#yoi ff

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Yuri sat next to Yuko on the benches just outside the rink, his skates half laced up on his feet. In front of them was the rink TV, airing an interview with his idol, Viktor Nikiforov, who had just won the gold medal in the winter Olympics. Yuri had been in the middle of donning his skates, preparing to go out on the ice and practice his most recent routine when he’d seen Viktor’s face on TV and gotten distracted. Yuko had all but tackled him as she dove onto the bench next to him, her hand gripping his forearm tightly as they stared, transfixed, at the screen. Her grip was almost painful but Yuri barely even registered it, his undivided attention on Viktor.

    “Viktor Nikiforov, the youngest gold medalist in history, how do you feel?” The interviewer asked, pressing the microphone closer to Viktor’s mouth so his answer could be heard.

    Viktor smiled his infamous smile, causing the crowd to erupt into cheers around him. Yuri could feel his own heartbeat triple at the sight. It was the same smile he had in all the posters that donned Yuri’s wall. It was the same smile Yuri was used to looking at— used to looking up to. His heart soared in his chest. “I feel incredible!”

    People were coming in from all sides to congratulate him, gripping his hand, patting him on the back and whispering in his ear. Yuri tried not to imagine what it would be like to be one of those people— tried not to think about how much he would give to be able to meet Viktor in person. Viktor smiled politely the entire time, always turning his attention back to the interviewer. In between congratulations, the interviewer managed to squeeze in a few more questions and Viktor answered them thoroughly. Yuri watched, enraptured, the entire time, his breath held.

    After the very last question had been answered, the interviewer reached out to shake Viktor’s hand. Viktor raised his hand to meet him in the middle, giving the camera a good look at the black soul mark that covered the entirety of his right palm. It had been rumored that he had one for years, but he’d done a good job of keeping it hidden by constantly wearing gloves so nobody was ever certain if it were true. It seemed the thrill of winning gold has caused him to go temporarily lax, something Yuri could understand. With a sudden gasp, the interviewer grasped Viktor’s wrist, pulling his hand up to look at it.

    “A soul mark! The rumors are true!” He flipped Viktor’s hand so it was facing the camera, ignoring the blush that tainted Viktor’s cheeks. It was the first time Yuri could ever recall seeing Viktor look anything other than perfectly composed— and he had seen every single interview Viktor had ever done. The blush somehow suited him even more than his infamous smile and Yuri had to fight to not reach a hand towards the screen. He wished he could have a picture of Viktor looking exactly like that— wide eyes, pink cheeks and parted lips— to add to his wall. “Who’s the lucky person?”

    It took a moment for Viktor to regain his composure, but when he did, the smile rose back to his lips. Yuri wondered how it came to him so easily, how he could possibly be so self-assured all the time. But then again, he was Viktor Nikiforov— young as he may be, he was already a world champion and the heartthrob of the entire population. It was probably easy to be confident when he constantly had people dropping at his feet and bending over backwards just to spend even a fleeting moment with him.

    “Nobody, yet.” Viktor said, throwing a wink at the camera for good effect.

    The breath Yuri had unintentionally been holding whooshed out of him in a rush. He turned his head to Yuko only to find her beaming back at him, her eyes as wide as saucers. The interview continued on but Yuri wasn’t paying attention anymore. Yuko jumped up from her seat, gripping both of his hands in hers and yanking him up off the bench, completely ignoring his untied laces. Before she even said anything, Yuri could tell by her grin that she was thinking the same thing he was, even if it was a ridiculous thought.

    “Can you believe it? Viktor hasn’t found his soulmate yet! That means it could still be anyone! It could even be you!” She cried, pulling him through the stumbling steps of an awkward dance. “Yuri! You could be Viktor’s soulmate!”

    Yuri tried not to take her words to heart, tried not to let his hopes skyrocket. Just because he, too, had a soul mark— something that was relatively rare, as it were— didn’t mean anything. They were talking about Viktor Nikiforov, living legend. There was absolutely no way Yuri would ever meet him, let alone be his soulmate. The idea was beyond absurd. And yet, as Yuko let go of his hands, Yuri couldn’t stop his hand from drifting to his own soul mark, situated just above his left hip.

