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“Really? What will we need to do?” He’s ready to take on any challenge to get the ice suitable for skating. After all, this ice won’t allow him to improve his skating, and he wants to be worth Viktor’s time. If he needs to work to make that happen, he’ll do it. He looks down at Viktor, jaw set firm in determination.

And then Viktor has to ruin the moment with a comment like… that. Yuuri blushes and looks away, trying not to think of Viktor holding and lifting him. This clinging (which is still going on) is almost too much as it is. “I don’t think this is how you pair skate,” he mumbles. Is this an exercise in making Yuuri more comfortable with Viktor? After all, he knows that he can’t be afraid of the man if he’s going to be coaching Yuuri. Still, Yuuri doesn’t know if this is the most… effective way of addressing that issue.

“Hmm...” A slight pause. “My favorite idea is that we find industrial strength hairdryers, and super long extension cords, and heat up the ice! Or we could carry buckets of water miles from the river...”

“Or you could find someone who knows heat magic.”

Viktor perked up at the sound of the other voice, peering around Yuuri without letting go. “Oh! Hello John!”

He answers with a stupid smile and an even stupider question. You’re not sure what it is, but this guy already grates on you.

VRISKA: Clearly, I don’t want to join you since I told you to stop waving your phone around like a douche8ag?

VRISKA: 8esides, my selfie game is totally superior, and I wouldn’t want you ruining my photos. 

“With looks like yours I’m sure every picture is a hit!” Not a hint of sarcasm, and even accompanied by a wink.

“Eh,” he starts, he is a little  surprised, but then again, this was Viktor, “this is why I said you couldn’t fend for yourself.” It’s a murmur, but clear enough to be heard.

“I guess I’ll have to help you find it, I don’t have room to let you sleep over…” not that he thinks Viktor would even want to.

He plops into the other chair, crossing his legs and leaning back, as he muddles over Viktors other question. What should they do now? It’s not as if they have a lot of options. They don’t have money, there’s no ice skating scene, and then there’s Yuuri… He has a job opportunity which helps his money situation, but he hasn’t the slightest clue what to do about the other issues. And he doesn’t really want to put on the act that says otherwise. He’s too tired to. Letting out a large sigh, Yuri decides to just get it over with.

“You want to figure out what to do next, but I have no fucking clue. I’ve been helping Yuuri practice but, you said it yourself, there’s little we can do on that shitty ice.”

Viktor just laughed at the other’s comment about him fending for himself. He thought he was doing pretty good for not having a place to sleep. Though he was dying to get into a clean pair of clothes and take a nice hot shower.

“We’ll have to fix the ice.” He started, rubbing his chin a little. “The man at the little hut said he might be able to help figure out how.”

“The skating community here doesn’t seem very large or well informed either, so I also started preliminary discussions with him about teaching the fundamentals. As well as putting on a few shows. We can entertain an audience without high level jumps–we just need music.”

All of that and this was only his second day here.

But then he reached the part that he hadn’t figured out–Yuuri.

“Well, why’d you even ask me if you’ve got it allll figured out,”  he starts, but then there’s the issue of Yuuri, and his eyes fall, “What good would it do? It won’t change anything.” He half grunts the words.

Yuuri wouldn’t believe them anyways, he thinks, shaking his head. If he were in that situation, he certainly wouldn’t. 

And he was right. Even if they told Yuuri, even if he believed them, what would it do? It wouldn’t bring back the time they lost. Would it boost his confidence? Or just stress him out further?

Viktor closed his eyes.

“Of course.” The words came without hesitation, without so much as a pause–even if they were hinted with a sort of sadness, the disheartenment of having to start again. It would hurt him to keep his distance, to continue being patient waiting for Yuuri to open up, but it didn’t seem like there was much other choice.

But then there’s that quick response, not even a breath, of course.  Yuri is relieved he won’t have to convince Viktor otherwise but it hurt a little, knowing Viktor would stand by Yuuri no matter what. And then comes the joke. Sure he’d said Viktor wasn’t his coach, but to put it like that…and bring up Yakov. He puts on a smirk but his chest tightens. He knows Viktor means well, and he hadn’t exactly set himself up for anything more than this. The fact that Viktor is even offering means a lot, though Yuri will never say so.

