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Viktor Nikiforov is an incredible human being.
Yuri Plisetsky knows that better than anyone. Better, even, than Viktor's fiance, Katsuki Yuuri.
Viktor Nikiforov is an incredible human being, and most people don't even know why.
They thought they did. They thought, because he was widely acknowledged to the be the greatest figure skater to ever live, because he had won now six Grand Prix titles, Six World Championships, and in all likelihood, three Olympic golds, they thought those were the things that made him incredible.
But no. Those were incredible things he had done. Incredible accomplishments. Unique accomplishments.
They weren't what made him incredible.
That was something else. Something very few people knew, or probably ever would know.
Viktor was Russian.
Viktor was also gay.
Everyone knew those things. Abstractly, even, everyone knew to be gay in Russia wasn't a good thing.
But Viktor was a superstar. Viktor was a National and World and Olympic champion several times over. And people were sure, because of those things. They were sure it made him exempt from suffering.
Yuri laughs bitterly to himself.
He'd first met Viktor when he was five years old. Viktor was 17 at the time, and already a Junior Grand Prix gold medalist, and a top five finisher in his Senior debut.
Yuri remembers thinking how beautiful Viktor was, that first day he'd been brought to the rink by Yakov, and seen his new coaches star pupil out there on the ice, doing things Yuri couldn't, at that point, even dream of doing.
Yuri had been intimidated, and he remembers not being able to say anything, or even look Viktor in the face when he'd finished his practice for that day and come skating back over to the boards, stepping off the ice.
Yurri had stood there, watching wide eyed and in awe as Viktor had spoken to Yakov. So up close, and Yuri remembers how Viktor had seemed to him even more otherworldly. Beautiful face, beautiful physic. He'd carried himself with so much unbelievable grace, Yuri had thought. Like he must weigh nothing at all. That he would more float then step.
He can't remember now what they'd spoken about. Obviously something to do with Viktor's skating. But what Yuri does recall is how Viktor had turned at some point, he guesses to go take a shower and change in the locker rooms, and his eyes had fallen on Yuri then, seeming to notice him for the first time. He remembers how Viktor had smiled. How he'd smiled at him. How he'd stepped to him and knelt down so that they were nearly eye level.
“Hello.” He'd said. “You must be this brilliant young man I've heard so much about!”
Yuri had gaped at him, he remembers. He'd thought he must have been hearing things. Why would Viktor Nikiforov even know who he was? Why would he have even heard of him?
Yuri doesn't recall having said anything, but Viktor hadn't seemed to mind, still beaming at him with his great smile, and Yuri remembers he'd reached out, putting a hand on Yuri's head, gently tousling his hair before standing.
“I'll come watch you.” Viktor had told him.
Yuri hadn't understood what that meant until he'd been just a few minutes into his own practice, and he'd spotted Viktor at the boards, standing beside Yakov, smiling widely and waving as he'd watched him skate.
Yuri can't remember ever feeling more proud, or more special then, to know the great Viktor Nikiforov was taking the time out of his own day to watch him, just some five year old nobody who could barely keep his footing on the ice, who could do no real jumps or elements of any kind yet.
To this day, Yuri doesn't think Viktor understands how much that had meant to him. A scared, lonely little boy.
Viktor, after that day, had in so many ways been like an older brother to Yuri, making time to hang out with him, to help him with his skating, cheering him on in practices and even competitions, when he could, to eat lunches with him and play video games even. It was often Viktor had offered to walk Yuri home after practices, where he lived with his grandfather.
Viktor hadn't had much time to do anything outside of skating then, but somehow, he'd found it for Yuri.
And Viktor had been so seemingly, unfailingly cheerful, Yuri remembers. Had been such a positive, happy presence. It was rare, Yuri recalls, to ever see Viktor without a smile.
And so Yuri remembers then, with awful clarity still, the day Viktor had come to practice, his face all bruised to hell, his lip cut wide and bleeding. He remembers how Viktor had, unusually, walked right past him, and right past Yakov, heading straight for the restrooms, and how Yakov had dropped what he was telling Yuri and gone running after him.
Yuri had been so confused, he remembers, and scared, and he'd asked one of the assistant coaches what was going on. He remembers the man had only shaken his head at him, a pained expression on his face.
