writings i'll never finish

“I don’t want to break up,” Yuuri says, trying to be gentle. He’s not good at it. Neither of them are, really. He dares to reach out and take Viktor’s hand, tracing the ring on his finger. “I made you a promise, remember?”

“Yes, and now if you don’t win tomorrow we can never get married.”

“I’m not the one who said we’d only get married after I won gold,” he snaps. Dammit, he was trying not to get mad. He takes a deep breath. “Viktor,” he says, softening his voice, “I just want you to be happy.”

“You retiring does not make me happy.”

“I saw you.” It’s enough of a nonsequiter to make Viktor finally look at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “Watching Yurio,” he clarifies. “I saw your face. You miss it.”

“Do you think I can’t tell those routines you’ve been choreographing aren’t for me?”

Viktor stills, like he thought Yuuri could somehow miss what he was doing during the private ice time he’d have during Yuuri’s breaks. As if Yuuri hadn’t grown up watching him skate, as if he hadn’t learned in the time spent being coached by him what the contemplative look on his face meant as he ran through step sequences.

“They could be for Yurio,” he finally says.

“They’re not.”

“An ice show, then.”

“An ice show wouldn’t require you to keep up with your quads.”

“Why not? I must shock the audience somehow.”

“You never got to say goodbye,” he whispers. “I can’t keep that from you. I want you to be happy.”

He watches Viktor’s face as his expression changes almost imperceptibly, several emotions crossing his features, each one more unreadable than the last.

“Oh, my Yuuri,” he finally sighs. “Coaching you does make me happy.”

“But you miss competing.”

This time Viktor doesn’t deny it. “So will you.”

“I’ve made my peace with it.” It’s only half a lie. “I never thought I’d be able to come back at all. You gave me that, Viktor. I’ll win gold tomorrow, and then we can get married. We could move to Russia for your training.”

“I like Hasetsu.”

“I want to see your home—“

“You are my home.”

“You’re mine, too,” he promises, “but I want to see where you came from. I want to listen to the gulls with you. I want to see Saint Petersburg. Even if you decide not to go back to competing, I’d want to see it.”

Yuko sounds delighted at the prospect. “Really?”

“Really. I walked into the restaurant to see them going through my first junior competition. It was humiliating.”

“I guess it’s only fair,” she muses. “After all, you’ve seen all of his junior competition videos.”

“It’s not the same!”

“I’m only teasing, Yuuri-kun! I think it’s sweet, is all. You always have this sparkle in your eyes when you watch him skate. I used to think it was just because he was Viktor, but now…” she sighs, nostalgia in her voice. “It reminds me of when we were kids. Takeshi used to be so jealous of you.”

“He obviously didn’t need to be,” Yuuri sulks.

“No,” she agrees. “I think your crush on me died the second I put on his Junior World Championship performance for the first time.”

“Yu-chan!”

“Don’t be embarrassed! It was cute!”

“I hate when you and Minako-sensei talk.”

“It was your mom who told me, actually.”

Yuuri doesn’t bother to respond to that, instead sinking down until his head is in his arms where he’s leaned against the boards.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Yuuri-kun,” she says again, smiling fondly. “I think it’s sweet. It’s sweet to see you and Viktor, too.”

That makes Yuuri look up, flushing wildly. “We’re not—!”

“You get this look in your eye when you like somebody, you know that? The sparkle. It’s not obvious, don’t worry! But to people who know you…you always look like it’s the first time all over again. Like he’s done something amazing.”

“He’s Viktor Nikiforov.”

“And I was just Yuko from your ice skating lessons,” she says. “And now he’s Viktor, your coach and friend. And you still look at him like he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.”

“Why even make that stupid deal with me if you were just going to forget it?” Yurio grumbles.

Viktor hums, tapping his finger to his lips with a smile. “I don’t think you’ll like the answer.”

“I don’t like anything you say.”

“You’re hurting my feelings, Yurio, truly.”

“Shut up, old man.” Yurio shoves him. “Just tell me already.”

Viktor sighs, sitting up fully and turning to look out at the landscape around them. “Because I remembered being your age,” he confesses. “I wanted to do quads in Juniors too, but Yakov always stopped me. I thought he was ruining my life, and I made sure he knew it. But as I got older…it’s hard to care when it’s the only thing you ever hear, but they’re not exaggerating when they say it’s not good for your body. And you shine so brightly, Yura. It would be a shame if you were stopped before you’d even really begun.”

Of all things Yuri had been expecting him to say, he clearly didn’t have a response for that.