“Ha, I think you’re much better suited to mimic Yakov, if you’re hair thins out anymore I won’t be able to tell you two apart.” It’s not a nice comment, but he says it cheerfully, ignoring the ache that presses against his lungs, “besides, I do a much better Lilia,” he clears he throat, forcing his  voice into a stern, but higher register. 

“Vitya,” he starts with a shout, Viktors nickname rolling strangely off his tongue, “you think that was beautiful?! Or even good? Are you a figure skater or a mewling, kotyonok sliding blindly on the ice?" 

Viktor covered his head with his hands, feigning defeat, but smiling anyways.

He started genuinely laughing when Yuri did his impression of Lilia.

“Ahahaha, wow! You really do sound like her!” If Lilia and Yakov were here, they’d be losing their shit ten fold. But honestly, it would be a lie if Viktor said he didn’t miss the aggressive lectures.

“Well, I don’t expect to need critiques often.” A playful wink. It was a challenge. “But if I do, make sure to deliver just like that!” Another laugh, albeit lighter, followed by a sigh. He’d come back to skating--despite Yakov’s repeated threats of never letting him return--and gotten himself excited to get back into competition, but now he was stuck here.  He didn’t have many seasons left before he’d have to retire for real, and yet...

“When we get back they aren’t going to let us rest at all.” Another joke, but also an assurance--both to Yuri and himself--that they would get back.

nerdonice:

Yuuri is pretty sure that his coach inches closer to him, though he can’t really tell because his brain is preoccupied with the fact that Viktor Nikiforov is practically nuzzling his face in his waist. Viktor murmurs softly, sleepily, and Yuuri still doesn’t have the heart to pull away. The man had been shivering when Yuuri found him on the bench, after all, and Yuuri isn’t completely heartless.

“It’s a little after seven in the morning,” he replies, a note of concern in his voice. “You don’t have to stay with me while I skate. You can go home and get some rest. It’s fine.”

Seven. Then he was asleep for about four hours. He yawned again.

“No, no. Skating will warm he up.” He said, still refusing to release the other skater. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I was just trying to figure out how to maintain the ice.” A pause. “I could probably use some coffee though! But since I have no money, I’ll accept your warmth as an acceptable substitute.”

If Yuuri hadn’t spent all his money on dinner last night, he might have offered to buy coffee. As it is, however, he’s stuck being his coach’s personal space heater. “You’ve been trying to figure out maintaining the ice? When did you get here?” 

Honestly, it is cold out, and Viktor is warm. Yuuri looks down and sees the content look on the man’s face as he huddles against his student and blushes. It’s a good thing nobody is around. It’s also a good thing that he’s still feeling a little sleepy himself.

“I’m not sure.” He replied, looking up at the other but still not releasing him. He had an idea of when he got here, but didn’t want to cause Yuuri unnecessary stress by letting him know he’d been here all night. “I spoke to the hut man, though, and he said he might have some ideas!”

At Yuuri’s next comment, he laughed.

Yuuri is pretty sure that his coach inches closer to him, though he can’t really tell because his brain is preoccupied with the fact that Viktor Nikiforov is practically nuzzling his face in his waist. Viktor murmurs softly, sleepily, and Yuuri still doesn’t have the heart to pull away. The man had been shivering when Yuuri found him on the bench, after all, and Yuuri isn’t completely heartless.

“It’s a little after seven in the morning,” he replies, a note of concern in his voice. “You don’t have to stay with me while I skate. You can go home and get some rest. It’s fine.”

Seven. Then he was asleep for about four hours. He yawned again.

@dorkonice

You’re just walking along like you do, trying to find something interesting that’s happening. Honestly, the only rumor you’ve heard lately is that there are humans ice skating and doing tricks or whatever, and while that may impress some people, you’re not one of those people. For one thing, you have standards. Who cares if someone can jump around on a frozen pond to sappy piano music?

