Archive of Our Own

The middle-aged man locks his bicycle up on the rack and pushes his glasses up his nose. He shivers before hurrying into the building and pushing a button in the elevator for the eighth floor. It slowly pings at each level while he shuffles in place, eager to have his caffeine and get the day started.

As soon as he gets off, he jaunts to Suite 807 and nods to the woman sitting at the desk, Maria. He hurries behind the employees-only door to get to the break room, hoping that Kay has made a pot of coffee.

His prayers are answered when he sees two nurses chatting in the room and finds the coffee pot steaming on the countertop. They both wave to him. "Mornin', doc." Layla, the dark-skinned woman, smiles around her mug. "Cutting it kinda close, huh?"

"The bus was running behind," Yuuri murmurs, blowing his bangs out of his face. "I'm starting to think I should just bike all the way from my apartment. It's the third time this month it's been late."

"Or, you could move closer," Kay says, waggling her eyebrows at him. "It's not like you can't afford it."

The man shrugs. "I'm cheap. What can I say."

Both of them chuckle for a moment. They wave to him again after he hurries to his office to get organized for the day. After his files are in order and his lounge area sufficiently tidied, he paces back to the reception desk and waits for Maria to pass him a file folder.

She flashes her white teeth at him from behind her glossy pink lips when he comes to the desk. "Good morning."

He eyes the color of the tab on the folder and raises an eyebrow. "New patient?"

"Yeah," Maria pushes her curly hair out of her face before typing furiously at her computer terminal and pulling up more records attached to this particular patient. "Says here that he got a referral three weeks ago, but he just made an appointment last night." Her fingers move quickly over the keys and the mouse. "You had a cancellation, so we pencilled him in for nine a.m."

Yuuri just sighs, looking up at the clock. 8:35. "Alright." He strides back to his office to read the patient history before his appointment begins.

He glances over the name, because he'll introduce himself when his patient arrives. It will feel more natural that way. The first page holds no enlightening news. There's no family history of cancer, the man occasionally takes aspirin for aches, and is not a smoker.

The second page, complete with a detailed referral by Dr. Feltsman, is equally unsurprising. The patient's eyesight is fine. He doesn't have asthma. There's a history of debilitating alcoholism. That last note is the reason ninety-nine percent of Yuuri's patients come here, so he skips over it.

One incident of hospitalization for liver stagnation. Two for kidney issues and dehydration. The physical damage isn't irreversible just yet, so that means the therapist just has to hope that his patient is willing to work on his drinking problem and make a lifestyle change. Yuuri flips the folder closed at nine a.m. and waits for his staff to bring the patient back to his room.

At nine-fifteen, Layla brings the man to his office. He looks a little haggard, bags underneath piercing blue eyes. Going by his face, he's about Yuuri's age, and - wait just one damn second. Yuuri takes a moment to choke back a gasp when he fully realizes who's standing in his doorway.

Yuuri composes himself with a cough and sticks out his hand, hoping he doesn't look like a nervous wreck. "Good morning. How are you today?"

The other man shakes Yuuri's hand with a feeble smile. "I've been better." He takes a seat on the chaise across from Yuuri without fanfare. 

Yuuri takes his seat with a notebook, but does not open it. "I'm Doctor Katsuki, but you can call me Yuuri, if you prefer."

"I'm Victor Nikiforov," the legendary ice skater introduces himself, voice raw as he goes on to say, "Call me Victor, please."

"So, Victor," Yuuri opens gently, keeping his voice level as he slowly gets over the shock of seeing his childhood idol in his office, and for alcohol abuse, no less. "Tell me about yourself."

Victor does, and it slowly breaks Yuuri's heart.

//

Yuuri walks his dog at a park two blocks away from his apartment. The brown poodle pads around looking for a place to pee while Yuuri gazes into the distance.

He is pulled out of his absent daydreaming by a slap on the back. He hisses in pain as he turns around, finding his old friend Yuuko to be the culprit. "That really hurt!"

"Sorry," she sticks out her tongue unapologetically.