He smiles to himself as he looks out over the scenery, carefully keeping his gaze straight as Yuri takes in Viktor’s words. It was a rare thing to shock the other boy into silence. Usually it would serve to make him even louder.

“I can’t believe your reason is just ‘Yakov was right,’” Yuri finally says.

Viktor laughs at that, brighter and louder than he usually is. Everything was brighter since he moved to Hasetsu. Yuri startles at the sound, before glaring at Viktor with all the vitriol he could muster, as if he wasn’t quite sure Viktor wasn’t making fun of him.

“Yakov usually is,” Viktor admits, smiling as he tapped his finger to his lips again as if keeping a secret. “Of course, we’ll never tell him that.”

“Fucking obviously. Who do you think I am?”

[scene from when viktor is a teenager]

Before that day, Viktor had thought he’d known Yakov’s fury. Had been on the other side of countless lectures, shouted at from the side of what had to be every professional skating rink in the world, seen smoke practically billowing from between his ears as his face turned red, then an unflattering shade of purple.

He’d never seen Yakov go quiet.

The hairs on the back of his neck raised, spine straightening as if he were a child back in Lilia’s studio. He stood frozen in place, instincts at war with one another.

“Vitya,” Yakov said lowly, “give us a moment, please.”

“Not like what?”

Yuuri doesn’t know how to put it into words, the feelings Viktor’s tears bring out in him. It’s all his worst parts wrapped up in one big impulse, the way he’d made this man, this myth, crumble and his first reaction was disbelief. Confusion at the idea he had that kind of power over Viktor. He hadn’t believed it, had needed to check just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Then the fascination that followed, eyes tracking the silvery trails making their way down Viktor’s cheeks. Moving his hair out of the way because he needed to be sure.

Yuuri doesn’t know how to say it, so instead he just says, “He’s too pretty when he cries. I don’t want anyone else seeing him like that.”

A shocked bark of laughter echoes through the phone. “Yuuri! Wow, so possessive! I didn’t know you had it in you!”

Yuuri can’t even defend himself. He covers his face with his hands and groans. “Neither did I! I used to not care about that kind of thing, but now I’m yanking on his tie and telling him I’ll seduce him in front of all of Russia because he wasn’t looking at me enough.”

“Is that what you said?”

“Basically!”

“And you weren’t even drunk,” Phichit says, amazed. “Yuuri, I’m so proud of you.”

[viktor starts speaking in Russian and its phrases Yuuri started to learn before he moved to St. Petersburg (please, more, yes, no, please, I can’t, etc)]

“English, Viktor,” Yuuri croons. “I can’t understand you.”

[cant, I can’t—]

Yuuri takes his hands away.

“It’s not that! Of course I do! It’s just— I like it here, with you. I like seeing the place you grew up in. I like seeing all the different places you want to go to. The ones you’ve been to before, the ones you haven’t. I like hearing you speak Russian. I like learning Russian, even when you make fun of me for it—“

“I am not making fun,” Viktor says indignantly. It’s only half a lie. “You are very cute when you are cursing out my mother tongue.”

“—and,” he continues, studiously ignoring him, “getting to know your rinkmates, and Yakov, even if he is very loud, and Yurio—“

“Ah, so this is about Yurio. He’s about to hit his growth spurt, you know. We may want to flee the country before that happens.” Viktor remembers his own growth spurts at seventeen and nineteen. They had been humiliating. He’d been sloppy and uncoordinated, and every time he thought he had found a new balance it was thrown off all over again by the next week. He’d sulked his way around the rink until Lilia had dragged him off by his ear for more flexibility training.

Yuuri’s wince suggested that his own experiences hadn’t been much different. Puberty was an athletes worst nightmare, and an inevitable one at that.

“I think Hasetsu is always going to be home,” Yuuri admits, easier than he’d have been able to say one, two, three years ago. “I’ll always go back eventually. But I don’t mind making another home with you here for a little while longer.”

Viktor understood that. Hasetsu had quickly become a kind of home to him, as well.

“I miss it,” he admits quietly.

Yuuri gave him a soft, warm smile, fond in a way Viktor used to dream about. “We can visit in the off season, if you want. My parents miss you. And Mari-neechan, even if she won’t admit it.”

Mari has already told Viktor she misses them, but Viktor would never break the alliance they’ve built by telling Yuuri so.

“That would be nice,” he replies. “It’s funny. I didn’t use to think it mattered where I was, because it all felt the same in the competition. But then I went to Hasetsu, and I would think about the gulls in St. Peter. Now I’m home, and I think about the gulls in Hasetsu. Perhaps I just can’t be satisfied.”

Yuuri looks down at him, considering.