You wish that there were some areas of the town set on fire or fighting or FLARP campaigns or something like that. See, THAT sort of entertainment is interesting. Okay, so maybe two of the items of that list aren’t exactly intended for entertainment, but does that really matter?

So, that’s the kind of mood you’re in when you go for a nice walk and see some douchebag taking selfies. He has pretty hair and seems to know it, but your hair is obviously nicer. Has this guy seen your hair flips? If you’re being honest there’s just something about his face that makes you want to punch him.

VRISKA: Hey, loser! Stop waving that camera around like a douche8ag!

You wonder if you should have just gone in for a punch since that would’ve made you feel the best, but yelling feels nice enough. It works.

“Oh?”

Was he being yelled at? He glanced around. There weren’t any other losers around with cameras, he guessed. 

“Hello!” He called in response, not actually sure what to make of this. She kind of reminded him of Yurio.

“Would you like to join me?”

A soft murmur emanates from the man, and Yuuri relaxes somewhat. He sounds happy to see Yuuri, his voice slurred with sleep as he pronounces the younger skater’s name.

And then, he wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist like some sort of very cuddly octopus.

Yuuri feels like he is on fire. And then, Viktor, cruel Viktor, jokes about waking him with a kiss, as if simply being so close to Yuuri is not enough to send the younger man’s heart into a frenzy. Why must Viktor tease him like this? Can he hear the pounding in Yuuri’s chest? What does it all mean; what does Viktor mean; why does Yuuri feel like this?

He’s afraid to be so close to Viktor, but at the same time, the reaction fills him with relief. He wants to pull away, but he also wants to return the gesture. He had spent so long worrying that Viktor was disappointed in him – though that possibility cannot be ruled out as of yet. Still, seeing the man curled up on the bench and vulnerable with sleep, clinging to Yuuri as if his life depends on it, lessens some of Yuuri’s anxiety, especially in contrast with last night.

“Are you okay?” he asks again. The more rational part of him says to pull away, but he doesn’t listen. Not yet. Viktor is warm and comfortable… [he banishes the thought]. “How long have you been sleeping here?”

“да”

The response was quiet, and Viktor made no signals of moving any time soon. He planned to stay as long as Yuuri would let him--and only partly because he was starting to feel his hands again.

“Hm... What time is it?” What time had he fallen asleep? His phone said 3am when he finally took his skates off and sat on the bench.

“Eh,” he starts, he is a little  surprised, but then again, this was Viktor, “this is why I said you couldn’t fend for yourself.” It’s a murmur, but clear enough to be heard.

“I guess I’ll have to help you find it, I don’t have room to let you sleep over…” not that he thinks Viktor would even want to.

He plops into the other chair, crossing his legs and leaning back, as he muddles over Viktors other question. What should they do now? It’s not as if they have a lot of options. They don’t have money, there’s no ice skating scene, and then there’s Yuuri… He has a job opportunity which helps his money situation, but he hasn’t the slightest clue what to do about the other issues. And he doesn’t really want to put on the act that says otherwise. He’s too tired to. Letting out a large sigh, Yuri decides to just get it over with.

“You want to figure out what to do next, but I have no fucking clue. I’ve been helping Yuuri practice but, you said it yourself, there’s little we can do on that shitty ice.”

Viktor just laughed at the other’s comment about him fending for himself. He thought he was doing pretty good for not having a place to sleep. Though he was dying to get into a clean pair of clothes and take a nice hot shower.

“We’ll have to fix the ice.” He started, rubbing his chin a little. “The man at the little hut said he might be able to help figure out how.”

“The skating community here doesn’t seem very large or well informed either, so I also started preliminary discussions with him about teaching the fundamentals. As well as putting on a few shows. We can entertain an audience without high level jumps–we just need music.”

All of that and this was only his second day here.

But then he reached the part that he hadn’t figured out–Yuuri.

“Well, why’d you even ask me if you’ve got it allll figured out,”  he starts, but then there’s the issue of Yuuri, and his eyes fall, “What good would it do? It won’t change anything.” He half grunts the words.

Yuuri wouldn’t believe them anyways, he thinks, shaking his head. If he were in that situation, he certainly wouldn’t. 

