Chapter Text
Yura is shaking with barely controlled tremors as he clings to him. Yuuri braces one arm under Yura’s thighs and the other around his back, “It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’m here.”
He nods against his shoulder, high hitching breaths as he tries and not to cry and fails. Mila is watching with a hand over her mouth, and he catches her eye and purposefully jerks his gaze down, hoping she catches his meaning without him having to say anything. She nods and kneels besides them, carefully unlacing Yura’s skates and sliding them off, and Yuuri lets out a small breath. The last thing they need is someone accidentally getting sliced open.
Yura doesn’t protest, only criss-crossing his legs behind Yuuri’s back once they’re off. “You,” he hiccups, “you - what are you,” he shifts so he’s pressing his facing into the juncture of Yuuri’s neck and shoulder, and his face is wet on Yuuri’s skin.
“I didn’t want you to be alone,” he says, carefully walking over so he can lower them both onto the bench seats. Yura doesn’t let go, only let’s Yuuri readjust them so he’s curled in his lap. “I figured I’d stay with you for a bit. If that’s okay?”
Yura nods, gripping him extra tight for a moment before relaxing. He still doesn’t move to leave, and Yuuri’s not about to make him, so that’s how they stay for long minutes while Yura’s breath evens out and eventually deepens. He knows the moment Yura falls asleep, his whole body going slack and heavy in his arms.
“Katsuki,” he looks up, and they’re all clustered around, a respectful distance back except for Yakov who walks forward and carefully brushes Yura’s hair back from his face. “Nice to see you again.”
“Thanks,” he says, “I wish it could be under better circumstances.” He leans back enough to get a better look at Yura’s face. The crescent bruises under his eyes are dark and deep. “Has he been sleeping at all?”
“I think this is the first time since Nikolai was hurt,” Yakov says. “He hasn’t been eating either.”
He sighs, “Of course not. I don’t suppose you could call me a cab? I think I should take Yura home.”
“I can take you,” Viktor says, “I have a key to Yuri’s place.”
Yuuri blinks and finally takes a good look at the other skater. He hasn’t seen him since they went out drinking together with Chris months ago, and his memory of that ends somewhere around the time he started doing shots at the first club. Viktor only looks concerned and not like he’s horrified to see Yuuri again, so he couldn’t have done anything too embarrassing. He should really ask Chris for more details – all he knows is that they didn’t get into dance off, which leaves a whole lot of other embarrassing behavior on the table. “Please. Thank you.”
Viktor nods and quickly switches out his skates for sneakers. “Do you need helps with…?” he gestures to Yura.
He stands, shifting his grip so he’s holding Yura bridal style with his head is lying against his shoulder. “I’ve got him.”
“I’ll get these, then,” Viktor grabs Yuuri’s suitcase and duffle, and gives him a movie star smile. “Ready?”
Yuuri gives his own weak grin in return, “Ready.”
~
Georgi squints, “Did … did Viktor just blush?”
Yakov and Mila turn to stare at him. “What?”
“I think Viktor blushed,” he says, “I’m almost positive. At Katsuki.”
Mila rolls her eyes and glides back onto the ice, “I think our lives are dramatic enough without you making stuff up.”
Georgi looks to Yakov, beseeching, “You saw it, right?”
His coach sighs, “Get back on the ice, you over dramatic little shit.”
He huffs and skates back into the center of the rink.
~
They don’t say much during the car ride there, and under normal circumstance Viktor would be thrilled to have Yuuri in his car, but these aren’t normal circumstances.
“Thanks for coming,” he says as he parks, looking into his mirror to where Yuuri is still holding Yura in his back seat. “We were getting really worried.”
He goes around back and helps Yuuri out, both of them being careful not to wake Yura up. “Anytime,” Yuuri says, “I know Yura can be stubborn.”
“Him? Stubborn? You don’t say,” Viktor teases, unlocking the front door, “Yura’s room is down the hall on your left. I’ll grab your bags.”
Yuuri nods, taking careful steps, and Viktor ducks back out to grab his luggage from the trunk. He drops it off in the Plisetsky’s guest room, and when he goes to Yura’s room Yuuri is just pulling the blanket up over the kid’s shoulders.
“Do you need anything?” he asks, leaning against the door frame.
Yuuri stretches, hands above his head and curving backwards until he’s nearly touching the ground, his shirt sliding up enough to reveal a strip of pale skin. “No, that’s al-” he cuts himself off and straightens. “Actually,” he says hesitantly, “if it’s not too much trouble – would you mind taking a quick trip with me to the grocery store?”
“Of course not,” he pushes himself off of the door frame, “I’m ready when you are.”
~
Yuuri honestly wants nothing more than to take a shower and go to bed – he hates long plane rides – but a free ride and a handy translator is too good to pass up. His Russian is limited to the few words and phrases he’s picked up from Yura.
Viktor’s seemingly fascinated with the array of ingredients Yuuri has picked out, and he instantly gets the impression that Viktor is one of those people whose fridge contains a dazzling array of microwavable dinners and little else. “You don’t cook a lot?” he finally asks when they’re in the baking aisle, and Viktor is inspecting the shelf of different flours and sugars like he’s never seen it before.
“I guess I’m that obvious, huh?” he says, giving him that thousand watt grin that makes Yuuri’s heart skip a beat. “I’m surprised you had time to learn between skating and university.”
Viktor knows he goes to school? Has Yura been talking about him?
“It was before that, actually. My parents run a hot springs and restaurant. They taught me,” he explains, “Of course, this also means all the recipes I know are intended to feed about a dozen people. It’s made making friends in college surprisingly easy.” No one cared if you were quiet and awkward if you were feeding them. He pushes the cart out of that aisle and grabs a gallon of milk before swinging around to the produce section. He starts piling vegetables into the cart, and Viktor’s eyebrows rise nearly to his hairline. Honestly, how is this man even alive?