“I miss Detroit, sometimes,” he says. “Saint Petersburg has the same kind of— of city sound, to it. I listen to the traffic and I think about riding the bus to dance class, and hanging out with Phichit, and my university study groups. But it’s okay, because I still talk to Phichit, and I have you here, and I talk to my family more than I used to, and when I get homesick for Hasetsu I listen to the gulls with you and think about what you said. So I guess what I’m trying to say is, when you’re thinking about the seagulls, I am too.”

Viktor almost stumbled in surprise. Anxiety was one thing, but this— he’d had a decent chance at the podium. Why would he…

“What?!”

“Seriously, he dropped out!”

“Why?”

“Nobody knows! I think I heard his coach say something about a dog?”

“A dog?”

“It’s what I heard!”

“Well Yurio is like our kitten, yeah?”

“He is very hissy,” he agrees, not sure where this is going.

“No—well, yes, but I mean that Yura likes your Yuuri. He has the seal of approval.”

Viktor nods, still not quite getting it.

“If Makkachin didn’t like someone, would you keep inviting them to your house?”

“Of course not,” he says without hesitation. “Makka only hates people who deserve it.”

Mila throws her hands up in triumph “See! It’s the same with cats, they can always tell. And Yura is our kitten.”

The logic seems like it should be sound, but…

“He hates a lot of people,” Viktor points out. “He hates me half the time.”

“He thinks you’re annoying, there’s a difference. Same with that JJ guy.”

“Ohhh yeah,” she says, because she hates him and wants him to die. “Yuuri here has been daydreaming about carrying your bags since he was…what, fifteen? Sixteen? You told some magazine you liked shopping, and—“

Mari slams her hands on the table. “Is that why he kept asking if I thought Viktor’s arms ever got sore carrying all his stuff?”

“Nee-chan!” Yuuri wails as he buries his face in his hands.

“I reminded him that you were an Olympic champion and could probably bench press two of him,” she tells Viktor, with zero regard to her brother trying to die of embarrassment next to her. “I think he took it as a challenge.”

“Oh, was that the phase where he got really into off ice conditioning—“ Minako asks.

“When he tried to have our parents install a pull-up bar in his room, yeah—“

Would they stop if he started crying? Somehow, Yuuri doubts it.

He peeks up at Viktor through his fingers, and almost squeaks when he realizes Viktor is already staring at him, eyes fond and cheeks red, although not nearly as red as Yuuri’s.

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” he breathes.

Mari looks him up and down, raising an eyebrow. “Yuuri’s been planning your wedding since he was twelve. He’s going to be a bridezilla.”

The real problem is that Viktor always has the biggest grin on his face when he does it, like he’s proud of himself. Like it makes him happy to be lifting Katsuki Yuuri, like it’s some kind of accomplishment. Also, Yurio has started to kick Viktor in the shins when it happens and if he keeps doing that then Viktor really will drop him, probably on top of Yurio. Probably on purpose.

“Are you…are you just bragging about how your boyfriend is strong enough to lift you over his head? Is that what you’re doing right now?”

“No,” Yuuri says defensively.

Phichit raises his other eyebrow.

“…I’m bragging about how my fiancé is strong enough to lift me over his head,” he mutters.

“Wow, okay.”

“Don’t post this!” he yelps when Phichit picks up his phone. “Yurio will start kicking me for encouraging him!”

(“You were so cute!” Minako would one day cry while telling this story at their wedding. Yuuri covered his face with his hands, flushing wildly. “You’ve seen all his baby pictures, right?” she asked an enraptured Viktor.

“Minako-sensei!”

“Of course I have!” Viktor replied, almost affronted. “I made sure of it.”

“Viktorrrrr,” Yuuri whined, as if he hasn’t seen Yakov Feltsman’s entire archive of Viktor’s childhood skating videos, and how those had slowly morphed into photos of holidays, events, everyday life.

“You used to think I hung the moon!” Minako wailed.

Yuuri was suffering until Lilia Baranovskaya sat down across from Minako and poured herself a glass of wine. “Vitya used to do that, too,” she told her. “Eleven, I believe, when Yakov brought him to my studio. Not shy. But he used to imitate my every move with such dedication! I tried to make him a dansuer, but ‘Noooo,’ my husband says, ‘he was born for the ice, [pet name!]’ That’s why I had to divorce him, you see.”

“Justified!” Minako declared.

“That was not my fault!” Viktor spluttered, jaw dropping.

“Of course not, Vitya,” she replied. “It was Yakov’s.”

Yuuri, who had not spoken much to Lilia Baranovskaya much outside of formal conversations in her ballet studio, where he reserved time in one of the rooms but not with her, leaned forward, eyes shining.