They'd bonded over being two of the only Japanese-born kids in their neighborhood when they were eight, stayed friends through primary school, secondary school, and Yuuko getting married and giving birth to triplets, so they figure it's safe to say that they'll be friends until they die.

A moment after she comes up and slaps him, the shrill voices of her ten year old daughters resound in the background. "You usually catch me before I do stuff like that. What's on your mind?"

"Hmm," Yuuri's eyes study his dog as he hums. "Just work, I guess."

"The lonely hearts club tearing you up again, huh?" Yuuko waves to her husband in the distance, making sure he knows she's keeping an eye on the kids. "Nothing you can tell me about, I'm sure."

"You'd be correct." Yuuri chuckles. "Don't worry about me. All I can say is that life is one big surprise after another. You never know what's going to happen."

Yuuko rolls her eyes at him knowingly. "I have three daughters who are already in the fourth grade. You can say that again." She watches as Yuuri kneels and calls his dog back to his side with an observant eye. "I know you can't talk about work, but you can always call me for coffee or drinks."

Takeshi sidles up then, smiling invitingly. "Yeah, same goes for me. I know you and I aren't as tight as you and Yuuko, but I'm here for you, man."

Yuuri smiles softly in response, rubbing his poodle's ears. "Thanks, guys. I'll try to talk to you guys more often." He shifts away as Vicchan nuzzles his ankles, waving them a sheepish goodbye.

Takeshi sighs, looping an arm over his wife's shoulder. "I worry about him."

Yuuko sighs as well. "Me too."

//

Their second session is fairly quiet. Yuuri hardly glances at his notes before they begin.

Victor had told him last time, in brief, that his life had spiraled out of control after his retirement. He'd been far too used to partying in his twenties, and after his body stopped supporting his career, he'd fallen into a funk. Before he'd known it, years had gone by in a haze.

The point he'd truly realized that he had a problem was when Yakov Feltsman, his personal nutritionist and a family friend, had come to tell Victor to watch the goddamn Grand Prix final, and Victor found that he didn't recognize anyone on the podium.

"The years have passed, and my time in the spotlight has long since faded." Victor is only forty-six, but he carries himself with the heavy air of a war veteran. "The shock made me wake up just a bit."

Yuuri decides to talk about something outside of ice skating this time.

He takes his seat across from Victor, noting that the other man is outwardly more put-together than he had been the previous week. "Good morning, Victor."

"Good morning, Yuuri," Victor returns the greeting quietly, shrugging his coat off.

They chat about the weather for a moment before Yuuri segues into talking about Victor's personal life. "Who do you talk to on a regular basis?"

Victor hums in thought, putting a hand to his chin. "Yakov, of course." He huffs quietly. "He is a nosy man. Worse than my mother, I swear." Yuuri chuckles at that. He can easily envision Dr. Feltsman nagging Victor for his lifestyle, stern, embittered Russian man that he is. "There is no one else I speak to quite so frequently, unless perhaps my dog counts."

Yuuri chuckles at that. "No, she doesn't." He folds his left leg over his right. "Do you have any friends you talk to online?" Victor shakes his head no and Yuuri smiles. "You don't have to, but why don't you reach out to people through social media?"

Victor's eyes grow wide. "That's awfully bold, isn't it? I haven't talked to other skaters in..." His voice trails off, and when he gains the courage, he quietly finishes, "Oh, in far too long."

"It's not a requirement that you do. I was only curious." Yuuri offers him a patient smile and shakes his head. "Tell me about your dog."

Victor launches into a rant, pulling up pictures on his phone of his brown poodle, and Yuuri listens to the pleasant sound of his accent for the remainder of the half-hour.

//

"You want to speak to your old friends?" Yakov's voice is scathing over the phone. "Who?"

Victor pinches the bridge of his nose, blue eyes longingly wandering to the half-empty bottle of whiskey on his kitchen table. "I don't know. Anyone who might want to speak to me after nearly two decades of silence." He moves the liquor to the cabinet and pours himself a glass of juice instead.

Yakov snorts. "You want a list of your admirers?"

"No," Victor insists.

After a tense silence, Yakov gruffly mutters, "Do you know Plisetsky?"

Victor runs through his foggy memories and frowns when nothing turns up. "Who?"