Viktor had come back out to the ice after maybe half an hour had passed, Yakov with him, an arm around Viktor's shoulders as he'd spoken to him in hushed tones, saying words Yuri hadn't been close enough to make out.
It was the first time Yuri had ever seen Viktor look sad. Even from a distance, Yuri had seen Viktor wiping at his eyes, his always carefree, smiling face tight with naked grief.
Yuri had been too afraid then to ask anymore what had happened. Nobody had seemed willing to tell him anyway, he remembers.
Even still, Viktor had gone through his practice and routines with the near perfection he always managed, never saying a word of complaint, even as the hurt in his eyes remained for the whole of the day.
It was periodic, then, Yuri remembers, that Viktor would sometimes show up to practice with bruises marring his pale skin, what Yuri began to recognize as someone's too hard grip along Viktor's thin wrists, sometimes dotted against his throat, like someone had been choking him. Those days Viktor would have a look in his eyes that Yurri had eventually begun to realize was resignation. Defeat. It had been so jarring to Yuri, he remembers, seeing that look in Viktor's eyes. Viktor, who had always been a winner. A champion. Who, Yuri had thought, was incapable of failure. Incapable even of being discouraged.
He remembers the adults at the rink had all seemed to know what was really going on, the looks in their eyes as they'd watch Viktor show up with yet more bruises giving them away. Yet none of them ever spoke openly about it. Like some open secret they'd all silently agreed never to really address.
A few times, Yuri had skated past some of them, whispering amongst one another, catching a few stray words here and there. Words that, at that time, Yuri hadn't understood.
“Well, everyone knows about him...”
“It's just so sad though. He's a national treasure. Why should it even matter?”
“It's against the law. It's going to piss people off, as stupid as it is.”
“Well maybe if he didn't look so feminine, it wouldn't be so obvious to people...”
Yuri hadn't understood. And then one day Viktor had shown up to the rink with his hair cut short, and nobody had really said anything about it, which had struck Yuri as bizarre. Viktor's long hair had been like a signature of his. One of the many things which had made him stand out from the other skaters.
And so Yuri had asked him about it, curious and a little upset, especially since he'd just decided to start growing his own hair out.
“Why the hell did you cut your hair!?”
Viktor had smiled at him, like he always did. Like everything was alright. He'd shrugged, carefree.
“I guess I just felt like a change.” He'd said. “Do you like it?”
Yuri had grumbled unhappily, muttering under his breath that he'd like Viktor's long hair, but admitting grudgingly that the new hair looked good too.
Viktor had laughed, reaching out and tousling Yuri's hair.
“I'm glad you approve!” He'd beamed, and Yuri had snapped at him to quit it.
That was the thing about Viktor. He was so good natured, and Yuri had never been able to relate to it. He always found himself in such a bad mood. So on edge and stressed out about everything.
Viktor always smiled. Always laughed. Always seemed to see the good in everything. Found everything so exciting and fascinating.
Even under the stress of competition, Viktor was always incredibly generous and warm towards his competitors. If he'd felt any stress to perform well, he rarely if ever showed it beyond simply going a little more quiet than usual.
Yuri had known though, by the time he was twelve years old, that Viktor's attitude didn't always reflect his actual life. Because of those once in a while times he would show up to the rink, face and arms bruised, quiet and subdued in a way that was so totally opposite to who he usually was.
Yuri hadn't understood though. Not really. No until that day.
God, it still stood fresh in his mind. The horror he'd felt. The fear and anger and suffocating, overwhelming grief. He could see it and hear like it was happening still. Happening now. Whenever he thought of it, and he would find his eyes blind and burning with tears, his throat closing up in helpless rage.
Viktor had been walking him home again that day, when Yuri's grandfather had been unable to make it to the rink to pick him up, and Yakov was too busy with his other students to take the time.
It had never ceased to amaze Yuri, that Viktor never seemed too busy to make the walk with him. It amazed him because he knew Viktor was too busy. His schedule was ridiculously demanding, whether it was practice, training, press interviews or photo shoots, it seemed to Yuri that Viktor hardly ever had even a minute to himself.
They'd been walking together, side by side, Viktor, as usual, doing most of the talking, Yuri grunting out responses every now and again.
“So, Yuri, tell me, how are things at school? Are you making any friends?”