Viktor leans against the cart, and Yuuri pauses in his inspection of the tomatoes. He’s not looking at him, and his smile seems almost … wistful, maybe, is the word. “That’s nice. I usually eat alone. I guess that’s why I never really learned to cook – it didn’t seem like there was much point if it was only me.”
Yuuri stares. He’s almost certain that Viktor hadn’t meant for that to come out as heart-wrenchingly sad as it had. His hand hovers over Viktor’s forearm, hesitating because they barely know each other and it’s not his place, but he’s still looking at something Yuuri can’t see, sad in some seemingly untouchable way that Yuuri, who has his family who’s supported and loved him his whole life, who has Phichit and Sara and Chris, who often feels alone but never lonely, can’t really understand.
He grips Viktor’s arm and squeezes, and his head snaps down so they’re looking each other in the eyes. “Katsudon is my favorite dish that my mother makes – it’s where Yura got his nickname for me, its means pork cutlet bowl. When you get back from China, I’ll make it for you. Okay?”
Yuuri is not a nurturing person. He’s not prone to cooking and looking after others, but he is a caring person. If looking after Yura keeps him sane, if cooking for Viktor gets that look off his face – he’s more than happy to do it.
Viktor’s eyes widen, and he smiles – something softer and more genuine than his normal grins, and all at once Yuuri is reminded of how incredibly beautiful Viktor is. He puts his hand on top of Yuuri’s and says, “I’d like that.”
“Good,” Yuuri says.
He’s still holding the tomato.
~
Yuuri gets back to Yura’s house, groceries on the table that Viktor had paid for despite his protests. He’d said it was the least he could do considering everything Yuuri was doing, and had thrust his card at the bemused cashier.
The house isn’t a mess by any definition of the word, at worst it can be described as disheveled. But he does what he can, putting away the groceries and quickly throwing together a soup to slow-cook on the stovetop. Yura is still asleep, and when he wakes up he’s going to insist that he eats something. He opens all the curtains, and even cracks a window for a few minutes let fresh air in until he can’t take cold. He does what few dishes there are, and is in the middle of scrubbing down the counters when he hears a phone ringing.
He blinks, looking around, because it sounds close so it’s not Yura’s and he knows it’s not his. Then he catches sight of a phone attached to the wall, and to be honest he’d completely forgotten that home phones even existed. He picks it up, just in case it’s Yakov or one of Yura’s rinkmates. “Plisetsky residence, Yuuri speaking.”
There’s a long silence, and Yuuri’s about to hang up when a gravelly voice barks, “You are not Yuri! Where’s my grandson?”
“Mr. Plisetsky,” he says, startled, “No, I – I’m Yuuri Katsuki, maybe your grandson has mentioned me –”
“Katsudon?” he asks, the anger and worry draining from his voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Japan?”
Yuuri relaxes, “Detroit, actually, although I am from Japan. I just – Yura called me when you got hurt, and I just – I didn’t want him to be alone. I was planning to stay with him until you’re recovered, if that’s okay with you?”
“Where is he now?” he asks, “Is he still at the rink?”
Yuuri looks toward Yura’s room, “Uh, no. He’s asleep actually.”
“He is?” There’s no mistaking the relief in his voice, “Has he eaten anything?”
“I’m making soup now,” he glances at the stove, and he should probably be stirring that. “Yakov told me he hasn’t been eating, so I figured I should ease him back into it a bit. I don’t want him getting sick.”
“Hm. Yakov knows you’re there? And Viktor?”
“Yes. Viktor drove me here,” he says, leaving out the part where Yura passed out at the rink.
There’s another long silence, and Yuuri’s just starting to get nervous when Nikolai says, “Very well, you can stay. Take good care of Yurochka,” and hangs up.
“Will do,” he sighs, speaking only to static, before hanging the phone up and going to check on the soup.
~
Yuri wakes up slowly, eyelids heavy. He curls deeper into his bed, pulling the blankets tighter around him. Sleep is pulling him back, but hunger’s also gnawing at his stomach for the first time since – since –
He shoots up, totally awake, and wrestles himself out of the blankets. It all comes flooding back, and it had to have been a dream, or a hallucination, or something. He skids to a stop in the living room, and Katsudon is there, eyes closed and in an improbable yoga pose. He looks up and smiles, untwisting himself to stand up straight, “You’re up! Good. I made soup.”
“You’re really here,” he says numbly. “Katsudon, what – what are you doing! You have to be in France in two weeks! You don’t have the time to babysit me!”
He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “Nobody is babysitting anyone. If you’re responsible enough to be an internationally competing professional athlete, then you’re fully capable of spending your nights alone and feeding yourself if that’s what you want.” Yuri relaxes a little, those words soothing a pride he hadn’t even realized had been hurt. He wasn’t a kid. He didn’t need people fussing over him. “However,” Katsudon continues, “this is rough. It sucks. I thought you might want a friend.”
He does. Just having him there makes everything better, everything more tolerable. “But your competition!” he insists, “Yuuri, you have a really good chance of qualifying for the Grand Prix Final. You need to be focused on that!”
“I am,” he says, “I’ve already looked into it – there’s a rink nearby that I can practice at. I’ll be fine, Yurochka. You’re always saying Celestino is useless anyway.”
He is, but even a shitty coach is better than no coach. But Katsudon has that frown that means he’s going to be stubborn about this, and it’s not like Yuri actually wants him to leave anyway. “Okay. But you’re not going to practice at some random rink with the public – you’re coming and practicing with me at my rink.” He opens his mouth to protest, but Yuri barrels forward, “Yakov and Viktor are going to be gone for the next couple of days anyway, and Mila and Georgi won’t mind.”