"He placed first at the Grand Prix this year," Yakov answers. "Yuri Plisetsky. He's twenty-two years old, and many people in Russia are saying that he's your modern contemporary."

The younger man barks out a bitter laugh. "Modern - are you joking?" Victor throws his arm over his eyes and tries very hard to keep from crying in shame. "How would I know him?"

"He says that he met you once, after you retired. He often speaks of you at press conferences." Yakov chuckles lightly. "I bet you don't even remember that."

Pain burns at Victor's chest and he quietly whispers, "No, I don't."

"Look him up. Send him a message. I bet he'd be thrilled to hear from you."

Victor hangs up after that, mind filled with dread. He looks Plisetsky up on the web, quickly finding his Instagram account and Twitter. He bookmarks the pages, but never gets any further, sober hands too heavy for his body.

//

Yuuri opens the door to his office with a small yawn, apologizing to Victor. "I didn't sleep very well last night," the therapist murmurs softly.

Victor laughs anxiously in return. "Me neither." They open with the usual pleasantries, and Victor is the one to nervously change the subject from their equally boring weekends. "I found someone that I'd like to...to talk to. Online."

"Oh, that's great!" Yuuri beams at him and Victor relaxes at his honest enthusiasm. "Who is it?"

"Yuri Plisetsky," he answers quickly, falling quiet after he says his name.

"This year's Grand Prix gold medalist?" Yuuri asks.

Victor blinks in surprise. "Well, yes." He laughs as Yuuri colors, eyes growing wide and envy written all over his features. "I didn't know that you were a fan of figure skating."

Yuuri flushes down to his neck, holding out his hand in embarrassment. "Yeah, I am."

Victor finds the quiet man adorable in the moment, but he keeps his opinion to himself. "Admittedly, I have not worked up the nerve to speak to him." He's not sure what to say, really.

"You could write your message while you're here," Yuuri offers. "I don't have to watch you or anything, but you can talk your way through it."

The older man's blue eyes widen and he quickly breathes, "You'd really let me do that?"

His therapist shrugs, smiling easily. "Absolutely."

Fingers fly to fish his phone out of his pocket. While he types, he asks Yuuri if it's okay to fine to question a twenty-two-year-old's fashion sense, and Yuuri says that he might get a frustrated response, so perhaps he had better not. After what feels like eons, he finalizes his direct message, which he eventually decides will be most easily received on Facebook. He signs up on the site quickly with Yuuri's help, downloads messenger, types his words, and reads it to the therapist before he hits send.

"Hello, Yuri," they both laugh at that, finding the identical name humorous. "This is Victor Nikiforov, the figure skater. I know it's been some time since we've spoken, but I wanted to reach out and congratulate you on your Grand Prix success. I hear that you are now the pride of Russia, and I could not be more honored that I seem to have inspired you in some way. If it's no trouble, I'd like to speak to you about..." his voice trails off and becomes weak as he gets to the final part. "About what is...what is going on in competitive figure skating these days. I'm ashamed to say that I've become rather removed." Victor wills his hands to stop shaking as he puts his phone on his leg. "I look forward to hearing back from you. Best regards, Victor."

Dr. Katsuki grins at him and claps. "It gets the point across, and it isn't long-winded." After a moment, Yuuri's face grows very serious. "There's no need to send it now, you know. You should wait until you feel comfortable."

Victor shakes his head and presses send before he can regret it too much. "I cannot wait until I'm truly comfortable. I will never do anything that way."

Yuuri puts a hand on Victor's shoulder. "That's really brave of you to say."

Victor smiles tiredly, feeling terribly elated by words so mundane.

//

It is ten p.m. when his phone buzzes. Victor goes running in the evenings to take his mind off of alcohol, and he's just finished when his phone makes noise.

Yuri Plisetsy added you as a friend.

Conversation started at 10:00pm EST.

Hi, Victor.

Nothing has changed much. Nobody in Russia ever shuts up about your choreography.

I still have a lot to improve on. No skater is able to do your quad flip the same way you did.

Where are you? Do you still skate?