And he was right. Even if they told Yuuri, even if he believed them, what would it do? It wouldn’t bring back the time they lost. Would it boost his confidence? Or just stress him out further?

Viktor closed his eyes.

“Of course.” The words came without hesitation, without so much as a pause--even if they were hinted with a sort of sadness, the disheartenment of having to start again. It would hurt him to keep his distance, to continue being patient waiting for Yuuri to open up, but it didn’t seem like there was much other choice.

“Eh,” he starts, he is a little  surprised, but then again, this was Viktor, “this is why I said you couldn’t fend for yourself.” It’s a murmur, but clear enough to be heard.

“I guess I’ll have to help you find it, I don’t have room to let you sleep over…” not that he thinks Viktor would even want to.

He plops into the other chair, crossing his legs and leaning back, as he muddles over Viktors other question. What should they do now? It’s not as if they have a lot of options. They don’t have money, there’s no ice skating scene, and then there’s Yuuri… He has a job opportunity which helps his money situation, but he hasn’t the slightest clue what to do about the other issues. And he doesn’t really want to put on the act that says otherwise. He’s too tired to. Letting out a large sigh, Yuri decides to just get it over with.

“You want to figure out what to do next, but I have no fucking clue. I’ve been helping Yuuri practice but, you said it yourself, there’s little we can do on that shitty ice.”

Viktor just laughed at the other’s comment about him fending for himself. He thought he was doing pretty good for not having a place to sleep. Though he was dying to get into a clean pair of clothes and take a nice hot shower.

“We’ll have to fix the ice.” He started, rubbing his chin a little. “The man at the little hut said he might be able to help figure out how.”

“The skating community here doesn’t seem very large or well informed either, so I also started preliminary discussions with him about teaching the fundamentals. As well as putting on a few shows. We can entertain an audience without high level jumps--we just need music.”

All of that and this was only his second day here.

But then he reached the part that he hadn’t figured out--Yuuri.

Yuri sets the bag of cat food on the counter before fetching the small bowl on the floor to fill. Pouring in a liberal amount, he answers Viktor’s first question, sure that it’s a jab at how poorly his living conditions appear.

“I think there are other places than this shit hole,” he responds tersely, motioning for Viktor to sit at the small dining table (the chair a little rickety but not uncomfortable), “Yuuri lives in a different area of town but I haven’t seen his place. We just meet at the rink.” He shrugs, but then the oddity of the question hits him. Unless Viktor lived in the same area?

“What does your place look like?” he asks, squinting doubtfully at Viktor.

Sure, they have other (perhaps more important) things to discuss. But he really wants to know if Viktor is living in his neighborhood. The thought of Viktor having to live in such run-down accommodations makes him smile. At least that way Viktor couldn’t give him shit about his home.

“My place?” A pause, followed by his happy-go-lucky grin. “I haven’t found it yet!”

He continued to glance around Yuri’s apartment, trying not to too blatantly hope that his living space wouldn’t be anything like it. Yuuri lived in a different part of the town, though, so that was a reassuring prospect. Unless all housing looked like this just in different locations.

@dorkonice

His stomach sinks with every step towards the rink, and he debates just turning around and going home. After all, Viktor probably won’t end up coming, what with the conclusion to their dinner last night. But then again, what if he does? Then Yuuri would be even more of a disappointment.

He keeps walking and notices the smooth expanse of white glowing beneath the first rays of early morning sunlight. There’s nobody around this early. Nobody around, including Viktor.

He sits down and tugs off his sneakers, surreptitiously stealing glances as if doing so will allow him to catch a glimpse of silver hair. But each time he notes only an expanse of lifeless snow and slush. 

        Of course he’s not coming. Of course.

There’s a bit of movement near a bench not too far from the rink. From here, it looks like a bundle of fluff. Yuuri blinks and notes the pile of fabric – but that’s a person, isn’t it? He shoves his sneakers back on without bothering to tie the laces and runs, just barely managing not to trip.