“And when Yakov gets back?” Yuuri asks, eyebrow raised.
“I’ll take care of it,” he answers, making a note to look up when Viktor’s free skate will be over so he can give their coach a call after. He’s not stupid enough to try to extract favors from Yakov before Vitya has secured yet another gold medal. “Deal?”
Katsudon uncrosses his arms and sighs, “Deal. Now let’s eat before the soup gets cold.”
~
Mila is getting ready for the day, putting on her workout clothes and running a brush through her hair. Considering the alarm she can hear blaring across the hall, she has another five minutes before Georgi groggily stumbles into her room accusing her of making them late. As if it’s ever her fault that they’re late.
“He’s really planning to stay there?” Sara asks, her face filling up the laptop screen.
“Looks like it,” she says, and her hair is just barely long enough to pull back. “I’m glad, Yuri’s still a kid. He needs someone looking after him, and he wasn’t about to let any of us do it.” She hesitates, dropping her arms and turning so she can actually see Sara’s face. “Yuri brought him to the rink yesterday. Which is fine, he has his second qualifying event in less than two weeks, so it’s for the best. He’s nice, just like you said, but – uh, I mean.”
“He doesn’t seem like that great of a skater?” Sara finishes knowingly.
Mila lets out a great sigh of relief, “Yes! Not bad, of course, but not – I mean, I’ve seen him skate in competitions before, and that was better. I just – don’t get it, is all.”
She shrugs, “He’s always been like that, don’t worry about it. When push comes to shove, Yuuri will pull through, and besides this season he’s doing better than ever.”
“If you say so,” Mila says, “I have to get to the rink, I’ll talk to you later.”
~
Phichit tilts his head to side and squints, “Are you lying in a bathtub?”
His best friend rolls his eyes and shifts, and he can’t see much more than Yuuri’s face but it definitely looks like a bathtub. “Yes. I didn’t want Yurochka to overhear and worry.”
“Worry?” he echoes, and tries not to let his voice pitch into hysteria, “Why would he worry? It’s not like Celestino is threatening to drop you unless you get your ass on a plane back to Detroit or anything.”
“Shh!” he hisses, glancing anxiously off screen to what Phichit assumes is the bathroom door. “I don’t want to tell Celestino about Yura’s grandfather, he can’t keep any secrets when he’s drunk. I told him I needed to deal with a family emergency, I don’t know what else he expects.”
“For you to stop acting like a crazy person maybe?” he suggests.
Yuuri glares, mouth tugging down at the corners. “Well, he can drop me or not, but I’m staying where I am.”
So stubborn. Phichuit frequently forgets how immovable Yuuri can be when he’s made up his mind about something. “Okay,” he says, not wanting to sit there having an argument he can already tell he’s not going to win. “How are you doing practicing on your own?”
His face twists into a grimace, “About as well as expected.”
“Oh my god,” Phichit moans, putting his head in his hands and going back on the decision he’d just made to say, “This is all such a bad idea.”
There’s an odd gasping sound coming from his monitor, and he peeks between his fingers to see Yuuri laughing so hard he can’t even catch his breath. The knot of worry in his chest loosens at that, because the Yuuri he knew before Yurio would be midway through a panic attack with everything going on, but instead he’s laughing at him.
Maybe, maybe Yuuri knows what he’s doing after all.
~
Yura wanted to see his grandfather, but Nikolai hadn’t wanted him missing practice to visit him, so the compromise was Yuuri and Yura getting up at the crack of dawn and taking a cab to the hospital.
Yuuri didn’t mind, not one to sleep much past sunrise anyway, but Yura had gotten into the back of the cab and curled up against him before falling asleep like a grumpy kitten. It was, quite frankly, adorable, and Yuuri twisted his arm at an awkward angle to snap a photo without waking him up.
It’s a short ride, and Yuuri finds himself shaking Yura awake and guiding him through the hospital. He’s wondering if maybe going so early wasn’t the brightest idea when they enter the room and Yura, without any sort of greeting, climbs into Nikolai’s hospital bed and faceplants into his chest. Nikolai laughs and pats the top of Yura’s head, and the two of them speak in soft Russian while Yuuri claims a chair by Nikolai’s bedside.
Some minute later, a gruff voice says, “You must be Katsudon.”
Yuuri looks up from scrolling through his instagram – damn Yura and Phichit both for getting him to use the damn thing – and smiles. “Yes sir,” he stands and holds out his hand to shake, “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”
Nikolai raises an eyebrow and looks from Yuuri’s hand to Yura, who attempts to hide his snickers in his grandfather’s shoulder. Yuuri’s beginning to wonder if he’s missed something when Nikolai’s work-roughened hand closes over his own. However, instead of shaking it, he tugs Yuuri forward, causing him to stumble and fall into the older man. Nikola’s arm comes across his back and squeezes, “None of that now. Thank you for looking after our Yurochka. It’s much easier to focus on getting better and out of here knowing that he’s with you.”
He flushes and hesitantly hugs back once he feels Yura’s arms joining his grandfather’s, “I wouldn’t be anywhere else, sir.”
“Call me Nikolai,” he says, and it’s clear he’s laughing at him but it’s also equally clear it’s not malicious so he only nods.
~
Chris’s alarm goes off, and he blindly reaches out an arm to snatch his phone of his bedside table and hit snooze. He blinks some of the sleep from his eyes, huddling beneath the warmth of his duvet as he unlocks his phone to check his facebook and twitter.
He blinks again, slower this time, wondering if he’s still asleep, and scrolls quickly through the rest of his feed, seeing the same thing over and over. “Oh no,” he says, faint because it’s too early to curse and he’s not fully awake yet. It has to be some sort of mistake, because he would have heard about it if it wasn’t.