“Do you have pictures?”

“Yuuri!” Viktor yelped.

Yuuri would never be able to do this alone. He’s too shy to have the kind of charisma Phichit has, his bright smile and light chatter drawing people in. Nor does he have the outreach of thousands of Instagram followers, including what seems to be every person aged 16 through 27 in Detroit in a consistent revolving circle.

It’s not exactly that he can’t perform in front of crowds. One of his first memories is Minako helping him get ready for a ballet recital, and he’s been playing the violin in front of people for almost as long. The anxiety never stops, but he’s learned to hold back his tears until after he performs, instead of during.

(He’d never been a particularly outgoing four year old. Perhaps they should have expected his face to screw up when confronted with the audience for the first time, for the way he’d run and hid behind Minako’s legs until she gently guided him out and performed by his side, going through the movements together. The clapping had startled him again, and he’d quickly burst into tears, carried off by his dance teacher to the sound of sympathetic coos.

Perhaps if they’d seen it coming they could have avoided it, but instead he had to live with the many, many pictures of the incident, and Minako teasing him about it until the heat death of the universe.)

It’s not always just he and Phichit. Sometimes one of Phichit’s friends from his classes comes along, Leo and Guang Hong cheerfully setting up a modest drum set and [other instrument]. More rarely it’s another dancer, and they freestyle with a partner, or occasionally hang back to play and give someone else the spotlight. Chris, who has begun to grow rapidly in the music video industry, ends up getting them a little more traction than they had before.

Sometimes Yuuri and Phichit get to dance together. Those are always Yuuri’s favorite occasions, Phichit’s bright laugh as he’d twirled to Shall We Skate one of Yuuri’s fondest memories with him.

There’s even the occasional dance battle, an onlooker emerging from the crowd to challenge Yuuri. Much like the blonde teenager currently accosting him.

“Oi! You!” He shouts, shoving past several onlookers to stand defiantly in front of Yuuri between songs. “There can only be one dancing Yuri, and it’s going to be me.”

Yuuri stares at him. The boy is close enough that he’s fairly clear even without his glasses, and underneath the hood of his jacket he’s strangely familiar. Something about the swoop of hair over his eye and the scowl on his face.

The leopard print is also rather telling.

“…Yuri Plisetsky?”

“What?!” Phichit shouts, halting in his strumming—he thinks it’s funny to provide intense fight music whenever Yuuri gets challenged—to whip his head around, eyes wide.

Yuri Plisetsky abruptly turns fire engine red, smoke almost coming out of his ears as he looks around the crowd. The majority of them hadn’t heard Yuuri, and the ones who did seemingly have no idea who he’s talking about. Which, judging by the look on Yuri’s face, may be a good thing.

“I’m trying to keep a low profile!”

“So you challenged me to a dance battle in front of an entire crowd and Phichit’s thousands of Instagram followers?”

“People do it all the time! Or are you too chicken?”

[Phichit’s like ohhhh you’ve done it now Yuuri is competitive lmao]

“So then Yuuri—big Yuuri—“

“This is stupid,” Mari complains. “I’m not calling my little brother ‘Big Yuuri’ every time I brag about him kicking some international superstar’s ass in a dance battle. The other guy can be Yurio.”

[Viktor comes out with on love Eros and Phichit is like Yuuri. Yuuri pls you HAVE to dance to this]

“Eros?” Yuuri asks, frowning not out of disagreement, but confusion. “Why not Agape?”

“Agape is slow,” Phichit whines. And then, when Yuuri opened his mouth defensively, “It’s beautiful! I’m not saying it’s not. But Eros is faster paced, and way better suited for street dancing.”

Phichit strums the opening notes on his guitar, fingers dancing across the strings. As soon as his cue hit Yuuri snaps into position.

In the split second beat before he draws his bow across the strings there’s a whistle from someone in the crowd. Yuuri smirks.

They couldn’t truly do the song justice with just a guitar and violin, but Phichit and Yuuri were used to adapting by now. Yuuri tried his best to bring life to the music with his dancing, but On Love: Eros had given him more of a challenge than he’d been prepared for.

The problem was he’d seen a vision in the song. A playboy coming to town, seducing the women left and right until he meets the most beautiful woman there, who refuses to fall victim to his charms. But slowly her defenses lower with every gift and flattery, until she, too, falls. Then he casts her aside, just like the others.

Yuuri couldn’t be a playboy. Yuuri has never seduced someone in his life.

“So what I’m hearing is we should get a couple drinks in you first—“

“If you finish that sentence you’re on trash duty for a month.”