Yuri scoffs, kicking at a rock as he keeps his eyes glued to the ground, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“School sucks.” He answers bluntly, being honest. It really did. Everybody there was an idiot, and none of the other kids understood anything about him or what he did. When he tried explaining it, they only looked at him with these dumb, blank expressions. They didn't understand dedicating your life to something.
“Oh?” Viktor says. “What sucks about it?”
Yuri shrugs, still looking at the ground.
“They don't understand, eh?” Viktor says after a moment, and finally Yuri looks up at him.
Viktor is still looking out ahead, his strides slowed so that Yuri can keep up with his pace, and Yuri feels a sudden burst of warmth for him. He doesn't even think Viktor is totally aware of how thoughtful he is. He was always so forgetful, but never thoughtless. He would do things to help others without even realizing it, because that was just who he was, Yuri thinks. Just naturally kind and positive. A lot of people thought Viktor was weird because of it, Yuri knows. Because there wasn't really any calculation in him, and in that way, he often seemed more like a child than Yuri himself. He would just do things because he felt like it.
“It was the same for me, when I was in school.” Viktor continues, his hands in his pockets, his face pensive, not with the usual smile. “Being a professional athlete can be a lonely life.”
Yuri stares up at Viktor for a long time.
He found it hard to believe Viktor ever had a hard time making friends. Viktor was just so... charismatic and easy going. He knew how to talk to people, and never seemed awkward. At least, not when he was talking to the press. Even looking up at him now, Viktor was absurdly stylish and well put together. His clothes were beautiful, as always designer, wearing a knit sweater over a dress shirt, gray slacks and some kind of really expensive looking loafers. Everything hung off his slim frame perfectly. He looked better than any fashion model Yuri had ever seen.
Only thinking on it now, Yuri realizes that, outside of the press, and outside of Viktor's interactions with Coach Yakov and the other competitors, he hadn't ever really seen him talking to much of anyone.
Was it possible Viktor didn't really have any friends outside of those people?
“Try talking to them about other things, outside of your skating. You might be surprised.”
“Pff.” Yuri spits. “I doubt it.”
Viktor smiles softly, but doesn't press, and they continue on in silence.
Yuri looks up from where he's had his eyes fixed on the concrete when he hears a loud ruckus up ahead, seeing a group of four teenagers walking towards them. They look like they're probably 17 or 18 years old, laughing obnoxiously, shoving roughly at each other back and forth. They're big. Taller than Viktor even, and meaty. Yuri doesn't even know why he feels suddenly on edge as they come nearer to each other. He doesn't like the look of them, for some reason.
He half jumps when he suddenly feels an arm come round his shoulders, and he looks up at Viktor. Viktor is looking at the group of teenagers coming towards them, and Yuri can feel the tension in his frame, his arm stiff around him.
“Viktor...?” Yuri starts, confused.
“Just keep walking.” Viktor tells him, his hold tightening, pulling Yuri close against him.
Yuri feels his anxiety rise, and he finds himself holding his breath as they at last meet the group of teens and begin to pass them.
He thinks, for a moment, that they're going to get by without anything happening.
“Well, well, if it isn't Viktor Nikiforov! Olympic faggot extraordinaire!”
Yuri feels himself stiffen, his stomach dropping out from under him.
Viktor's arm around him tightens harder for a moment.
“Keep walking.” He tells Yuri, forcing him forward.
“Where ya goin' Viktor?” One of them calls from behind. “Where you taking that sweet young thing there, huh?”
Viktor doesn't say anything, and Yuri looks up at him, the look on Viktor's face unlike any he's seen before. Tight with fear and anger both, it seems.
They don't make it more than a few feet before they're run up on from behind, suddenly surrounded by the group, and Viktor comes to a hard halt.
“Hey, I asked you a question, faggot.” One of them says, stepping closer, crowding in close to the both of them.
Viktor looks at the teen for a moment, before his gaze drops, and Yuri can see his jaw tighten, an almost imperceptible tremor working through his frame.
“... Please,” Viktor starts, voice almost too soft to hear. “let us by.”
“No, I don't think so.” Another of the boys says. “Answer the fuckin' question, queer man. Where you takin' this kid? You takin' him somehow so you can fuck him up the ass?”
Viktor stiffens visibly, and he looks up at the teenager.
The look on his face isn't one of anger, Yuri thinks. It's awful, horrible grief.
“No.” Viktor breathes out, sounding almost exhausted. “That isn't what I am.”