Victor laughs at the bit about the choreography, more than a little relieved to hear that the world hasn't completely forgotten about him.

The last question haunts him as he goes to sleep, though.

He doesn't respond.

//

Victor rushes into Yuuri's office the morning of his appointment, already familiar with the nurses and office assistants by the time week four rolls around. Yuuri looks up from a book with a startled expression, taking in Victor's terrified expression and running through procedure for handling panic attacks.

"Hey, listen," Yuuri keeps his voice steady and strong. "You have to take deep breaths." He keeps his eyes locked with Victor's.

"He answered," Victor wheezes, holding Yuuri's shoulders. "Last week. That same night. I was terrified to respond by myself."

Sweat beads on Victor's temple and Yuuri presses him close, checking his pulse at his wrist. "Calm down and breathe with me before you try to tell me the story, okay?"

Victor puts his hands around Yuuri's back and hyperventilates. After a time, his breathing synchronizes with the rhythmic up and down movement of Yuuri's chest against his own. "Okay." He spends a few minutes trying to relax, then he edges away from the shorter man and flops back onto the chaise. He exhales slowly as Yuuri takes a seat across from him, studying his quiet figure. The smaller man reads his book until Victor fully relaxes. "I'm sorry. That was childish of me."

Yuuri closes his book and shakes his head. "You had a panic attack. Those are perfectly normal for adults to have."

Running a hand through his silvery-gray hair, Victor sighs. "I am being pathetic."

"That's not true," Yuuri assures him fervently, tone almost reprimanding. "It was hard for you to send that message in the first place. The human brain can only handle so much at one time. When it overloads, things like panic attacks happen."

Victor giggles against his will. "That wasn't very scientific of you, doctor."

"Oh, shut up." Yuuri rolls his eyes with a little flush. "I'm a professional. I can say whatever I want."

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Victor whispers, "Could you help me again?"

"Sure, Victor," Yuuri answers easily. "I'll help you with anything you'd like me to."

Yuuri listens to Victor talk to himself while writing to the Russian skater. The older man sticks out his tongue and types on the touch screen slowly, unused to doing more than booking a hotel or a cab with his phone. He asks whether old terms from the nineties are still popular, and Yuuri laughs, quickly telling him that they aren't.

After he types his new message, he feels a great pressure lifted from his chest. "Thank you, Yuuri. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You did everything yourself. I was just here for support."

Victor groans. "If I only had one ounce of your patience and understanding, it would be a wonder." He takes a moment to press his hand to his forehead, brushing his bangs out of his left eye. "Next time, you should tell me stories of your life."

Yuuri laughs. "I couldn't do that. That's not why you're here."

"I know," Victor whispers shakily. "But is it not rehabilitation to speak to someone like a normal person?"

Surprise flashes in Yuuri's eyes. "Well, yes, of course. Ideally, you'd leave these counseling sessions, make friends, and settle into a comfortable life. Doctor Feltsman, as a nutritionist, helps you build a balanced diet, and is weaning you off of alcohol intake at a pace your body can handle." Disappointment is written on his face as he finishes, "We'd probably only have to meet for a few more weeks, you know? I'll sign off on the fact that you just need monthly check ins, and you'd just live a normal life. You'll eat out with people you love. You'll find new hobbies, a new career, new people to pour into, and people who will pour into you." Yuuri realizes he's rambling with a start, and he scratches the back of his neck. "That's how this works."

Hurt is painted in Victor's icy blue irises.

He is not brave enough to ask if Yuuri would like to be one of those people in his life.

//

Yuuri lounges in his apartment in his pajamas. He pets his dog, and thinks about the past.

When he'd been young and idealistic, he'd watched Victor Nikiforov's rise to fame on television, desperately trying to imitate him. He'd wanted to stand next to Victor, to study the beautiful man in person instead of through the screen and magazines. Back then, he'd wanted a dog because he knew that Victor loved them, but he'd been too afraid to ask his parents for one.

Everything in his life changed when his family moved to Detroit. He went through an awkwardly silent phase, shying away from anyone and everyone. Yuuri continued to be a reserved student in college, too afraid of failed intimacy to ever attempt being in a relationship. Truthfully, his passions remained rooted in professional ice skating. He followed every news article he could get his hand on about Victor, which was difficult, as most of them were scripted in Russian Cyrillic.