—

    The rays of light stream lazily into Yuri’s room, illuminating the room in a soft haze that makes everything feel magical. Yuri blinks against the light, letting his eyes focus on the man in bed next to him. Viktor looks peaceful in his sleep, silver hair splayed out around him like a halo on the pillow. Yuri still isn’t used to this— isn’t used to waking up in the mornings to a literal angel beside him, isn’t used to the way his heart swells in response to seeing Viktor first thing. There’s a comfort in the way Viktor’s chest rises and falls softly next to him and in the warmth that spreads across the small bed and envelops Yuri. He would happily stay in bed with Viktor all day, curled into his chest, head tucked under his chin. He can’t imagine a more perfect day.

    But then, the remnants of the memory that had come to him in his dreams cling to the corners of his mind, bringing him down from his high. He glances at Viktor’s right hand, the soul mark like dark ink coating his palm. It’s stark against Viktor’s pale skin and Yuri’s white sheets, making him come crashing back to reality. His mornings with Viktor seemed too good to be true because they were. The truth of the matter, the one that Yuri did his best to deny at all times, was that Viktor likely belonged to someone else. They had never touched soul marks— Yuri had never even told Viktor that he had one— but it didn’t matter. He was Viktor Nikiforov, five time world champion. He was miles, lightyears, galaxies out of Yuri’s league and there was no chance that their soul marks would match. Yuri had considered testing it, just to put himself out of his misery but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand the pain. He knew it would force him to finally give Viktor up and he wasn’t ready to do that. So he chose to keep his own mark hidden, chose to keep the illusion going longer, to hold on, foolishly, to that secret hope.

With a slight sigh, Yuri slides out of bed, careful not to wake Viktor. He feels Viktor stir and watches as he reaches a hand to Yuri’s now vacated side of the bed, his heart constricting at the sight. More than anything he wants to crawl back into the warmth and to ignore the world around them, but he doesn’t. Instead, he heads to his closet, drawing out a shirt for the day. Yuri’s silver medal hangs on the corner of the full length mirror next to his closet and it catches his eye as it glints in the early morning light. He reaches out to it, carefully tracing his fingers around the edges and glancing back at Viktor in the mirror. His heart feels heavy in his chest as he glances between the two, realizing that Viktor would be taken from him any day now and he would never get to provide him with the gold medal he desired.

In a futile attempt to stem the sad thoughts that were overwhelming him, Yuri yanks his shirt over his head, tossing it into his closet. He turns to the bed, reaching for his new shirt that he had deposited on the edge, only to come face to face with an awake— albeit sleepy— Viktor. Viktor is beautiful at all times of the day, but Yuri loves him the most in the morning when his edges seem to be blurring with the sunrise, making him look ethereal. There’s something about how soft he looks when only half awake that Yuri finds irresistible.  

“Good morning,” Yuri says casually, trying to keep any sadness from leaking into his voice.

Viktor smiles sleepily in response, reaching up to rub at his tired eyes. “Mornin’”

A part of Yuri wants to reach out and brush the stray strands of bangs out of Viktor’s face, but the rest of him fights against the desire. He wants to indulge himself as much as he can, knowing that someday it will end, but he doesn’t want to willingly break his own heart. Instead, he settles for smiling down at Viktor, “How did you sleep?”

Viktor doesn’t immediately answer and, just as Yuri is about to ask him if something is wrong, he realizes why. Viktor’s gaze isn’t focused on Yuri’s face, instead he is looking intently at Yuri’s waist— more specifically, his left hip. Viktor starts to reach for him, for the soul mark that he’s just seeing for the first time, but Yuri scrambles backwards, snatching his shirt off the edge of the bed and hastily pulling it over his head. He can feel the questions and disappointment swirling together in Viktor’s gaze, but he tries to ignore them. He’s not ready to have his heart broken, not yet.

Surprisingly, Viktor doesn’t address the topic, and Yuri is able to let out a breath. Instead, in a somber voice, he says, “You ready to start training today? It’s finally time for us to work on our lifts.”

