#euseevius

The next time Viktor tunes in to hockey, Alyosha has sent him a string of exclamation points and a YouTube link. Viktor clicks it, mostly anticipating another mirror of the “Stay Close To Me” routine, but gets instead post-game footage of the Falconers as they celebrate winning the Stanley Cup. 

Congrats! Viktor types in Russian to his old friend. I’m proud of you! 

Not just that, you can see Zimmboni’s boyfriend, Alyosha insists. At 1:30, look!

Viktor goes to 1:30 and looks. And his heart leaps up at the sight of a diminutive blond man running out onto the ice, tackling Jack Zimmermann in a hug. Zimmermann spins him around for a moment, before the two of them settle, pause as if in discussion, and then – 

Viktor’s heart is in his throat. The camera has zoomed in on Zimmermann and his boyfriend, on the soft expressions on their faces once they pull back from their kiss. It had been hesitant at first, but then confident, loving, unafraid – and Viktor wants it, too. Wants it more than anything from the Japanese skater currently deep in some video game in the next room over. 

He hears a knock at the door and closes out of the video. Makkachin perks, as Yuuri slides the door open and smiles at him. Viktor’s heart stutters. 

“Wanna go for a walk?” Yuuri asks. It’s not quite dancing under the stars, but Viktor takes it. 

It all comes to a head at the Cup of China. The fears, the insecurities, the wishes – they all bubble out of Yuuri with his tears, with his broken, racked sobs that wrench at Viktor’s heart. He hadn’t meant what he said, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions anyway, so does it matter?

All he can do is hold Yuuri for a while, give him his hanky to wipe the tears and the snot away, and apologise. Yuuri says nothing to that, only turns around and says that it’s time.

Viktor’s heart leaps as Yuuri steps on the ice, as Yuuri presses a finger to his hair part, a teasing little hint of forgiveness. It flutters hard as Yuuri begins his programme, not even flinching in the face of technical imperfections.

It leaps into his throat when he falls on the quad flip, but there’s enough rotations in it, and if that’s not a sign of something new and beautiful, Viktor doesn’t know what is. 

Yuuri extends his hands to Viktor as he ends his routine to thunderous applause, and Viktor’s heart feels like it’s lodged against his jugular, shocked and amazed in equal measure as he looks out at the man who had shown him love and life in all of its forms. How does he even begin to repay such a debt? How can he surprise Yuuri more than Yuuri’s surprised him already?

A flash of ash blonde against his mind’s eye brings him to the memory of Jack Zimmermann and his boyfriend hugging and kissing on the ice. Viktor makes his choice. 

He runs.

And the rest is history.

“Jack, oh my god. Pinch me, I’ve got to be dreaming.”

Jack looks down at where his boyfriend Eric has pulled from his side, eyes wide as he stares at the TV in their living room. He recognises the look on Eric’s face; he’d worn that same expression when Beyonce had announced she was having twins.

Out on the ice, the cameras have zoomed in on Yuuri Katsuki and his coach, collapsed onto the ice in each other’s arms. They’re saying something to each other unheard by the roaring of the crowd, their eyes fixed on each other and only each other. Katsuki’s expression is soft, almost tender. Jack’s heart wrenches.

Eric’s fingers dig into his forearms. “Oh my god you know I thought he might have preferred men, but I didn’t – I never dreamed – my fifteen-year-old self is dying right about now, Jack. Holy shit.”

“He?” Jack echoes.

“Viktor Nikiforov! Oh my god, I had a poster of him next to the Bey posters, didn’t you see? He’s like… he’s like the Bad Bob of figure skating, okay? The Beyonce. A complete legend.”

“Oh, cousin JJ talks about him sometimes,” says Jack. Eric sends him a look that screams of ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were distantly connected to Viktor Nikiforov through your Terrible Cousin JJ, this is a betrayal of the highest order’. Jack chuckles at it anyway. 

“Still, good for Katsuki,” he says, turning back to the screen, where the scores are being announced. Yuuri Katsuki is still flushed and happy from the kiss, which is now being replayed over and over again as the commentator screams with joy, while next to him Viktor Nikiforov looks so proud that he’s bordering on smug. 

“Yeah, he bagged my fifteen-year-old celebrity crush and destroyed the fantasies of every other figure skating fan out there,” says Eric. “Though I’m honestly surprised it took him this long; GoldenSkate was saying there’s no way the two weren’t together after seeing his short programme.”

“Not just that,” Jack says, tugging his boyfriend closer again. “Didn’t you see what he was like during warm-ups? He’s come so far.”