He considers calling one of them, either to find out what exactly is going on or to give them a heads up, but it’s early and he’s sure to hear about it anyway so he tucks his phone under his pillow and works on catching some extra precious minutes of sleep.
~
Viktor beams, the gold medal around his neck, and carefully steps off the podium to walk over to Yakov and the hoards of reporters. He slows, however, when he sees Yakov frantically shaking his head and miming a zipping motion over his mouth. What on earth…?
“Mr. Nikiforov!” one of the reporters calls out, and Viktor shrugs it off and strides forward, million-watt smile on display. “Can you confirm the existence of a romantic relationship between yourself and Japanese skater Yuuri Katsuki?”
…
What?
It’s only through years of practice that he keeps his smile from slipping, “Excuse me?”
“You two have already moved in together,” another reporter adds, which is certainly news to him, “things must be serious?”
“Any talk of an engagement?” a third one asks, and he shoots Yakov a panicked glance, because on one hand he and Yuuri – unfortunately – aren’t dating and definitely aren’t engaged, but on the other hand Yakov clearly doesn’t want him to say anything, and why exactly is he getting asked these questions now?
His mind flashes to the photo on his phone, and if it turns out Chris leaked photos of the two of them from when they’d gone out together after the last World Championships he’s going to strangle him.
“No comment,” Yakov says gruffly, latching onto Viktor’s elbow and dragging him away from the throng of reporters. He gives them a little wave but allows himself to be pulled away.
“What’s going on?” he demands once they’re away from prying eyes, “What are they all talking about?”
Yakov hold out his phone. The headline ‘SECRET LOVE AFFAIR REVEALED’ is stamped along the top, and below it is a photo. It’s the two of them, taken just a couple days ago from when they were grocery shopping. They’re looking into each other’s eyes and their hands are tangled together. Yuuri is holding a tomato.
It’s a damning picture. Viktor knows it was just Yuuri feeling sorry for him and offering to cook him dinner, but it certainly looks like they’re lovers, like Yuuri is a moment away from closing the few inches between their lips. But he’s not. “So they have a picture,” he says, tearing his eyes away and looking at his coach, who’s now frowning at him. “It’s a mistake, why didn’t we just say that?”
“And tell them what?” he asks, “That Katsuki is taking an extended vacation to St. Petersburg in the middle of competition season for no reason? That’s believable.”
“Ah,” Viktor says, finally understanding. The public doesn’t know Yuri’s grandfather is injured, because it’s none of their business. Yuri didn’t even want their sympathy, never mind his thousands of fans. “We need to talk to Yuri. Both of them.”
~
Thankfully, they’d gotten to the rink before the story had broken, and hadn’t even known about it until Mila and Georgi had burst inside, eyes wide and frantic. Both of them had been babbling in Russian so Yuuri hadn’t caught a word, but Yura had paled and skated over to the edge of the rink, frantically grabbing for his cell phone. “Mind filling me in?” he asks, skating to the edge and leaning against it.
“Everyone thinks you and Viktor are dating,” Yura answers, and he stares.
Georgi holds out his phone, looking vaguely apologetic, “It’s true. It’s all over – everywhere.”
“Oh my god,” he says faintly, looking down at the photo and scrolling through the hundreds of comments. He thinks he’s going to pass out.
At that moment, Yura’s phone starts ringing, and he answers it immediately, barking, “Viktor, what the hell.” There’s a long pause. “Yes, he’s here. No, you can’t talk to him, you psycho. Tell me why you haven’t released a statement yet.” There’s another long pause, and Yuri resists the urge to ask Yura to put in on speaker. His face pinches and he says, quieter this time, “Oh. Okay. Hold on, we’re not doing this through a phone call, at least let me call you back on skype.” He hangs up and sighs, closing his eyes and breathing out slowly.
Yuuri skates over and puts an arm around his shoulders, “You okay?”
Yura opens his mouth, closes it, and winds his arm around Yuuri’s waist so they’re pressed side to side. “Yeah,” he says, giving a half smile. He calls back on skype and holds up the phone they’re both in view.
Viktor and Yakov’s faces fill the screen. Viktor’s biting his lips and his eyebrows are dipped together, while Yakov’s face just gives the vague impression of concern while remaining completely blank. “I’m so sorry about this!” Viktor blurts.
Yuuri blinks, taken aback, “Why? We got photographed, it happens, and it’s certainly not your fault.”
“Are you seeing anyone right now?” Yakov asks, cutting off whatever Viktor was about to say.
His face heats up, “Uh – no, I’m not.”
“Good,” Yakov nods, “then congratulations – for the foreseeable future, you and Vitya are dating.”
Yuuri can feel the all blood that had just rushed to his face drain from it, which can’t be healthy.
“What didn’t you ask me if I’m seeing anyone?” Viktor whines before what Yakov just said seems to catch up with him and he says, “What?”
“It’s easier than trying to concoct some other excuse,” Yakov says, “and it’ll only be for a month or so anyway.”
“And I just look like a crazy person who abandoned my coach to live in Russia in the middle of competition season for my boyfriend,” Yuuri sighs, and tries not to think of the absolute fit Celestino is going to throw over this. He’s still not planning on telling his coach why exactly he’s here, and now with this story everywhere he’s sure to be furious.
Yura tenses all along his side and he looks down in concern. “No,” Yura says, hands clenches, “no that’s – that’s not fair. We’ll just tell everyone the truth.”
Yakov shakes his head, “No, Yuri–”
“No,” he cuts him off, “No. It’s not fair to drag down Katsudon’s reputation just to keep me out of the news. It’s not worth it. We’ll tell everyone the truth.”
