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In the Cup of China Yuuri won silver, earning a new personal best in the process and beating Chris. Losing gold to Phichit is acceptable under these circumstances (and given Phichit's vibrant performance). Viktor himself won something much more valuable than gold that day so all in all the competition should be considered a resounding success.
Looking back at everything, however, Viktor can't see it that way. At least not when it comes to his part during the event. Sure, he can take some credit for the overall improvement of Yuuri's skating but he was the one who drove Yuuri into a mental breakdown literal minutes before he had to take the ice. That Yuuri managed to pull himself together enough not only to perform but to do it so inspiringly, so willfully and so beautifully, that's no one's accomplishment but Yuuri's own. Viktor had nothing to do with it. In fact, Viktor failed spectacularly as a coach. Instead of knowing his student's heart and strengthening it he neatly cleaved it in two, leaving Yuuri to pick up the pieces himself. It makes Yuuri besting his previous score even more admirable.
It's been so long since Viktor got nervous before a competition but he still clearly remembers that Yakov always knew what to say or do to settle the buzz under his skin into something manageable, something he could use for his performance instead of it working against him. For all his gruffness and yelling Yakov is a tender soul, always has been. Viktor wonders, not for the first time, whose idea it was to put him in charge of Yuuri's glass heart. (It was Yuuri's steely determination, that's who, and his own hopeless smitten stupidity. Anyway.)
Viktor has no doubts or regrets about his and Yuuri's relationship and the shape it's taken, far from it – Yuuri is easily the best thing that happened to him in years, if not his entire life (apart from skating itself). Yuuri has given him so much already, and just keeps on giving. It's been weeks since the Cup of China and Viktor still hasn't completely recovered from the look in Yuuri's eyes when he shouted that he didn't need Viktor's words, only his faith. A simple sentence that pierced Viktor to the core: An acute assessment of one of his weaknesses and, in the same breath, the absolution that despite this shortcoming he still had something of value to offer Yuuri, something to lift him up.
There are more things from that subterranean garage that he can't stop thinking about. One in particular he has been puzzling over and wasn't able to solve on his own despite the time that has passed. And it's been really nagging him because, well. Because Yuuri said that all this time he was wondering if Viktor secretly wanted to quit as his coach. When Viktor vehemently stated that he didn't, Yuuri yelled back that he knew this. That exchange was pretty confusing... but even more than that Viktor simply cannot bear the thought that a part of Yuuri, no matter how small, might still be wondering about this.
To Viktor it is obvious that he wants to stay. Quitting is completely out of the question – if anything he worries that everything he's capable of giving Yuuri still won't be enough to call himself Yuuri's coach in good conscience.
But he's no longer just Yuuri's coach. The lines have blurred. Their relationship wasn't particularly clear-cut to begin with but now that they're even more closely intertwined, tangled together in affection so delicate yet so fervent, things have become all the more muddled. If Viktor no longer was Yuuri's coach, how would that affect the other spaces in Yuuri's life that he now occupies? Yuuri would let him keep them, would keep him even if Viktor wasn't his coach, he's sure..... most days.
Maybe he can get an answer to both of these questions at the same time, Viktor muses on one such morning, ask You know I don't ever want to leave, right? when, really, he's asking You'll let me stay forever, won't you?
Rays of the early sun slant through the window, painting little pools of light across the duvet he shares with Yuuri. From this angle he can't see more than Yuuri's sleep-ruffled shock of hair peeking out from the blanket mound but Viktor knows he's awake, having noticed the shift in his breathing a short while ago. It's very Yuuri to refuse to get up if there's still some dozing to be had, though.
“Yuuri,” Viktor starts despite his plan of attack not being fully formed yet. “I've been thinking...”
“Oh no,” Yuuri mumbles, dead-pan, and buries his face deeper into the pillow to better block out the sun.
Viktor can't help but grin. So far this sassiness only shows when Yuuri is half-asleep and Viktor delights whenever he gets to witness it. How long will it be until this side of Yuuri also makes an appearance when he's awake? Soon, Viktor hopes.
“No, really,” he pushes on and shuffles a little closer to Yuuri, curling around him.
Yuuri grumbles but willingly melts into his embrace. “And what were you thinking.”
“I...” Well, here goes. “I remembered our conversation in the garage during the Cup of China.” Viktor isn't completely sure but he thinks he actually hears Yuuri snort. Granted, calling it a conversation instead of a train wreck is a bit of a stretch. Still. It's a little unfair, Viktor was trying his best... even if the result left much to be desired, and isn't that the whole point. “You said that you'd been wondering if I wanted a way out of being your coach.”
It's subtle but Yuuri grows a little heavier in his arms. Not tense, exactly, but attentive, alert.
“Do you still wonder about that?” Viktor asks quietly.
Yuuri stays silent for a long moment. Then he lifts his head, awarding Viktor a glance into his beautiful dark eyes. “No,” he says with a certainty that leaves no room for arguments. It eases the tight feeling in Viktor's stomach but takes him by surprise as well, given Yuuri's penchant to overthink just about anything and everything.
“Why?” he presses.
Yuuri's features soften a little, from seriousness to fondness. “Because you are who you are,” he replies. “You showed up here with zero notice and now you live in an old banquet room that you've furnished with designer pieces from Russia. No one can make you leave if you want to stay, and no one can make you stay if you want to leave. And you're still here, so.” He gives a small shrug as if it's as simple as that.
Maybe it is. Viktor wants to stay and Yuuri will let him. Viktor's heart flutters a little.
But the way Yuuri phrased it. As if he can grasp the shape of Viktor's wishes only by elimination, not by clearly seeing them for himself. It's not right. Viktor can't possibly let that stand. “Of course I want to stay,” he says with conviction. “I love your skating. I want to be by your side when you succeed.” Which is completely true but also not his only reason for wanting to be here. It's not even his only reason for coming here in the first place, if he's being honest. It's about Yuuri's skating just as much as it is about Yuuri, always has been. He traces the soft curve of Yuuri's cheek bone with his fingertips and Yuuri leans into it. The wild surge of affection coiling in his chest is long familiar. Unlike all the previous instances when he's felt like this he doesn't fight to keep it in now. “But apart from that,” he continues, “I simply love you.”
Though it's hardly any news it's still the first time one of them has said those words in so many words . And though the confession came as easy as breathing it still leaves Viktor strangely vulnerable in its wake.
Yuuri's gaze roams over his face, warm and with a hint of wonder, and then he cups Viktor's cheek, infinitely gentle. Viktor's eyes flutter shut. All he feels is tender and precious.
“And I love having you as my coach and sharing this season with you,” Yuuri whispers. “But I also just love you, here with me, sharing my home.”
Happiness bubbles up inside Viktor, bright and visceral, and he has to look at Yuuri again, take him in. “Ah, Yuuri,” he exclaims, smiling brightly. “That's so sweet!
“Not as sweet as you,” Yuuri retorts without missing a beat. A small answering smile graces his lips. “Now please let me sleep, it's still another hour before I have to get up for practice.” And he buries his face in Viktor's neck with vague aggression.
‘An hour’ might be pushing it, in all honesty, but Yuuri has taught him a thing or two about appreciating life. Listening to one's student every once in a while must also be part of being a good coach, Viktor is sure, so he just draws Yuuri closer and settles back into the pillows with a happy sigh.