Viktor Nikiforov, star skater and world champion, lies curled on the bench, hands balled into fists. Makkachin rouses from sleep and sniffs at Yuuri’s pant leg as Yuuri looks down at his coach. The Russian skater shivers a little in his sleep. “Viktor?” Yuuri tentatively reaches out a hand, letting it hover above Viktor’s shoulder before finally giving his coach a gentle shake. “Viktor, are you okay?” 

“Hmm?”

The sleepy noise came in response to the sudden shift in the source of the warmth. When he felt something else touch him was when his eyes fluttered open.

For a moment he looked at Yuuri, registering where he was, how cold he was.

“Oh, I fell asleep...”

It was more to himself than to the other. As if it was a revelation.

“Yuuri~!”

Yep. He finally noticed who woke him up. And without hesitation, or the sense enough to stop himself, his arms wrap around the other skater’s waist, sliding up under his coat in search of warmth.

“Ah, you woke me from my frozen slumber~! Next time you should do it with a kiss!”

It hurts to watch the older skater, thoughts obviously racing, as he blinks back the tears. And Yuri almost wishes he hadn’t said anything. But he would have found out eventually, and being told by a comrade was probably for the best. Still Yuri can’t help the regret that pools. He had witnessed a new Viktor with Yuuri. A Viktor that was less selfish, that cared about something other than the ice and surprising people, a Viktor that had something to protect.

Would that Viktor disappear now, he wonders, would he revert back into the moping, cocky, self-centered skater he’d been back in Russia? If that happened….Yuri wasn’t sure if he would ever forgive himself. His chest tightens, and he clenches his fist, unable to look Viktor in the eye. He feels impossibly weak. He can’t help Viktor, and he can’t help Yuuri, and he can’t help himself.

Biting his lip he holds in tears of his own, refusing to cry when Viktor is the one who’s really hurting. But then a warmth envelops him and he nearly pushes away when he realizes it’s Viktor–Yuri’s face pressed into his chest. He takes a deep breath, settling himself, and (though his instincts scream for him to pull away) he reciprocates, squeezing hard.

Maybe he can’t fix anything, but he can at least be strong for them. He won’t let them fall. He’s made headway with Yuuri’s skating, and he can stand by Viktor, and try not to be such a brat all the time. (Though, he thinks, that will be up to Viktor.)

After a moment he pulls away, eyes still downcast, unsure of what to say. 

The embrace was just as much to ground himself as it was to reassure Yuri. In the least, both of them remembered. In the least, they didn’t feel the loss alone.

For a moment, even after contact was broken, they remained silent, lost in thought or simply unsure of what else to say.

Finally, though, Viktor speaks. A soft, sad smile accompanying his words.

It isn’t until they arrive at his door that he realizes the possible repercussions of bringing Viktor home with him. Sure, they had things to talk about, but his quarters aren’t anything to boast about, in fact being in the poor sector means his whole living space is pretty run down, the lights flicker, his bed isn’t much better than a cot. Basically it’s a shit hole. And he’s seen Viktor’s apartment back home, knows he’s use to…finer things.

But it’s too late, they’re already standing at the threshold, so he takes out his keys and (after a good deal of finagling) throws open the door.

He’s greeted by a soft series of mewls as his cat makes her way around his feet and he can’t help the soft smile that pulls against his lips.

“I’m home,” he manages to whisper before Makkachin comes hurtling through, nearly knocking Yuri over.

The two animals dart inside as Yuri turns, annoyed.

Viktor spent the walk silent, switching between observing the blond and becoming entrenched in his own thoughts.

He barely even noticed his surroundings until they stopped. When they did, though, and when Yuri made it clear this was where he lived, Viktor’s eyes widened. He hadn’t had a clear idea of what living arrangements looked like in this city, but this certainly wasn’t what he expected.

He had to forcibly wipe the dazed expression off of his face.

“Is this what all places here look like?” He asked, trying not to sound worried about his own abode.

When they finally walked in, neither the cat nor Yurio’s warmth towards it was surprising. It was refreshing, though.

‘Oh!” And there went Makkachin, excited to meet his new furry friend. The older man felt a bit bad for the cat, but at least he knew Makkachin wouldn’t hurt her.