It’s a nice gesture – an amazing gesture – but Yuuri isn’t about to let it happen. “Yurochka,” he says, squeezing his shoulder until the younger boy looks up at him, “No. Thank you – but no. Your personal life isn’t anybody’s concern, and the last thing you want to do is start letting the media butt into your privacy. We’ll go with the cover story,” he looks to Viktor, who gives a determined nod.
“But now they’ll be butting in to your privacy,” Yura argues.
“It’s fine,” he says, even though it’s really not, even though he hates the media prying into his life, hates the fame that comes with his passion. Pretending to be Viktor Nikiforov’s boyfriend is only going to make all that so much worse. But Yura is a kid, he’s only thirteen, and the only thing worse than the public prying into his own personal life is them dragging out all the dirty details of Yura and his grandfather, is the whole world putting Yura’s pain on display like they have some sort of right to it. So Yuuri pushes all his fears down to say, “It’s okay, Yura. Viktor and I can handle this.”
Yura doesn’t look away, searching Yuuri’s face for a long moment before nodding and leaning back against Yuuri’s side. “It’s settled then,” Yakov says, “We’re heading to the airport now. See you in about,” he checks his watch, “fifteen hours.”
Fifteen hours. Cool. Fifteen hours to prepare himself to act like the boyfriend of his idol. This is fine.
Oh god, he needs to talk Phichit.
~
Yuri waits until they’ve snuck their way back home and Katsudon’s in the shower to call Yakov. He’s a little bit gratified when he picks up by the time the second ring is done, “Yura? Is something wrong?”
“Besides everything?” he snarls before remembering he’s calling because he wants something and he should at least make a little bit of an effort at not being a brat. “I mean – yes, something’s wrong. I need a favor. A big favor.”
“What is it?”
“I need you to train Katsudon too, while he’s here,” he says, “He’s good, and he’s doing so well this season. I try to help – I do help – but I’m not a coach.”
Yakov snorts before saying dryly, “It’s good to know you’re aware of at least some of your limits.” Yuri doesn’t even have the time to get offended before he continues, “Yura, of course. By helping you he’s helping all of us.” The relief is so immediate and staggering that he has to lean against the wall for support. He’d been so afraid that he’d doomed Katsudon to failure by needing him, and even if Katsudon was okay with that he isn’t. “I’ve tried calling Celestino but he’s not answering my calls.”
“Shocking,” Yuri says, but he’s grinning. “Thank you.”
Yakov grunts, somehow managing to still sound vaguely pleased, and ends the call.
~
Chris is mid-practice when his coach calls out, “Your phone’s ringing! It’s Nikiforov!”
He immediately abandons his step sequence to rush over and snatch his phone away, ignoring Josef’s exasperated look. He’s been waiting for one of them to call him, and he doesn’t bother to keep the delight from his voice when he answers, “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials. If I’m not the best man I’m going to be very cross.”
“Shut up,” he moans, “what am I supposed to do?”
“Yuuri, I’m assuming,” he says, and laughs outright when Viktor makes a choking sound at the other end.
“I’m serious!”
Chris leans over and snatches a towel from Josef’s outstretched hand, wiping the sweat from his face. “So am I. What’s the problem here? The man you’re obsessed with is now your media-boyfriend. Could it get any more perfect?”
“I want him to be my real boyfriend! Not my media-boyfriend!” he insists.
“Well considering you’ve made exactly zero progress with that on your own, this seems like a perfect opportunity. This time you just have to seduce him without alcohol.”
Viktor groans, “I didn’t seduce him last time! He seduced me!”
That’s a good point. “He probably won’t do that again without alcohol.” There a long silence. Chris raises an eyebrow, “Viktor?”
“I don’t know,” he says quietly, “he’s been doing a pretty good job of it so far.”
“Oh my god,” Chris laughs, and then hangs up on principle. His phone is instantly ringing again, and he answers “You’re pathetic.”
“What?” asks not-Viktor, “Chris?”
He winces, “Yes, sorry, I thought you were someone else. What’s up?”
As soon as he says it he realized that it’s a ridiculous question. Yuuri answers, “Phichit didn’t answer. I left him a message. In the meanwhile,” he takes a deep breath, and Chris has enough foresight to pull the phone away from his ear.
He can still hear Yuuri screaming from the speaker, and by the time he stops laughing long enough to bring the phone back to his ear Yuuri’s already hung up.
~
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” he asks for the fifth time.
Katsudon sighs, “Yes, I’m sure. The whole point of this is to keep you away from the media circus, remember?”
He crosses his arms, “I don’t like you going alone. They’re going to eat you alive.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he says dryly, and Yuri can tell he’s not actually offended so he doesn’t bother to apologize. “I’ll go pick them up, get a few pictures taken, and I’ll be right back. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.” Yuri stares. No way is he that stupid. Eventually Katsudon sighs and says, “Let me hope, okay? I promise to come back with all my limbs attached at least.”
He gives in, uncrossing his arms, but can’t help but ask, “You’re not going in that, are you?”
Katsudon looks down at his sweatpants and longsleeve, “I was planning on it. Why?” There’s not enough time in the world to talk about everything wrong with it, and they have less than an hour before Katsudon ha to leave. He pulls out his phone, firing off a rapid text to Mila and Georgi since they only live a couple miles from Viktor’s apartment, and doesn’t put it in their rinkmates group chat specifically he doesn’t want the older man to see it. If he hadn’t wanted them going through his things he shouldn’t have given them all keys to his place. “Yura?”
“Go put on some jeans,” he says, not looking up from his phone as Mila and Georgi start sending him pictures of their options, “the too-tight skinny ones. I know Phichit sent them. And a white button up, you have like five of them.”
“Denim is cold!” he protests, “I’ll freeze!”