“Sure.” Another of the teens says. “Then why won't you tell us where you're takin' him, huh?”
“He's taking me to my home, you fucktard!” Yuri snaps, his anger, for a moment, overcoming his fear. “He walks me all the ti...”
“Yuri...” Viktor's hushed voice stops him, and he looks up at him, seeing his face lined in pain. He shakes his head, like he's begging him to stop talking.
“Oh yeah, little man? You like hanging out with this powder puff? Anyone ever tell you what he is?”
Yuri glares at the older boy.
“He's the greatest figure skater of all time! That's what he is!” Yuri screams at him. “What the hell are you?!”
The teens start laughing, and Yuri feels his anger deflate, replaced again by fear and confusion. He doesn't understand what's happening. He doesn't understand how these assholes can talk the way they are to Viktor. Not when Viktor really was the greatest figure skater of all time! When he was the pride of all of Russia!
“You're hero here's a fag, kiddo.” One of them sneers. “He takes it up the ass daily. Hasn't anyone told you?”
“Stop it. Leave him alone. He doesn't need to hear any of this.” Viktor says.
“I think he does, Nikiforov. He should know who he's hanging around. People see you with him, kid, and they're gonna think you're queer too. You know what that means?”
“Who gives a shit?! Wh-who gives a shit who he likes?! You stupid bastards don't know anything!”
“Yuri, please, it's alright.”
“But Viktor, they...”
“Let's go. Let's just go.” Viktor cuts him off, and he begins trying to move around the group, pulling Yuri with him.
“We didn't say you could go.” One of the boys snaps, and before Yuri even knows what's happening, he feels himself being grabbed and yanked hard, hears Viktor yelling, and then he's being shoved back, a pair of arms coming around him and locking him in what seems an impossibly strong hold.
His vision clears, and he sees one of the teenagers has Viktor too, has Viktor's arms trapped behind his back.
Viktor's face is twisted in plain fear and anger, his eyes thick with tears.
“No! Don't... don't hurt him! He's got nothing to do with this!”
“Shut up, bitch!”
Yuri's eyes widen, a horrible shock going through him as he watches one of the boys suddenly punch Viktor hard in the stomach. Viktor doubles over, a thin gasp pushing past his lips, face lining in obvious pain.
“You're in for a treat, kiddie.” The boy holding him is suddenly at his ear. “You're gonna get to see your precious fag idol get the shit kicked out of him.”
Yuri's heart pounds in his chest, a wave of panic choking his throat. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening!
Viktor was like a god to him. He'd always seemed so perfect, so invincible. Like nothing in the world could touch him. Nothing could hurt him or tarnish him.
It was like something out of some horrible nightmare then, what was happening. Like some surreal hallucination, seeing Viktor there, overpowered and helpless, gasping for breath.
Yuri's eyes sting hot with tears, a broken cry tearing up his throat as he shakes his head in denial.
“NO! LEAVE HIM ALONE!”
They ignore him, and he can do nothing, nothing, can only watch, useless, as the three others begin to beat Viktor.
They punch him, over and over, in the face, in the stomach, and Yuri can see the bright burst of blood from Viktor's nose and mouth, before they shove him violently to the ground, begin to kick him viciously.
Viktor can do nothing but curl up, trying helplessly to protect his head and stomach, and Yuri begins to sob, overwhelmed by horror.
It seems to last forever, the beating. It seems like it won't ever end, and after a while, Yuri feels himself go numb, everything taking on some sort of weird, disconnected sense. Like he's watching it all unfold from underneath water.
In reality, in lasts barely more than a minute. Only that's long enough to leave Viktor still and unresponsive on the ground.
“Fucking disgusting fag.” One of the boys sneers, before he spits on Viktor.
The one holding Yuri shoves him away, and Yuri falls forward onto his hands and knees, and then, suddenly, they're gone. All four of them. They leave, continuing on their way like nothing had even happened.
Yuri can hear their laughter carrying farther and father away until, finally, they disappear from sight, their voices vanishing with them.
Viktor's still lies there on the ground, a terrible, broken heap.
His beautiful clothes are torn and covered in mud and snow, his hair the same.
Yuri can't see his face, lying with it turned away and against the ground.
It takes a moment for the reality to come rushing in on him. For him to come back to himself.
He crawls forward, his lips trembling as he calls out.