All those years ago, when Victor had fallen off the map, Yuuri had slipped into another quiet part of his life, struggling to figure out who he wanted to be without the shining dream of meeting his idol. Now, he sits with his dog, who he had renamed after one of the most famous skaters of all time when he adopted him from a shelter six years ago, and he feels lost again.

Victor is here, and he's real, and he's so beautifully, terribly human.

It is certainly unprofessional for him to want to keep the ailing man to himself, to want to chat with him for longer than his organized half-hour once a week. He wants to laugh with him together on the dark nights of Autumn, petting their dogs in the silence.

He shakes those unrealistic desires from his head and empties his mind, slipping into an uncomfortable apathy towards his own life.

//

For several weeks in a row, Victor speaks of cautiously reaching out to people who are involved with competitive skating in some way. Yuuri listens to his client talk about his difficulty conveying his emotions through social media as he chats with some of the heaviest hitting people in the industry. Yuri Plisetsky, two-time Grand Prix finalist. Christophe Giacometti, three-time Grand Prix gold medalist who had won all of these placements immediately following Victor's retirement. Mila Babicheva, four-time women's Russian Nationals champion. Christophe and Mila are both long-retired, having seen success in the few years just after Victor had lost touch with the competitive skating scene.

Christophe is horribly flirtatious and he overuses emoticons to the point of abuse. Victor's therapist chuckles at this. From what Yuuri had read of the Swiss man in the papers and online, this is characteristic of him. Mila browbeats Victor into coming and visiting her and Plisetsky, whom she occasionally teaches when Yuri's proper coach is away on other business.

Yuuri carefully watches over Victor as he becomes clean. He leaves positive remarks on his chart and scribbles pleasant notes in his journal.

At the close of their fourteenth session, Yuuri sucks in a deep breath and asks, "How do you feel?" Victor's been completely without alcohol for four weeks now, and the withdrawal should be hitting him in earnest.

"I feel...aware," Victor replies sheepishly, toying with his hair. "It is liberating, to have a mind so clear."

Yuuri forces himself to be professional, as he quietly responds, "That's amazing. You've come a long way."

Victor looks at his therapist with happiness written all over his features. "This is mostly thanks to you, you know."

"And Doctor Feltsman," Yuuri quickly quips back, grinning.

"And Yakov," Victor agrees, and both of them laugh for a moment at that.

The silence between them is thick for a few moments, and then Yuuri draws in a long breath, fishing for all of his courage. "Well, Victor," the therapist puts on his most professional voice as he speaks and says, "How would you like to finalize these sessions?" Yuuri watches as Victor visibly freezes, his body language reading panic very clearly. "It's not because I don't want to see you!" Yuuri hurriedly blurts, his voice just a bit too honest and shrill. "You're welcome to write to your insurance company and tell them you need to extend your visits if you find them necessary. I just didn't want you to feel like you had to be here." Yuuri bows his head. "I know you'll do well without me, but I'll schedule you to come by once a month, to check in."

Something deep in his heart screams at him to tell the truth, but he can't. It's probably not even legal.

Victor speaks up, his eyes going from wide and unfocused to sharp in an instant. "Doctor Katsuki," he starts by calling Yuuri something he's never called him before, and the psychiatrist jumps in his seat slightly. "I'm more than willing to admit that we chat more than we work on my rehabilitation. Still," here, he lets his voice go soft and his face fall into a gentle expression, finishing, "I must admit that I enjoy our sessions. It's a shame that I have to go."

Near-palpable discomfort hangs between them until Yuuri sighs. "I don't...really want you to go, either, but it's not right for me to charge you for coming here just to talk to me."

Victor brightens immediately, shocking the doctor by grasping his hands and pulling their faces entirely too close together. "Oh, Yuuri, you don't know how happy I am to hear that!" Victor pulls back with a flush high on his cheeks. "I was horrified that my dramatic ramblings bored you."

Yuuri shakes his head. "Never." He means that.