He stabs a finger towards the guest room where Katsudon is staying, “March. That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Katsudon throws up his hands, but does as he’s told with a minimum amount of grumbling. If Katsudon is going to put himself under a microscope for Yuri’s benefit, the least he can do is make sure the press doesn’t literally tear him apart.
~
Viktor had expected the horde of reporters when he stepped out of baggage claim. What he hadn’t expected was Yuuri to be there waiting for him as well, looking absolutely delicious. Or wearing his grey waistcoat and favorite black silk tie, and jeans that look like they’d been poured on. The cameras are already flashing when Yuuri runs over to him and throws his arms around his neck. “I hope you don’t mind about the borrowed clothes,” he whispers, going on his tiptoes so he can speak directly into his ear, “Yura insisted.”
“Not at all,” he says back, throat dry, and keeps an arm around Yuuri’s waist as he shifts to stand at his side instead. Oh god, is Yura trying to kill him? “Feel free to take whatever you like.” He immediately flushes and calls himself ten kinds of idiot. Yakov has a sudden coughing fit that probably looks natural to everyone else, but Viktor knows his coach is laughing at him.
Yuuri flashes a smile at him that makes him melt, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He takes Viktor’s hand and laces their fingers together, “Ready to face the music?”
He squeezes Yuuri’s hand and says, “Ready.”
~
Phichit is conflicted. On one hand, Celestino is absolutely furious and he thinks they might have passed the point of no return, even if Yuuri were to get on the phone this instant and tell their coach everything. On the other hand, his best friend is in a Hollywood relationship with his childhood celebrity crush and splashed on the cover of every news outlet that’s even remotely invested in the skating world.
His phone rings, and he answers it without looking. “Hello?”
“IS THIS REAL?” two voices yell in his ear.
He winces and holds the phone farther away, “Hi Guang-Hong, and – Leo?”
“Yes,” they both answer at the same time. Again. Phichit hadn’t eve known they were currently in the same country. “This whole – Yuuri and Viktor thing. It’s real, right?”
“Oh, very real,” he answers, because he’s not about to go spilling Yurio’s secrets, even to his closest friends. And also because he’s having entirely too much fun. “It was kind of a whirlwind romance, you know? One second they barely know each other, the next Yuuri’s jumping on a plane to Russia.”
There’s more screaming, and Phichit covers the bottom of his phone so they can’t hear him cackling to himself.
~
It’s their first morning all training together, and Yuri is grateful that Katsudon is here, loves practicing with him and the others. What he doesn’t love is how Katsudon’s nerves are making it impossible to get through his routine while everyone else is watching him.
He’s flubbing spins that Yuri knows for sure he could make in his sleep, and his eyes keep darting to the others, Viktor especially, like he’s afraid they’re judging him and finding him wanting. He falls while attempting a jump, and Yuri has officially had it.
“Okay everyone!” he claps his hands, getting everyone’s attention on him and away from Katsudon. “It looks like it’s lunchtime.”
“It’s eleven,” Georgi protests, “We’ve only been a few hours.”
“Brunch then,” he insists stubbornly, crossing his arms.
Viktor darts his gaze from Katsudon then back to him, and says, “If this is about –”
“Goodbye now,” he cuts him off, glaring, because when it comes to skating Viktor may be a genius but with everything else he’s a moron.
He will literally start shoving people off the ice if he has to, but Yakov sighs and calls out, “Let’s take an early break. My treat.”
“Can we try the new bakery that opened up down the street?” Georgi demands with an intensity Yuri would mock him for if it were any other time. He has the worst sweet-tooth that Yuri has ever seen.
Yakov rubs at his forehead, “Yes, Georgi, we can go to the new bakery down the street.”
Everyone leaves the ice, talking amiably and pointedly not looking behind them. Katsudon skates over, “Yura, you really didn’t need to do that.”
He waits until they’re gone to face him and answer, “Yes, I really did. What’s going on?” Katsudon bites his lip and looks away, and he continues, “Never mind, you’re right, that was a stupid question. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says, looking back and forcing a smile, “You know, maybe it’s best if I just practice on my own like I was planning to.”
“Because it will be so much easier to skate in front of a whole bunch of strangers than a couple of fellow skaters? Besides, it’s not like the paparazzi is following you around or anything – oh wait, just kidding, they are.” Katsudon rolls his eyes, but he’s not as tense now, which had been the point. “You have to leave for France in a week, okay, so just – you know this routine. You’ve done it a thousand times. You can do it – there’s no part of it that’s outside your skills, okay? I know how you get, with the – with people and the expectation, and all that crap.” He grabs Katsudon’s hands, and implores, “There’s no one else here, okay? It’s just me. Me. I already know you’re great, I’m not someone you need to impress. So just skate it for me. Like you mean it.”
Katsudon smiles and pulls his hands back so he can ruffle Yuri’s hair, “I - okay, Yurochka. I’ll skate it for you.”
Yuri beams and skates to edge of the rink, smile wide and eager.
~
Viktor feels a little bad about the fact that they’re all hiding just out of sight and spying on Yura and Yuuri, but it wasn’t his idea.
It was Yakov’s.
Mila’s piggybacking on Georgi’s shoulders so she can see, and Viktor is reminded again that in spite of how antagonistic their relationship can be at times, the two of them have been friends since they were kids. Like proper little kids, before either of them got into skating.
Viktor doesn’t talk to anyone that he knew before he started skating.
“Holy shit,” Mila says faintly. Viktor curses at himself for getting distracted focuses back on the ice.
Yuuri’s skating, but instead of the high strung mess he was just moments ago – it barely looks like he’s skating, it looks like he’s flying. His movements are so fluid and natural that it barely looks like he’s touching the ice. His spins are gorgeous, and his flips are neat and precise. He makes it all look easy, but if Viktor tried to do jumps that complicated at the end of a routine – especially after practicing for hours beforehand – he would fall flat on his face and possibly break his leg.