After the Grand Prix, Viktor and Yuri had agreed to skate a duet routine. Yuri wasn’t exactly sure who had brought it up or why he’d agreed— skating alongside Viktor was both his biggest dream and his biggest fear— but their competition was coming up soon and they had no time to waste. The training had gone well to date, Yuri felt significantly more comfortable around Viktor now than he had a year ago when they’d met. That was only reasonable, of course, but it still helped a lot. Plus, he absolutely wouldn’t complain about spending his day at his favorite place with his favorite person.

“I guess we can’t delay it any longer, huh?” Yuri strived to sound casual but he knew his voice was a little pinched.

Viktor sat up in bed, the covers falling off of his torso and pooling around his waist. In the past Yuri would’ve tried not to look at his bare torso, too embarrassed to get caught, but time changes everything. Yuri doesn’t nothing to hide his gaze as he glances down at Viktor’s chest, as he watches Viktor throw the covers off and climb out of bed in just a pair of sweatpants. He glances up at Viktor’s face as he stretches, able to read his train of thought through his eyes. Yuri steps away from the closet, keeping enough distance in between them that Viktor can’t “accidentally” brush along Yuri’s hip.

With a resigned sigh, Viktor dresses quickly, pulling a hoodie on last. He pulls the hood up as they head out the door, protein bars in hand in lieu of breakfast. The hood pushes Viktor’s hair into his eyes and he reaches up casually to run his fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. Yuri feels his heart skip a beat at the sight of Viktor, in his casual but still well fitting clothes, running his hand casually through his hair and brushing the hood back off. Typically in the mornings they would jog to the rink, keeping in perfect step with one another, but today was just one of those days where they took the walk leisurely, occasionally bumping shoulders as they looked at the scenery around them.

They didn’t speak as they finished their walk to the rink, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. In the past, Yuri would have panicked in the quiet, but he was comfortable with Viktor now and was able to thrive with just his presence. He had grown a lot since he’d met Viktor, turned into the kind of person he’d always wanted to be. He’d gained confidence and a comfort in his own skin that he used to think was impossible. He had vowed, long ago, to never let the lessons Viktor had taught him go to waste. If— when, he tried to remind himself, but his heart wasn’t having it— he lost Viktor, he wasn’t going to fall back in on himself the way he had after his horrible debut at the Grand Prix Finals.

Just like it had been for the last year, the rink was empty when they entered. It had gained a huge amount of popularity after word had spread that it was Viktor and Yuri’s home base, but Yuko still refused anyone entry if it was a time when they needed it. Yuri was beyond grateful to her for her care and support over the years and swore that he’d pay her back someday. She insisted seeing him happy was enough and the skyrocketed popularity was an added bonus, but someday he was still going to do something extra special for her.

“How do you want to start?” Yuri finally breaks the silence around them as they finish lacing up their skates. Viktor looks more tense than usual, his shoulders hunched as he bends forward to tug his laces tighter in a motion that is so practiced he could do it in his sleep. “Start with the lifts? Or work on the choreography first?”

He watches as Viktor sits up and straightens his spine, finally settling his gaze onto Yuri. There’s something in the back of his eyes— nothing unkind, but something Yuri isn’t used to seeing— that sends a chill down his spine. “I think we need to do lifts. We haven’t practiced them at all yet.”

Yuri is so caught up in his thoughts over Viktor’s expression that he nearly stumbles as he steps onto the ice. He feels briefly like he’s been transported back a year— back to when he overthought everything. Viktor reaches for him easily and automatically, gripping his shoulder to steady him as he struggles to get his feet underneath him. Yuri’s cheeks flame as he sways, gripping Viktor back to help steady himself.

“S-sorry,” Yuri murmurs, ducking his head.

Viktor pulls him close, a hand finding its way to his cheek and tilting his head up. “Yuri, I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s not the full truth, either. Viktor knows there’s something Yuri isn’t telling him, he saw it stark against his skin earlier this morning. They both know what Viktor is referring to, but Yuri just pulls his head back and pushes away, gaining some distance between them. It was careless of him to have been shirtless in front of Viktor. He had been so careful for the last year to ensure that this sort of thing didn’t happen and he had gotten too comfortable.

