he feared he might have lost this regained skill on the plane from Japan!
He reached for the towel he had hung over the barre and patted the sweat off his face. He had not expected it to work, not with his past life haunting him.
I hope that tonight, this will change for good.
He needed to show Yakov this programme soon. But first, he needed to test it on the ice.
Viktor checked his phone. It was ten hours since Yuuri had boarded the plane in Haneda. Yuuri’s message had been short, which was a sign of nerves to which Viktor could relate as nine months ago he had been in the same place. His heart did a flip. In five hours, I will hold you in my arms again, Yuuri!
He donned his grey sweatpants, a grey hoodie, and his thick parka, then rode the two kilometres to the rink on his bike. He had one hour until he needed to undertake the final preparations for Yuuri’s arrival.
At this time of day, the rink was empty. Yurio’s private afternoon practice was just over and there was a time slot reserved for beginner courses, but they had not yet resumed training after the New Year’s break. Yakov was not there, either, which was a blessing when Viktor wanted to test an idea in solitude.
Viktor laced his skates and entered the fresh ice. He did a quick warm-up that would allow him to sketch the jumps. Then he activated the tune Oksana had composed within four days, and started to translate the results of three days of obsessive choreographing to the ice.
I wonder what’s her secret to writing a masterpiece within such a short time. People always say I’m a genius, but they wouldn’t say it with such reverence if my composer wasn’t a genius, too. No programme is complete without the right music.
A lone violin played a long, sad tune. Viktor rose from his kneeling position with an elegant sweep of his arm, then jerked both arms to the left as he glided sideways. The melody kept its slow, melancholic rhythm that perfectly matched the steps that Viktor had created in his studio. The smooth ice supported the expressions he wanted to portray in ways he had not foreseen. The feeling of seeing the first sunrays after a long dark northern winter stirred a song in his heart, a hymn to the kind of love he felt for the ice. Skating had not felt this way since—he could not tell when he had lost this feeling, and in a way, it bore the same reverence he felt for Yuuri.
Viktor set up his opening triple Axel—not a spectacular jump; he would keep the audience in suspense.
More string instruments joined the first violin, creating a eulogy to the life Viktor had left behind. The lines on the ice turned into the scars on his writhing, twisting heart as he bled pain and misery with every sweep of his arms and every stroke of his feet. Then, the tone changed to the life and love he associated with Yuuri as Viktor danced through the step sequence like a fairy on a clearing in—
“You suck, geezer!”
The ice screeched as Viktor stopped. “Hi, Yurio!” he called, lifting his hand in greeting to the boy who lurked behind the barrier, his fists stuffed into the pockets of his Team Russia jacket. A few strands of his golden hair spilt out of his hood. “Still here?”
Yurio scowled. “I worked out. What are you doing here? You don’t have the rink that late.”
“I had to test an idea and the rink was empty,” Viktor replied, one hand propped against his hip. In the background the music played on.
“Your ideas get lamer every year, Viktor. Don’t know why you think a comeback was a good idea.”
Viktor winced but covered it with an impassive smile. Yurio’s angry teenager phase came with the talent of finding people’s weak spots. If Viktor told him he was one of the reasons, he would not understand anyway. “I thought Agape taught you how difficult slow routines are. Maybe, when you get older you will understand.”
Yurio snorted. “Whatever. If Yakov sends you to Europeans, I will crush you in front of your Nikifans.”
Given Viktor’s current condition, this was a likely scenario. He put on a smile. “Good luck trying.”
Yurio’s eyes shot green daggers at Viktor. “Don’t think the judges still favour you,” he snarled, jabbing his finger at Viktor. “You’re old. Nothing will make them like you again, geezer.”
Viktor glided to the barrier. The music swelled as the string instruments set up the finale of the song. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Don’t underestimate the experience that comes with age.”
“Arrogant dumbass!” Yurio snarled. “I will make you regret your decision to become a part-time coach.” He spun and stalked to the exit as the string instruments finished the song with a majestic crescendo. With the slam of the door, Viktor’s mood eclipsed as reality hit him like a bludgeon. Not even the most genius choreography could save him from being thrown back into the same situation from which he had escaped one year ago.
Post-chapter scene
Viktor shrugged into his coat and snatched the leash from the key holder next to the door.
“Come, Makkachin! Let’s fetch Yuuri from the airport!”
As he turned, the poodle sat in the hallway, making no attempt to move.
“Yuuri,” Viktor repeated and walked over to Makkachin. “It’s been only two weeks. You can’t tell me you’ve forgotten him.” He hooked the leash into Makkachin’s collar. “Now, let’s go. We don’t want to let Yuuri wait, do we?”
Makkachin growled.
Confused, Viktor stared at his dog. “What’s wrong, you stupid little scoundrel? Don’t you want to see Yuuri again?” Gently, he pulled at the leash.
The growling grew louder. Makkachin snatched the leash and walked backwards.
“Makkachin!” Viktor scolded. “How rude! Didn’t I teach you to be a good dog―ah now I understand! You’re afraid that you must go into the crate again. Silly dog! There won’t be any planes for you anytime soon.”
It was getting late.
Head shaking, Viktor hurried to the bedroom and rummaged through the laundry basket.
“Here,” he said, offering Makkachin the T-shirt that was still imbued with a residual of Yuuri’s scent. “Yuuri. We’re going to fetch Yuuri. No crates for silly dogs.”
Wagging his tail, Makkachin sniffed at the fabric, then licked over it.
“Good dog,” Viktor cooed. “Now I must wash it because it smells of Yuuri and dog. What a fragrance you’ve created!” He stuffed the T-shirt into a pocket and then opened the door. With an excited squeal, Makkachin dashed through the gap.
Smiling, Viktor locked his door and followed Makkachin to the lift. In one hour, he and Yuuri would finally be reunited.