“I guess Yuri’s obsession wasn’t all hype,” Georgi’s eyebrows are nearly to his hairline. “Fuck, Viktor, you better watch out. If Katsuki gets his shit together, you’re going to be out of a gold medal.”
He feels the beginnings of genuine excitement and nervousness. Not to disparage other skaters, never ever to talk ill of the talented people he shares the ice with – but it’s been so long since he looked at a fellow competitor and saw a challenge.
~
Chris is eating breakfast when his phone rings. This time he doesn’t hesitate at all before answering. “Have you slept with Yuuri yet?”
“What? No!” Viktor says, sounding shocked at the suggestions and Chris resists the urge to bang his head against his kitchen table. He’s tempted to fly out to Russia himself and knock some sense into both of them. Even if Yuuri is embarrassed about their drunken night out, he’s certainly not embarrassed enough to tell Viktor no if the giant moron would just make a proper move instead of just moping around everywhere like a love-struck fool
Why are his friends so exhausting?
“I’m hanging up now,” Chris informs him, “Call me back when you have a boyfriend.”
“WAIT!” Viktor says, and he sounds serious, for once. “Just – hold on!”
Chris frowns, “Okay, okay. What’s going on?”
There’s about half a minute of silence, and he’s about to hang up for real when Viktor blurts, “So – so Yuuri’s, uh, kinda good. At skating.”
He gives in and lies face down on the table since he can’t give Viktor an exasperated stare over the phone. He hopes they’ve been friends for long enough that he picks up on it anyway. “He’s the best figure skater in Japan, but yeah, okay, we can go with kinda good.”
“No, I meant – I think he might be the best figure skater not in Japan. I mean, uh, I mean that–”
“You saw him skate alone,” Chris deduces, smirking, “Terrifying, isn’t it?”
“Oh my god,” Viktor hisses, somehow managing to sound distressed and impressed at the same time, “What the fuck?”
He straightens enough so that he’s only slouched on the table and not lying across it, “Basically, yeah. I’ve practiced with him a few times where it was just the two of us, and it’s just as crazy every time.”
“He’s always been able to skate like that?” Viktor demands.
Chris shrugs, “More or less. He has a heavy background in ballet, he could have done that professionally instead. It shows.”
“Oh my god,” Viktor says, different this time, and Chris hangs up.
He already knows Yuuri is amazing and gorgeous. He really doesn’t need to listen to Viktor wax poetic about it for the next hour.
~
It’s easier after that, skating in front of the others. He still gets anxious, but it’s not as bad, and he can just close his eyes and pretend he’s skating for Yura alone, and that makes it better. Yakov helps too, the old man gruff and endlessly patient. He yells at the Viktor and Yura but never at him, nor at Georgi and Mila, and he watches Yakov closely after he notices that.
Celestino had always treated his students the same, insisting that he would never play favorites, but Yakov doesn’t do that. Not exactly. His students are different, so he treats them differently. Viktor is easily distracted and has to be steered on course more often than not, and Yuri’s focused, too focused sometimes, and Yakov spends more time yelling at him to get off the ice than on it. Mila gets dry sarcasm and critiques that sound like suggestions, while Georgi is given frank, straightforward corrections but only in encouraging and gentle tones.
Yakov treats him differently too, and it throws him at first. He treats him almost like he treats Viktor – no yelling or corralling, but he doesn’t tell either of them what to do. He only says, “That wasn’t enough rotations,” or “Your back isn’t straight enough.” He’s not sure what it means at first, and he’d think it means Yakov isn’t interested in training him, except treats Viktor the same way. He’s obviously invested in training Viktor, so Yuuri just doesn’t get it.
“Something on your mind?”
He blinks and looks up, and Viktor is standing too close except that Yuuri doesn’t feel the urge to move away at all. He’s sweat soaked and his hair is sticking to his face, still beautiful and close enough that Yuuri can feel his whole body heat up. “Doesn’t it get in your eyes?” he asks, reaching up and pushing Viktor’s hair back from his face.
Viktor leans into his hand, and it’s so unexpected that he freezes, so he’s standing their cupping Viktor’s cheek. “Says the man who skates all his competitions half-blind,” he teases. “You might have heard of this new invention called contact lenses?”
“They irritate my eyes,” he says, and feels himself moving an extra inch closer since he can’t think of a non-awkward way to reclaim his hand with Viktor still nuzzling it. He’s not sure he wants to anyway. He’s gotten mostly used to the casual touches when they’re in public, Viktor’s hand on his waist or their fingers tangled together. But they’re not in public now, there’s no media to make a show for, but Viktor seems to be moving impossibly closer anyway.
“Katsudon!”
Yuuri jerks away, eyes wide and heart pounding. Yura skates over and grabs his hand, pulling him away, “Yura, what – what are you doing?”
“I need some help with my spins,” he insists, addressing him but looking past him to – is he glaring at Viktor?
Yuuri blinks, “Ah, okay, Yura. Of course.”
He starts to skate away and Viktor says, “We should go on a date tonight!” Yuuri’s mouth drops open, and Viktor hastily adds, “For – for the press, right? To put in an appearance. I’ll pick you up at eight?”
For their dedicated band of paparazzi. Right. “Sure,” he says, and oh god, he has to be so red right now, someone kill him and put him out of his misery. “That’s – sure, yes. Yes.”
“Katsudon,” Yura hisses, tugging on his arm, and he throws Viktor a smile that hopefully doesn’t look too panicked before allowing Yura to pull him to other side of the rink.