In a desperate attempt to change the subject, Yuri insists they start working on their lifts. Viktor agrees, although hesitantly and Yuri rushes into it just to get their minds on something else. It isn’t until Viktor is reaching for him that he realizes exactly where his hand is required to go to properly do the lift. At the last moment Yuri turns, accidentally rolling himself out of Viktor’s grasp and tumbling to the ice. He hits it hard, right at Viktor’s feet. Frustrated and helpless, Yuri slams his hands into the ice. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down. They had a competition to skate soon, this was not the time to lose Viktor.

“I’ll put my hand higher,” Viktor says softly, extending a hand down to Yuri. “If you’re that worried about it, I won’t touch it.”

Yuri looks up at Viktor, immediately feeling the tears prick in the corners of his eyes. He’ll never know what he did to be lucky enough to have Viktor in his life, to have Viktor caring for a looking after him. “Really?”

“If it’s that important to you,” Viktor agrees, hauling him to his feet.

A feeling of gratitude floods Yuri as he gets his feet back underneath him. He smiles gratefully at Viktor who, to his credit, does his best to smile back. Yuri knows it’s only a temporary fix and they’ll have to talk about it eventually but for the time being they can just focus on practicing. And that’s what they do. They practice lift after lift and Yuri falls a significant number of times but now it’s only because they’re getting their movements perfectly in sync, not because Yuri is dodging Viktor’s touch.

And then, on their final lift, it happens. Viktor is tiring out quickly, his stamina never being comparable to Yuri’s, and he’s struggling each time to lift Yuri as he’s supposed to. Still, he obliges when Yuri asks for one more. It goes well up until the midpoint and then, as he’s holding Yuri at the peak of the lift, hands bracketing just below his hips, the fatigue sets in and his grip slips. Yuri starts to drop through his hands but Viktor corrects it automatically, tightening his grip… right above Yuri’s hip bones. Yuri doesn’t even have a chance to panic before he feels a warm sensation under Viktor’s hand spreading out through the rest of his body.

He hears Viktor gasp underneath him as he sets him back on the ice, letting go immediately to look at his right hand. His eyes go wide as he raises them to meet Yuri’s gaze and Yuri can’t even believe what he’s seeing. In between the two of them, Viktor holds his hand, his usually black palm cycling through a series of colors. In disbelief, Yuri lifts the edge of his own T-shirt, exposing the handprint just above his left hip. It, too, cycles through color after color.

“Yuri…” Viktor breathes, immediately placing his hand back over Yuri’s exposed soul mark. “Yuri, you’re—”

The tears that had been in Yuri’s eyes before fall freely now, dripping down onto the ice. He watches the way Viktor’s hand lays over his soul mark, the way it’s a perfect match. He can feel the warmth associated with finding his soulmate spreading through every vein in his body.

“V-Viktor.” Yuri sobs, looking up into his face. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t have words to express that this is greater than every dream he’s ever had coming true. He would give up every gold medal in the world for this. He’d never skate again if it meant getting to wake up every morning to Viktor by his side. “We’re—”

Before he can finish his thought— not that he had any idea how he was planning on finishing it anyways— Viktor reaches up with his left hand and hooks his fingers under Yuri’s chin, pulling him forward until their lips collide in the middle. Fireworks go off inside of Yuri and he knows immediately that this is the best feeling he will ever experience in his entire life. Standing on the podium holding a gold medal up to the crowd could never even come close to touching this feeling.

As they pull apart, Yuri realizes that Viktor, too, is crying. His hand tightens around Yuri’s hip, pulling him until they’re flush together. “Yuri, we’re soulmates,” He finally breathes and the words barely even sound real. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Viktor, you know who you are, right?” Yuri says, hiccupping a laugh through his tears. “You’re the heartthrob of the entire world and you expected me to think that I would be your soulmate? Me?”

“Of course it’d be you, Yuri.” Viktor says, threading his fingers into Yuri’s hair and drawing their foreheads together. “It couldn’t possibly be anybody else. For the last year, I’ve been thinking my soul mark was a mistake because it was so clearly you that I was meant to spend the rest of my life with and you didn’t seem to have a mark of your own.”

Yuri could feel the heat rush to his cheeks and down his neck. “How can you say that?”

“I’ve told you before, my life had no purpose until I met you.” Viktor had always been one to lay his heart out openly and it never ceased to amaze Yuri. Still, it had never cut to Yuri’s heart quite as directly as it did now. He reached up and brushed his thumb across Viktor’s cheek, wiping away the tears. “And now my life has a purpose forever.”