“—and maybe bring a pole, then all your problems will be solved!” Phichit finishes, because he knows Yuuri too well to believe that he’ll last an entire month of posts about what’s in Yuuri’s trashcan.

Did other people have to deal with their roommates posting about the diet-breaking candy wrappers they found in the garbage and getting them busted by their dance instructor? Yuuri would ask, but he’s afraid of the answer.

Viktor POV

[Yurio is being featured in a music video with Chris and Viktor and starts complaining about how he lost the dance off and Chris is like oh you met Yuuri! And Yurio is like how the fuck do YOU know Yuuri and Chris is like I go to school with him and Phichit I dance in their videos sometimes. And then Viktor is like ok I’m feeling left out who is Yuuri. And Yurio is like he’s stupid and Chris is like he’s GORGEOUS you HAVE to come see and so Yurio Chris and Viktor go to where Phichit and Yuuri set up every week]

The first surprise, when they get there, is the crowd. It’s not the mob that Viktor is used to, no, but it’s not modest either.

Viktor, Yuri, and Chris, trying to be incognito at the moment, hang back at the edges of the crowd, trying to make sure they can still see.

“Do you need to sit on my shoulders, Yura?” Viktor asks, noticing the way Yuri is standing on his tip toes.

“Go to hell.”

Viktor can’t help his chuckle, although it stops once Yuri starts pushing his way into the crowd. Incognito, he thinks despairingly as he exchanges looks with Christophe before following. They were supposed to be incognito.

Luckily no one is interested in the rude boy and his tall companions, although a few people recognize Chris, greeting him cheerfully as they pass through.

Finally Viktor can see the performers up close, talking quietly as they set up. The motions are familiar, practiced, the two of them falling into an easy rhythm. The one with glasses says something to make the other boy straighten up, nodding as he breaks away before turning to set up a tripod, chatting with some of the closer audience members as he does.

“So that’s Yuuri?” Viktor asks Chris quietly.

“No, dumbass,” Yuri scoffs, pointing at the quiet boy who is still hanging back, finishing the setup. “That’s Yuuri.”

Viktor’s eyebrows jump up in surprise. He’d expected Yuuri to the more outgoing of the pair, from Chris’s description. They’re both good, of course, he’d said, but Yuuri has a few more years of experience. He’s absolutely splendid. You’ll love him.

“Just wait,” Chris whispers in his ear as Phichit finishes his setup and starts making his way around the circle, keeping up a light chatter. He notices Chris and brightens noticeably, bouncing over with a grin.

“Chis! Dancing today?”

“Ah, not today cherie. I brought friends with me.”

Phichit’s gaze went first to Yuri, and an amused smile broke across his face. Then he looked at Viktor and it turned into open-mouthed shock.

Viktor smirks, putting a finger over his lips and winking in the hopes that Phichit will listen and keep quiet.

Phichit nods, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. “Oh, Yuuri is going to kill you,” he breathes to Chris. “He’s going to kill me. He’s never going to forgive either of us for this. I can’t believe you showed up today of all days.”

“What’s so special about today?” Chris asks.

“You’ll see! No spoilers!” With that he seemingly gets a signal from Yuuri and flounces away, but not without one last wink at Viktor.

“Alrighty everyone!” he shouts as he spins in a gleeful circle before clapping his hands together. The surrounding crowd falls silent. “Our first song is going to require a bit of audience participation! How many of you are familiar with Viktor Nikiforov?”

Viktor jolts, betrayed, but Phichit doesn’t even glance his way as half the people around them cheer.

“Perfect! You guys know his On Love set?”

Ah. No wonder Phichit said today was special. He glances again at Yuuri, who has finished setting up everything and is now quietly taking his violin out of its case, trying to picture him dancing to Agape. He moved with a kind of grace that would pair beautifully with the song, and Viktor feels a stirring of excitement as the people around them cheer again.

“Awesome!” Phichit cheers again, clapping his hands. “We’re gonna be doing his song On Love: Eros today! I’m going to show you guys how to clap to the beat, okay? Follow along with me!”

That’s the third surprise. As Phichit guides his audience through keeping the correct rhythm Viktor keeps studying Yuuri, who has taken off his glasses and done something to slick back his hair. He looks different like this, more severe, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Then he takes off his hoodie, and Viktor’s gaze drops down as his shirt rides up with it, exposing the V of his hips. Yuuri ignores the wolf whistles as he balls up the hoodie and sets it to the side, running a hand through his hair. Viktor’s eyes follow the line of his bicep without his permission.