~
Yakov holds his head in his hands. Mila is nearly as red as her hair from her attempts to not burst out laughing, and Georgi makes stabbing motion to the rink and says, “I told you! Viktor has a crush on Yuuri!”
“This is amazing,” Mila says fiercely, “Oh my god, this is perfect.”
Yakov slowly lowers his hands. He should say something, he should really say something, but there’s not a single bit of him that wants to get involved in his students’ love lives.
“I’m going to get a drink,” he says, choosing the best course of action and walking away.
Georgi calls after him, “It’s ten in the morning!”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Mila sing songs, and he should really work on getting students that aren’t going to give him ulcers.
~
Phichit is exhausted and gross, but Yuuri had texted asking for a skype session when he got home so he obliges, collapsing into his computer chair and calling him.
Yuuri answers almost immediately, pale and frazzled. He only has a moment to worry that something’s gone seriously wrong before he says, “I’m going on a date! With Viktor! In public!”
“Have you gone on dates with Viktor not in public?” he asks immediately, waggling his eyebrows.
Yuuri moans and grabs the edges of his laptop, his face suddenly taking up most of the screen. “Phichit, I’m serious! What do I wear! We haven’t – the most we’ve done is go on a coffee run together so the media could snap some photos, I wasn’t expecting to have to go on a date with him!”
“Poor baby,” he says, grinning and not even trying to sound sympathetic. “I know you’re not the type to put out on the first date, but I think this should be an exception.”
Yuuri leans back, looking completely scandalized, as if Phichit hasn’t personally witnessed him leave a trail of broken hearts all over campus. He’s about to make fun of him specifically for that reason there’s a loud bang of a door slamming a wall and Yurio strolls into the screen. “What are you guys screaming about?”
“Yuuri can’t decide what to wear,” Phichit answers, deciding to gloss over the part where he’s encouraging his best friend to ride Nikiforov’s dick into the sunset.
“And you went to Phichit?” Yurio demands, crossing his arms. “I am offended, Katsudon.”
He doesn’t look that offended, lips turned up the tiniest bit at the corners as he does his best to keep from grinning and only partially succeeds. Yuuri smiles back, and it’s only been a little over a week, but he seems less tense, almost – happier, even, and Phichit doesn’t know if that’s due to Yurio or Viktor or some combination of the two but he’s thrilled to see it. He misses Yuuri, but the longer he’s away the more Phichit becomes convinced that it was the right decision.
“Okay, dress me then,” Yuuri says, flinging his arms out dramatically, and Yurio breaks and laughs outright. “You wouldn’t let me leave the house in something you didn’t approve of anyway.”
Yurio walks to the other side of the room and flings open the closet, “I’d say you have a terrible sense of style, but that implies you have one at all.”
Yuuri makes an offended face at the camera, but doesn’t protest Yurio’s assessment.
“Where’s he taking you?” Yurio asks.
“I don’t know.”
He rolls his eyes, “Okay, well what are you doing?”
Yuuri shrugs, “No clue.”
Yurio pulls his head out of the closet and demands, “How the hell does that asshole expect you to dress then?”
Yuuri holds up both his hands in helpless confusion, and Phichit leaves the camera’s view so they can hear him laughing but at least they can’t see it.
~
Viktor knows it’s not a real date, that Yuuri only agreed because they have a cover to maintain, but it’s the closest he’s gotten, and he spends approximately ten minutes fiddling with his hair and triple checking that his waist coat is buttoned properly before he can talk himself into getting out of the car.
He’s about to knock on the door when it opens, Yura on the other side and scowling. He lowers his arm, confused. “Hi Yura. Can I come in? Is Yuuri ready?”
Instead of letting him in, Yura steps outside and closes the door behind him. He begins to feel a whole new type of nervousness when Yura crosses his arms, eyed hard, and says, “I know what you’re doing.”
“You do?” he asks, because he doesn’t even know what he’s doing. It’s good someone does.
Yura growls, “Don’t act stupid.” He’s flattered Yura thinks it’s an act. “I see how you look at him. For the record, Katsudon is about the only one that hasn’t figured out that you’re a huge pervert.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m a pervert,” he protests, “I think it’s quite natural to think that – that I’ve fallen – I mean, look at him Yura!”
He doesn’t give an inch. “Whatever. The point is that he has enough to worry about, with France and then the Grand Prix Final, that he doesn’t need you messing with him just because you’re easily distracted and he’s pretty. Understand?”
Viktor feels the first stirrings of actual offence, because he’s not messing with him, if anyone’s messing with anyone, it’s definitely Yuuri with him, since Yuuri’s the one that danced with him and kissed him and made Viktor fall head over heels for him and then never bothered to call. Or text. Or email. But that’s a lot of things that he doesn’t want to say to Yura at all, so he goes, “I don’t think that’s–”
“Let me be crystal clear,” Yura glares, “No using Yuuri trying to protect me as a way to get him to have sex with you.”
He jabs his finger into his chest for emphasis, and the Viktor winces and fights the urge to recoil. That’s going to bruise. He opens his mouth, floundering for a moment before saying, “I’m very uncomfortable right now.”
Yura smiles, and it looks almost like a snarl. “Good.”
Viktor swallows.
He opens the door, kicking it open almost like a challenge. “Katsudon’s waiting for you.”
“Thank you?” he steps inside, edging around Yura in a way that would probably be funny if he wasn’t genuinely worried for his safety. It’s officially the strangest and most terrifying shovel talk he’s ever been given, never mind that it’s the only shovel talk he’s ever been given.
He pushes it all out of his mind as he walks to the Plisetsky’s guest room. No matter anything else, he has a date with Yuuri.
He tries to tone down his smile and keep his heart from beating a thousand times a minute, and fails spectacularly on both accounts.