“V-Viktor?”
At first, Viktor doesn't respond, and a fear like drowning rips through Yuri. They hadn't killed him! They couldn't have...
Viktor groans, the sound pained and low, and Yuri crawls the rest of the distance to him, his vision blurring with tears.
“Viktor, oh God, are... a-are you...”
Viktor shifts, rolling over onto his back, and Yuri sees his face.
It's a bloody mask, bright splashes of red smeared across his nose and mouth, and already, Yuri can see the black and blue bruising beginning to form over his left eye, what looks like a deep abrasion across his right temple. Blood trickles too from somewhere along his hairline, trailing down his face.
Yuri feels his throat close up. He feels lost.
Viktor was beautiful. Everyone knew that. His face perfectly handsome in a way very few people were. It only ever made sense, given his athletic gifts.
That same face is a wreck now, and Yuri can't understand it.
He can't understand seeing Viktor like this.
Less than perfect.
Viktor blinks, his eyes unfocused, almost glazed, before slowly they seem to regain some kind of realization, and he begins to push himself up, his face twisting in obvious pain as he does so.
“Viktor, you shouldn't...”
Viktor's eyes widen, and he turns, looking at Yuri with so much open terror that for a moment, Yuri feels his own return with overwhelming force.
“Yuri, they didn't...” Viktor begins, his voice thin and frail in a way Yuri's never heard before. “what did they do to you? They didn't... d-didn't hurt you, did they!?”
Yuri's heart shatters, and he shakes his head, tears streaming free and fast down his face.
How could Viktor even be thinking of him, after what had just happened to him?
“Y-you're alright? They... they didn't touch you?” Viktor presses, his eyes moving over Yuri almost frantically, his face lined in so much worry and hurt, that Yuri can't stand it.
“They didn't hurt me.” Yuri says, voice trembling. “I'm alright.”
Viktor's expression falls then, his brow twisting as he begins to cry, turning away, covering his face in his hands.
“... I'm sorry.” He weeps. “I'm sorry Yuri. I d-didn't... I shouldn't have...”
“Viktor...”
“I didn't want... didn't want you to have to see that. I'm sorry, I...”
Yuri doesn't know what to do. He's never seen Viktor cry. Not really. Viktor always seemed so unflappable. So stoic. Even during the pressure of competition.
He remembers suddenly then. There was a competition, coming up in two days for Viktor.
How was he supposed to compete now, after what had just happened? What was Yakov going to say?
Yuri feels sick, sitting there on his knees with Viktor, watching Viktor cry and apologize over and over, like it was him that had done something wrong.
“... I don't care if you're gay.” Yuri blurts without really meaning to, and Viktor's own words stammer to a halt.
He looks up at Yuri with startled, glassy eyes, and Yuri frowns, glancing away a moment, finding it hard to look at Viktor like this. To see him so beat up. It was so awful.
“I know people shit on you for it, and I'm sorry.” He continues on after a moment, still looking away. It wasn't talked about, Viktor's sexual orientation. Not openly anyway. Everyone knew, but no one ever really just... said it. That Viktor was gay. Yuri himself hadn't even really understood what that meant until recently. “Those people are assholes, and stupid. It doesn't fucking matter who you like. You're a... a good person, and the greatest skater who's ever lived, and no matter what they say to you or... or how they treat you, they can't change any of that. So... so fuck them. Fuck all of them.”
He stops talking then, embarrassed and fearful that maybe he's overstepped his boundaries. Viktor doesn't say anything for what seems a long time, until finally Yuri works up the courage to glance back to him.
He sees Viktor staring back at him, his eyes wide and thick with fresh tears. Yuri thinks for an instant that he's really messed up. He shouldn't have said anything about Viktor being gay, he thinks. He shouldn't have mentioned it. It wasn't his right to just confront Viktor about it like that, not when it had already messed everything up for him so much, and...
Viktor throws his arms around Yuri, pulling him into a tight hug, the movement so sudden that for a moment Yuri isn't sure what's even happening, sitting there, limp and confused.
Viktor presses his face to Yuri's shoulder, and he mumbles out something which Yuri thinks is thank you, over and over, though it's hard to tell with how smothered Viktor's voice is.
Eventually, Yuri lifts his own arms, wrapping them around Viktor in return, and for a long while they sit there like that, until Viktor pulls away, wiping at his eyes.