Él no era un chico de muchas palabras o muchos amigos. Sus habilidades sociales se veían muy limitadas por los constantes cambios de país y el entrenamiento arduo que se autoexigía cada temporada, con sus limitaciones y los métodos poco convencionales que le servían de apoyo dada su nula habilidad para el ballet, además de ser un chico callado. No es que fuera tímido, simplemente no le parecía que tuviera algo que decir al resto, no era de decir lo primero que le viniera a la mente como Jean que siempre tenía la boca abierta para hacer conversación con él o Leo. Claro, porque Leo era un chico bastante amigable, de primer momento fue quién le agradó más cuando lo conoció a su llegada a América. Amistoso pero respetuoso con su espacio personal. Eso le agradaba.

Lástima que de Jean no pudiera decirse lo mismo… siempre con ese tono animado, buscando ser su amigo. A veces él se sentía francamente acosado, si no fuera por la insistencia de Leo y su propio entrenador sobre que Jean era así con todo el mundo Otabek ya habría corrido en dirección contraria o algo parecido.

Por eso y después de las interminables insistencias del canadiense, Otabek accedió a darse un tiempo libre y salir de paseo con chicos de su edad y ser, por primera vez, un joven de 16 años común y corriente. Y porque Leo iría, que era como el punto de equilibrio entre ambos. El motivo de la salida tan especial era que Jean se volvía a Canadá con sus padres, después de tratar con entrenadores nuevos en EEUU y que ninguno supiera manejar sus impulsos decidió volver a su tierra con la oferta de sus padres para ser ellos quienes lo entrenaran.

De cierta forma sentía un poco de envidia, es decir, porque podría hacer lo que más amaba y estar con sus seres amados al mismo tiempo. Él llevaba tres años fuera de casa y cada despedida siempre era dolorosa.

Después de un buen rato jugando boliche y con Jean habiendo pateado sus traseros seguido de Leo decidieron ir a comer hot dogs en un lugar bastante cerca del boliche y con un buen ambiente juvenil. La música y la decoración invitaban a los adolescentes a pasar las tardes entre hamburguesas, papas fritas y malteadas.

El suave movimiento que hicieron al sacudirlo fue lo que lo devolvió a la mesa donde estaba con Jean y Leo.

— Hey, tierra llamando a Otabek. – esa era la voz amable del latino que miraba curioso al pelinegro. — ¿Qué pasa? ¿No tienes hambre? – preguntó con esa mirada tan cándida, preocupado por el silencio del kazajo.

— No… yo… lo lamento. – negó con la cabeza y se sacudió las ideas. El propósito de esa salida era despejarse de las competencias y el entrenamiento un rato, así que iba a poner de su parte. Además, no se la había pasado tan mal en los bolos.

— Vamos, Otabek. Deberías sonreír de vez en cuando y relajarte. Siempre estás con esa cara. – se quejó el canadiense. Era más una de esas quejas infantiles que una real.

El sonido de unas risitas femeninas y coquetas rellenó el lugar, y con la discreción que JJ no conocía inmediatamente se volvió buscando aquel sonido tintineante, encontrándose con un grupo de chicas más o menos de su edad mirándolo y cuchicheando entre ellas. Bastante normal si lo pensaba, tres morenos de diferentes tonalidades ahí irrumpiendo en el paisaje americano.

El silbido interesado del canadiense no se hizo esperar, así como la risa avergonzada de Leo y el remedo de carraspeo que buscaba pasar desapercibido para Otabek. La habilidad con las chicas sin lugar a dudas era un fuerte para Jean.

Se pasaron la comida entre bromas que Jean empezaba e inevitablemente Leo seguía, embarrando en ellas ocasionalmente a Otabek para no dejarlo fuera de la diversión, y aunque no dijera nada, se reía con ellos o de ellos según el caso. La sonrisa apenas visible estaba ahí y el kazajo sentía que había hecho una buena elección al fin al decidir ir con ellos. Hacía tiempo que no se divertía tanto.