Oh, yes. He would like to see what Yuuri’s Eros looked like. He would like it very much indeed.

A sharp pain explodes in his shin, and Viktor almost yelps. He looks down to see Yuri glaring at him. “Stop drooling over him,” he snaps. “You’re disgusting.”

Viktor would retort, but he’s trying not to draw attention to himself. Especially because he’s invested now. He keeps looking as Yuuri picks up his violin and wanders to Phichit’s side, who is wrapping things up with the audience.

“You guys ready?”

The audience cheers. Phichit whoops, bounding over to a guitar stand. “Ready, Yuuri?”

“Ready,” Yuuri replies. Viktor has to strain his ears to hear him. His voice is soft and almost sweet, with an accent only barely noticeable with the single word. He looks nervous, but he rolls his shoulders, then his neck, visibly steeling himself as he loosens up.

“Great! Everyone remember your cue? Perfect! Let’s get started!” Phichit exclaims, taking a seat with flair and playing a few test chords as Yuuri moves to the middle of the circle. The audience quiets again, anticipation falling over the crowd. Yuuri straightens, violin and bow held loosely at his sides.

Without another word Phichit strums the opening notes on his guitar. Yuuri sways with them, bringing his violin up in an elegant display. Viktor briefly wishes again to see him dance to Agape.

Then as Phichit strikes the last chord he snaps into position, tucking his violin under his chin as he cocks his hip, going from angelic to devilishly good looking in a heartbeat.

Viktor can’t help himself. He whistles.

Little Yuri kicks him again, but he doesn’t even care because Yuuri hears it and smirks as he draws his bow across the strings and begins to play.

Viktor misses the cue to start clapping.

To tell the truth, Viktor hadn’t expected much from this performance. He’d known the dancing would be good, it had to be for both Chris and Yuri (in his own way) to praise it so highly, but On Love: Eros was a difficult song to bring to life with only two instruments and the clapping of a crowd. Not to mention there was only so much dancing one could do while also playing the violin. Viktor had gone into this thinking he would have a bit of light fun watching a pair of amateur street dancers, and been smacked in the face by the full force of Yuuri’s stage presence.

Before today, Viktor had thought he’d known what seduction was. Viktor had been wrong. Very, very wrong.

Yuuri’s violin became part of his body in the dance, holding it close, moving sensually around it. He may not be able to do much with his upper body but his footwork was light and quick, never even missing a single beat as he swayed and bent and played with more emotion than Viktor had felt in years.

Speaking of his footwork, there was something strange about it. Not wrong, no, it was clearly intentional, but there was an element to it that Viktor couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He stared at Yuuri’s feet for too long trying to figure it out until he looked up and saw Yuuri’s smile, coy and inviting as he stepped backwards, and realized that he was moving as if someone were leading him in the dance.

On Love: Eros was about seduction, yes. About the chase and the thrill, the moment of the catch. Yuuri, though, had a different story. Yuuri was playing a game of keep-away with an invisible partner, letting them believe he’d been caught before dancing just out of reach again and again, each time letting them a little closer than before until finally he was ensnared in their grasp.

The sharp notes near the end almost startled Viktor, turning the song from fun and playful to desperate as Yuuri’s unseen partner cast him aside, as he was left behind. The final note rang out and Yuuri struck his final pose, something reminiscent of an embrace, arms empty but for the violin in his grasp.

The audience exploded into clapping. Viktor finally joined in still a beat too late, feeling a wide smile spread across his face. Yuuri blushed fiercely as he took a bow, almost toppling forwards when Phichit used the opportunity to jump on his back, cheering as loudly as the crowd.

“We’ve been practicing that forever!” he shouted gleefully to them as Yuuri stumbled, trying to keep both the boy and the violin from falling.

“Phichit-kun!” he laughed. “Be careful!”

“Yuuri~” Chris sings, dragging Viktor forward, “I brought you a gift.”

Yuuri doesn’t even look up. “I already told you I won’t pole dance out here. You’re going to get me arrested for public indecency.”

Viktor chokes on his tongue, erupting into a coughing fit. Yuuri hastily turns around, a mortified blush bursting on his face, glasses in hand.

Chris didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “No pole, although you do still owe me a dance. No, no, I brought a friend to meet you! He was very impressed by your performance.”

“Would you consider being in a video?” Viktor blurts out. Then, realizing he’s being rude, he adds on, “Ah, sorry. It’s just— that was the most beautiful performance of Eros I’ve ever seen. I’d love to work with you sometime.”

Yuuri turns an impossibly brighter shade of red, not meeting Viktor’s eyes. “Thank you, but I think Viktor Nikiforov would disagree.”