“I... I still need to you get you home.” He says, voice shaking slightly.
Yuri's stomach feels tight.
“... You shouldn't be by yourself.” He says, horrible images running through his mind of those teenagers finding and attacking Viktor again. “You should stay over for the night. My grandpa can look at you and make sure you're alright. At the least get you cleaned up.”
He reaches out without thinking, using his sleeve to wipe some of the blood from Viktor's face, and Viktor only stares at him for a long moment, wide eyed and looking so lost.
Yuri pulls away after a moment, seemingly only to have made more of a mess of Viktor's face, and Viktor huffs out a pained sounding laugh. He lifts a hand, dragging it beneath his nose, and his fingers come away painted in his own blood.
“I'm twice your age, but you're the one who's acting more like the adult here.” He says, and Yuri shrugs.
“You've always acted like a kid anyway.” He mutters, and again Viktor laughs. Yuri can tell it hurts him to do it. He doesn't understand how Viktor even can, after everything. After the horrible things those people had said to him. How cruel they'd been. Yuri can't imagine being on the receiving end of that kind of hate. Can't imagine how it would make him feel inside, when just hearing it said to someone else made his stomach twist in anxious knots. Made him feel sick and heartbroken.
He doesn't understand how Viktor can even smile after that. Yet somehow, he always does.
“Come on.” Yuri says, pushing himself to his feet. He reaches a hand down, and Viktor takes it, Yurri helping to pull him up.
Viktor's face twists in pain, his arm wrapping around his ribs as he straightens.
“Ohh...” he freezes, eyes squeezing shut, face lining in stress. “that hurts...”
“Here...” Yuri moves, taking Viktor's arm and wrapping round his own shoulders, putting his own arm around Viktor's waist, offering him support. “Lean on me, I'll help you walk.”
Again, Viktor breathes out a pained sounding laugh, almost embarrassed sounding.
“I hope nothing's broken. Yakov won't be happy if I can't compete...”
“Don't worry about competing now. We've got to make sure you're alright first.” Yuri tells him. He can't believe Viktor's even thinking about competition right now.
Viktor doesn't say anything, and they begin to move slowly forward, continuing towards the apartment, Viktor leaning heavily on Yuri.
“... Thank you, Yuri...” Viktor says after a while, his voice labored “For helping... I'm sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong.” Yuri huffs, getting tired from having Viktor's weight leaned on him. “We're almost there, if you think you're okay to keep going.”
“... I can make it.” Viktor tells him.
And Viktor had made it.
Of course he had.
It had turned out he'd suffered a cracked rib, and yet he'd insisted on going through with his competition two days later, against Yakov's and pretty much everyone else' protests, and somehow, against all believability and odds, he had won.
Yuri thinks that was the first time he had really understood, it wasn't just Viktor's phenomenal talent which had made him a champion. The first time he'd understood that it was something that went even beyond talent. The first time he'd really understood Viktor's courage, and how deep that courage ran.
That was the things that made Viktor incredible. Beyond all the gold medals and world titles and world records. Viktor's courage.
It was the one thing about Viktor which Yuri had never ceased to admire. The one thing about Viktor he continued to strive to emulate, both in life and on the ice. Even when he himself had broken Viktor's world record in the short program, three years after seeing him get beat up in the street for no real reason at all. Even after he had beaten Viktor in competition several times following.
Even when Viktor had then turned around and, at the practically geriatric age of 29, beaten him at World's, and the Grand Prix Final, and broken both his and Yuuri's world records in turn, leaving the two of them once again chasing after the living legend.
Yuri hadn't even been able to really be mad about it. Hadn't even really been surprised, despite his constantly teasing Viktor about being old. Because of course. Of course Viktor had taken back his records, and his titles. Of course Viktor had told father time to go fuck itself. He was Viktor Nikiforov.
He was the strongest, most extraordinary man Yuri had ever known, and probably ever would know.
He hopes Yuuri understands that about the man he's going to marry.
Yuri thinks he does.
He thinks Yuuri had probably seen it from the very beginning.
Yuri would die before ever saying it to his face, but watching the two of them now, Viktor and Yuuri sitting across the table from him, Viktor with his head leaned on Yuuri's shoulder, his eyes closed and lips turned up in so much contentment, Yuuri with his arm around Viktor's shoulders, just holding him, accepting him...