“Of course, of course.” He reassured, making it a point not to question what there was to even break.

He moved to sit wherever was available and sighed.

Yuuri looks up and notices that he’s not the only one doing a poor job of eating. Is Viktor homesick, too? Is that why he’s acting odder than usual today?

There’s a strange vulnerability to Viktor as he rises, sad expression replacing his usual smile. Yuuri stares. He’s never seen Viktor look so serious, and it worries him.

“W-wait!” He clumsily climbs to his feet. “Um… Are you okay to walk home by yourself? Since you’re not feeling well?”

“Don’t worry. I should be fine.” Barring the fact he still didn’t know where his apartment was. “Some fresh air may even help.”

“Thank you for the drinks~”

Yuuri is unamused at Viktor’s teasing. Back home, he had said cruel things on occasion, but today he seems especially difficult to handle for some reason, as if he’s pushing Yuuri on purpose. He adores Viktor, his long-time idol, but he’s finding that his patience is running out. And yet, he’s still too afraid to talk back to his coach; this fear is the only thing keeping his tongue in check.

“I’m good.” He attempts a polite smile as Viktor waves the dish in his face. Fortunately, the main course arrives soon after, along with Viktor’s second vodka, and Yuuri has to force himself to eat slowly to go along with his assertion that he’s not hungry. He turns his spoon over between his fingers. He had spent the past several weeks both longing for Viktor and hoping that he wouldn’t get stuck here. He skated these feelings in his first performance of Stammi Vicino the day Yurio found the ice rink. The loneliness and the loss poured through his being. Now that they’re both in Fuckoville (what a terrible name) together, he had hoped that their first meeting would go… differently.

Of course, he had hoped that his first meeting with Viktor at the Grand Prix Final would go differently. He’s known for a while that Viktor has his imperfections, but as he leans his cheek against his palm and swirls his spoon through the broth, the reality of meeting one’s idol further sets in. 

Still, Viktor had been happy to see him, and that had made his heart feel warm. He doesn’t actually want Viktor to go, regardless of his current annoyance with the man.

Viktor barely made progress on the app by the time his entree appeared. Though, of course, his drink was gone. The vodka followed in short order.

But he was struggling.

Yuuri was being stubborn and aloof and moody, and the coach kept finding his mind wandering back to his fears. Yuuri would tell him, wouldn’t he? If he’d found someone else. But he would also tell him if he was anxious about something. If it was an external factor causing his coldness.

Viktor fell silent, pushing the fish around his plate but not taking a bite. He told himself he just had to survive dinner and then he could make an excuse to bolt--to gather himself--but as time wore on he could feel his ability to keep this up weaken.

Finally he stood.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri. I’m suddenly not feeling well enough to eat.” At least it wasn’t a lie. “Feel free to take the leftovers to eat tomorrow. I’ll pay you back as soon as I get money.”

A sad smile.

“It’s not like that!” he whines, though apparently Viktor is intent on teasing him. He shouldn’t have mentioned modeling, he thinks. Is it really that weird that someone would want to draw him? Well, he supposes it is a bit strange; he still half-suspects that Neon is poking fun at him. 

Another sigh as Viktor orders another vodka. This drink, at least, is (finally) followed by a question about Yuuri’s ever-thinning wallet. The younger skater grimaces. “Uh… Enough for tonight, at least. I think.”

The waiter then brings their appetizer, which Yuuri pointedly avoids touching. Sure, he’s the one paying for it, but it’s the principle of the matter. He gingerly sips at his water, a strange contradiction of gratitude and affection and annoyance and frustration swirling in his chest.

“Oh, good, good! I wouldn’t want you to have to wash dishes to cover me~!”

The question being why the older skater wouldn’t wash dishes to cover himself.

It didn’t take much longer for the appetizer to arrive, but Yuuri blatantly ignored it. It might have been reassuring to know the other skater’s stubbornness at least hadn’t gone anywhere, but the pit in the Russian’s stomach didn’t make the thought of food very appealing anymore.

He nibbled at it regardless, but kept returning primarily to his whiskey.