Viktor blue screens at that. How is it that Yuuri hasn’t recognized him yet? Was he really so unrecognizable without his hair on display? Does he not know what Viktor looks like? Does he only listen to his compositions? Has Viktor simply lost his touch?

Chris snickers from beside him.

“Viktor Nikiforov would sell his soul to have even a fraction of the musicality you move with,” he finally says.

That manages to get Yuuri to look at him head on, a sudden scowl creasing his features.

Chris outright laughs. “Oh, you’ve done it now,” he tells Viktor. Then as Yuuri opens his mouth, “Give it a moment before you start listing all his greatest accomplishments, love. Let my friend introduce himself first!”

Yuuri shuts his mouth, looking profoundly uninterested. “Fine,” he says, tone making it clear it is not fine, and sticks out the hand not holding his glasses. “I’m Yuuri.”

“Viktor,” he replies, taking Yuuri’s hand and kissing the back of it. “And I must say, I love what you’ve done with my work.”

Yuuri blinks. Squints more. Blinks again. Takes his hand back and puts his glasses on, eyes even bigger than before as he continues to blink rapidly through them, as if what he sees in front of him will somehow change if he closes his eyes. Viktor gives him his most charming, camera ready smile.

He knows the exact moment Yuuri finally registers who is standing in front of him because he shrieks.

Viktor jumps. Chris erupts into laughter, almost falling forward onto the pavement.

“I am so sorry!” Yuuri exclaims. “I didn’t realize— I couldn’t see— that was so rude of me!”

“It’s all right, Yuuri,” Viktor says easily. “I think it’s sweet you were so willing to defend my honor. But you never answered my question, do you do collaborations?”

Yuuri stares at him in disbelief. Viktor waits, smile starting to falter, until somehow, between blinks, he disappears.

“Yuuri?”

“What?” Yuri Plisetsky asks, appearing at Viktor’s elbow.

“Not you, the other Yuuri! Where did he go?”

Chris makes an impressed sound. “Yuuri’s always been flighty, but that has to be a new record. I didn’t even see him move.”

Flighty? Flighty was for the shy boy Viktor had thought Yuuri was before he’d moved with so much confidence and grace Viktor thought he’d died and gone to heaven, since there were apparently angels roaming around. Flighty was for startled birds, not men who oozed sex appeal and twisted their hips like that.

And yet Yuuri had flown off, and taken Viktor’s heart with him.

“You have his phone number, right?”

Chris grimaces.

“You don’t?”

“We’re not close. Like I said, he is rather flighty.”

“That’s stupid,” Yuri snorts. “He’s all over Instagram.”

“I don’t think he actually has an Instagram.”

“Of course Yuuri has an Instagram,” Phichit gasps, popping up behind them. “Who do you take me for? It’s just not under his real name. And set to private. And I’m not allowed to tag him in anything. He mostly uses it to lurk, to be honest. But I’m working on it! Anyways, Chris, speaking of Yuuri, do you know where he went? I don’t see him.”

“He ran away!” Viktor cries, distraught. “You can find him, right? Or give me his phone number? You know his phone number, don’t you?”

“Obviously I know his phone number,” Phichit replies, but he doesn’t seem interested in telling Viktor what it is. Instead he’s scanning the crowd around them, a worried frown starting to crease his forehead. “I should have seen this coming,” he mutters to himself. “Yuuri is—“

“Flighty, yeah, we heard,” Yuri snaps.

“Yuuri is having a really hard time right now,” he corrects firmly. “He’s—he wouldn’t want me to go into it, but he’s had the world’s worst week. I thought meeting you might cheer him up, but…well, anyways, don’t take it personally. It’s not anything you said, he just…wasn’t prepared to meet you today on top of everything else going on.”

[chris and viktor go to a club]

“Viktor!” He hears, and before he has time to turn around there’s someone pressed to his side, the warmth of another body like a shock to his system. Viktor freezes, a polite smile already stretching across his face until he looks down and it falters.

“Yuuri?”

“Viktor,” Yuuri says again, looking up at him with wide eyes. His face is flushed, his glasses have disappeared, and he’s clinging to Viktor as if a crowbar couldn’t pry him off. He looks very, very drunk. “I’m sorry I ran away before. That was rude. And stupid! And rude.”

“It’s okay,” he replies, somewhat bewildered. “Your friend Phichit said you weren’t feeling well.”

“I feel fine,” Yuuri chirps. “I feel great! Do you want to dance?”

“Do I—do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Want to dance?”

“Oh! Yes, please!” With that Yuuri releases him just long enough to grab him by the hand, pulling him out onto the dance floor.