It was the happiest Yuri had ever seen Viktor. The first time, Yuri thinks, Viktor had ever been genuinely happy in his life. And it was because of Yuuri. Because Yuuri loved him. Truly loved him. Because he accepted him, and treated him like a real human being...
Yuri would die before saying it to his face, but he was more grateful to Yuuri for that, for the kindness and love he had shown to Viktor, for letting Viktor into his life, and for giving himself over to Viktor's own, for just being there for Viktor... Yuri was more grateful to Yuuri for that than he would ever really be able to express.
Because Viktor meant so much to him too. And because he'd never known how to help him. Had never known how to ease the pain he saw in Viktor's eyes every day... how to heal the loneliness in him...
He couldn't have, he knows.
Only Yuuri had been able to do that.
Yuri smiles to himself then, watching them.
Maybe someday he'll tell Yuuri the things he knows about Viktor.
Maybe, someday, even though he knows Yuuri already understands. It wasn't only Viktor who had saved him...
It takes him a moment to realize Yuuri is looking at him.
He wipes the smile from his face as quickly as he can.
“What the hell are you looking at?!” He spits, aggressive, trying to fight down the blush which he knows is working up his face from being caught staring.
Yuuri smiles knowingly at him, his eyes shining.
“Pff.” Yuri scoffs, turning away. “You two are disgusting, slobbering all over each other in public.”
“Shh, I think he's sleeping.” Yuuri only smiles wider, pointing at Viktor, and it's true. Viktor looks like he's fast asleep against Yuuri's side.
Yuri folds his arms, scowling.
“You should take him to bed. Pff. Stupid old man. Can't even stay up past midnight anymore.”
“Hey!” Yuuri protests. “Don't forget, this old man kicked both our assess at the last competition, and shattered both our world records in the process. He'll probably do the same at the Olympics.”
Yuri grits his teeth, sneering.
“In his dreams. He better enjoy it while he can, because I'm going to kick his ass at the Olympics, and take both his world records this time!”
Yuri laughs, shaking his head.
“Well, we can try.”
“Speak for yourself, piggy. Maybe you doubt yourself, but I'm going to win gold at the Olympics. Viktor won't know what hit him. And neither will you.”
Yuuri only smiles again.
“Okay, okay. Well, you're right about one thing, I think I do need to get him to bed. Thanks for coming out to eat with us tonight Yurio. I know you've got an early practice tomorrow.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get out of here Katsudin, and take grandpa with you.”
Yuuri doesn't need to be told again, and Yuri watches as he gently shakes Viktor awake.
Viktor wakes with sleepy eyes, looking confused for a moment. But then he sees Yuuri smiling down at him, telling him softly that they should head back to the hotel. Viktor smiles at him, and Yuri sees him reach out, grasping his fiance's hand and squeezing tight.
“Okay.” Viktor agrees, letting Yuuri pick him up from his chair, bringing him to his feet.
They're turning to leave, when suddenly Viktor stops, seeming to remember something, and he turns back, moving towards Yuri.
“Goodnight Yurio!” He exclaims happily, and before Yuri can react, Viktor is bending down, scooping him into a tight hug. “Thank you for coming out with us tonight!”
Yuri pretends to struggle. Pretends to be annoyed as he shoves at Viktor's shoulder.
“God, you two make me sick with all the touchy feely crap! Go away already!”
But Viktor doesn't let go for long seconds, his embrace, for a moment, tightening, before at last he releases his hold, straightening. He looks down at Yuri, and smiles so warmly that for a moment, Yuri has to look away.
He feels overcome with something which he doesn't know how to describe, his eyes suddenly stinging.
Viktor reaches out, ruffling Yuri's hair.
“We'll see you tomorrow, Yuri. Don't stay out too late.”
“... Yeah.” Yuri says. “I won't.”
Another smile from Viktor, before he turns and goes back to Yuuri. Their arms wrap around each other, and Yuuri reaches up, cupping his palm gently to the side of Viktor's head, pulling him down closer and whispering something in his ear before standing on the tips of his toes. He kisses Viktor's temple, and Viktor presses his forehead against Yuuri's own, his face visible for a moment, eyes closed. He looks happy.
They continue on to the hotel then.
Yuri watches them go.
He doesn't realize he's smiling again until after they're gone from his sight.