El conductor designado era Leo, porque ninguno de los otros tenía licencia de conducir, el auto era de su padre y luego de Otabek era el más prudente. Su tarea además de conducir era llevar a cada uno a sus respectivos departamentos para volver luego a su casa, y el primero en la lista era el asiático.

Lo normal habría sido dejar a Otabek afuera, en la puerta de entrada, no meterse al estacionamiento como si planearan quedarse. Eso descolocó un poco al muchacho, pero con lo educado que era prefirió callar antes que incomodar a sus compañeros considerando lo bien que lo habían pasado hace unos momentos.

— Gracias, Leo. Pero no era necesario… - la frase se quedó inconclusa cuando Jean bajó del auto como si fuera un resorte, con una pila inagotable.

— ¡Vamos Leo! – gritó, caminando rápidamente al fondo del bendito estacionamiento. El latino sólo atinó a rodar la mirada y reírse por lo impaciente que JJ podía llegar a ser.

— Ven, Otabek. Vamos. – hizo un ademán con la cabeza para pedirle que lo siguiera al salir también del auto. Por su parte el otro no sabía qué demonios pasaba, porque honestamente parecía que se había perdido una parte de una conversación crucial, pero movido por la curiosidad se animó a salir también, siguiendo en silencio pero con una gran duda al castaño. Y cuando vio el motivo su rostro dijo más de lo que él podía con palabras.

— No puedo. – esas fueron sus únicas palabras. Estaba pasmado, muy sorprendido por aquello ¿A quién demonios se le ocurría regalar una motocicleta como esa a un simple compañero de pista? — No, en serio. No puedo.

La mirada achocolatada pasaba de la motocicleta a Leo y luego a JJ para volver al fin a la máquina. La sonrisa del canadiense era amplia y resplandeciente, por su parte Leo le dedicó una mirada algo avergonzada pero insistente.

— ¡No juegues, hombre! – insistió el ojiazul, acercándose a Otabek. — Has trabajado en ella por meses ¡Claro que puedes!

Y ahí estaba el tono dramático que tan bien le salía.

Es cierto, Otabek había pasado más de 6 meses trabajando en esa motocicleta, armándola casi desde cero cuando el papá de Leo la recuperó del deshuesadero. “Si logras que funcione es tuya, muchacho.”, esas fueron las palabras del buen hombre que había cedido su garaje y herramientas al extranjero para que pusiera manos a la obra. Y probablemente habría comenzado a recorrer las calles de Washington con ella de no ser porque el motor estaba deshecho y necesitaba uno nuevo. La parte más cara de toda la reparación.

— Te lo mereces. – esta vez fue Leo quién habló, dándole un apretón en el hombro, incitándolo a tomar al fin el regalo que ambos le ofrendaban. A Leo le gustaba pensar que había logrado convertirse en amigo del kazajo.

La confianza de Jean para pasar su brazo por los hombros de Otabek era única, como si fueran un par de amigos de toda la vida y casi lo arrastró consigo a estar más cerca de la motocicleta. — ¡Tienes prohibido despreciar este regalo! Leo y yo compramos el motor porque esta belleza no podía quedarse guardada por la eternidad. Y su padre lo puso. – explicó, volteándose a verlo con una sonrisa enorme y llena de sinceridad.

— No debieron… - a pesar de la negativa, terminó cediendo para avanzar y pasar las manos por el asiento de cuero y el manubrio. Pulida, montada y completa se veía más hermosa de lo que había esperado.

Al final, Leo y JJ sonrieron complacidos al ver que su regalo había sido aceptado por fin.  — Lo que si no vamos a perdonarte es que no lleves pronto a alguna chica a pasear en ella, eh Otabek.

Yuuri woke to the sound of whispering voices next to him. He kept his eyes closed, still half asleep as he listened to the conversation.

“But Phichit, if you are so sure that he doesn’t hate me then what is wrong?”

“I can’t tell you that Victor, it’s not my place.”

A long drawn out sigh followed by, “He left me at that party…he didn’t even say goodbye…”

“I know. He told me. He feels awful,” Phichit sounded sad.

Suddenly Yuuri fully woke up and became aware of what was happening. He curled up as pain hit him and groaned, “Phichit?” He opened his eyes and looked up at Phichit, not meeting Victor’s eyes.