It’s only two songs before Yuuri is pulling him into a modified paso doble, the steps strangely familiar.

“Is this Eros?” Viktor asks, delighted. Yuuri’s eyes went wide, mouth falling open into a perfect little “o” that he ached to kiss.

“You noticed?” he breathes.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

[viktor comments that yuuri is leading so he must have learned both parts for eros]

“I tried to be the playboy,” Yuuri says, which is a sentence that takes Viktor a moment to parse out. “I couldn’t do it. I’m not—I’m not good at that kind of thing. But then I realized I could be the most beautiful woman in town, and seduce him! So that’s what I did.”

“You did a very good job,” Viktor murmurs, thoroughly seduced.

Oh, Yuuri knew all about his talk with Yurio. Yurio had yelled at him for even thinking of retiring the second they saw each other, Viktor standing unrepentant at his side when Yuuri had asked him how he even knew about that. Yuuri had almost burst out laughing. Maybe he should have been upset at the scheming, but Yurio had beaten him fair and square, and made history along with it. And Yuuri wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

Maybe in a different world he’d be satisfied with one international gold medal, but Viktor knew him too well to believe it was this one.

Five more seasons. It sounded beautiful, and impossible. Yuuri would strive for that goal, strive to surpass it, and if he failed Viktor would be by his side and would help him work out the kinks, come back better than before, with that same unwavering faith. Helping Yuuri be the best that he could be, because it was Yuuri that Viktor had faith in. The medals didn’t really matter, so long as Yuuri did the best he could.

(Oh, but he wanted them. He wouldn’t walk away without them. You’d have to drag him from the ice kicking and screaming.)

So yeah, spectacles. Viktor loves them. Loves the attention, the applause, the surprise. He’d never admit it out loud, but underneath the overwhelming anxiety Yuuri loved it too. As soon as his inhibitions were lowered he was as bad as Viktor. Worse, even. Drunk and dancing and making a fool of himself at an official event. Impulsively launching into a quadruple flip at the end of his program. Grabbing Viktor by the tie and claiming him in his home country. Even their proposal, a quiet, private moment just for them, had been just as unexpected, just as shocking and spectacular.

Really, you couldn’t be a skater without a bit of flair.

Katsuki Yuuri, Viktor murmured more than once into his ear, breathtakingly fond. Every time I think you couldn’t possibly surprise me more than you already have, you prove me wrong all over again.

I learned from the best, Yuuri had replied, and soaked in Viktor’s delighted laugh.

But it’s about more than the spectacle. It’s more than wanting to savor the cheers for one last time.

It was the longing on Viktor’s face when he saw Yurio skating his program. He’d seen it before, in small flashes, but it was never so obvious as when he thought no one could see him.

Yuuri can be remembered as the one who took Viktor from the world, he doesn’t care. He revels in it, even. Loves claiming Viktor in front of everyone, even if he has to power through the embarrassment at his own actions later. The heady weight of Viktor’s attention makes him want to shout it from the rooftops, Me! It’s me, he saw something in me, he chose me above everybody else, he loves me—

Anyways, Yuuri can handle being the one to take Viktor from the world. What he can’t handle is being the one to take the ice away from Viktor. He can’t take away Viktor’s chance to say goodbye.

Viktor’s first love will always be the ice. Yuuri really isn’t all that different, but it had been Viktor who inspired that love in him. Viktor and the ice have been irrevocably intertwined in his mind since the tender age of twelve, when he saw a beautiful boy dancing all the love out in his heart.

Viktor’s love deserves a proper farewell. He wants the chance to announce definitively that this is his last season, his last time competing on the ice. He wants all eyes on him as he telegraphs his goodbye to the world.

After Worlds, if he stays or goes, that’s up to him no matter the medal on his chest. After all, both Yuuri and Yurio have shown they can beat him. Viktor is excited about that, too, the challenge to fight for the attention. The crutch of balancing coaching and skating only makes it more exciting for him.

And if Yuuri beats him? Well, that ends with the two of them tied together, and Yuuri probably doing something impulsive and exciting, because he’s starting to recognize a pattern in himself when it comes to Viktor, and Viktor will beam that heart shaped smile and kiss him and then list all the ways he could become even better. Yuuri winning would be another win to Viktor as well, almost the same way Viktor winning wouldn’t quite ever feel like losing to Yuuri, because it means Yuuri gets to watch Viktor Nikiforov skate something beautiful the way he always has, unable to ever look away. And now he gets to skate with Viktor after, Stammi Vicino cooning from the speakers as they’re bathed in pink and blue light.