"Then," Victor's voice is uncharacteristically soft and nervous as he asks, "Would you mind if we met in a less formal setting?"

A blush creeps furiously over Yuuri's cheeks and he mutters, "This is so unprofessional." Quietly, he's embarrassed by how much he wants to do that.

"You've offered to release me from weekly therapy." Victor grins guilelessly. "We will not be doctor and patient for much longer, but I would still like to see you, if it's not too much to ask."

Yuuri rolls his eyes good-naturedly as he flicks Victor in the forehead. "Stop acting like I've said yes already." After a beat, he purses his lips. "You know that I'll have to refer you to another therapist if we start meeting outside of this office?"

"Yes," Victor answers airily.

Yuuri sighs and pulls out the papers for Victor to sign. "Don't smile so much. You're making me nervous."

"Oh, don't be," Victor chuckles, waving his hands aimlessly. "We'll only meet for coffee."

Yuuri waits for him to read through the documents and dash his signature over them until he murmurs, "Next Tuesday at nine a.m.?"

"Absolutely." Victor quickly pulls out his phone. "Could I have your number?" Yuuri shakily fishes around the mess at his desk to find his phone, and unlocks it. His fingers tremble over the keys to type Victor Nikiforov. Victor's grin is exceptionally bright as he sends a brief message.

Hello, Yuuri! ♡

The therapist huffs a small laugh. "I got it." He puts his phone away and puts Victor's documents away in the manilla folder. "I guess, in a way, this is goodbye, huh?"

Victor snorts. "Only for a week." He holds out his hand and Yuuri clasps it in a hearty handshake. "Thank you for all your help."

He shakes his head in response. "You were an easy patient, since you wanted to get better. I just helped you talk your way out of your head." Yuuri smiles softly. "Besides, I had fun too."

"Please don't act like we'll never see each other again." Victor clicks his tongue dramatically, pouting. "I'm looking forward to getting to know you better."

"Okay." Yuuri flushes lightly. He waves as Victor leaves the office. "See you next week, then."

"Bye!"

As soon as Victor leaves, Yuuri wanders to the break room in a haze. He snaps out of his dreamy trance as Kay slaps him on the back. "Saw the forms, buddy. What's got you so worked up?"

"Oh, nothing." His phone burns in his pocket with his latest text. The woman hums knowingly and he glares at her in response, hissing as she walks away and laughs.

//

Yuuko nearly shrieks when she processes the words. "Victor Nikiforov?" She slams her glass down and gapes at her friend, who is shushing her. "The Victor? The famous one? From Russia?"

"Yes," Yuuri hisses softly, forming hand gestures to encourage her to sit down and stop yelling. The other bar patrons are staring at them, and it makes him flush with embarrassment.

"I can't believe you kept that under wraps," Yuuko grumbles as she plops down. "I mean, I know that's what you have to do at your job and all, but this is like, breaking fucking news, Yuuri!" She sighs dreamily, sinking into her chair and cradling her cocktail in her hand. "Wow. Just wow. Who would've ever guessed?"

"I know."

They pause to take sips of their drinks, and a somber look crosses her face. "You still do therapy for drunks, right?"

"Recovering alcoholics, yes," Yuuri amends quietly.

Yuuko inhales and exhales heavily. "Wow." A complicated look flits over her eyes. "I mean, everyone knows he went off the map after ninety-seven, but holy crap."

Yuuri taps his glass with a soft smile. "Victor's doing a lot better, though. He's totally clean now."

His best friend slaps him on the shoulders. "That's great! All thanks to you, huh?"

"No," Yuuri answers truthfully. "As his psychiatrist, all I could do was prescribe him any medicine I thought might help abate his paranoia and talk him through his issues. The key to any successful recovery is that the patient is willing to take charge of their own lives and actively work on quitting their addictions."

Yuuko looks into his dark brown eyes, her own eyes flicking back and forth, studying him. "Something tells me there's more to the story."

Yuuri breathes heatedly out of his nose. "There isn't, Yuuko."

She snorts and slaps his forehead. "You're a horrible liar."

He drifts off, finishing his beer before hanging his head. "I may or may not have given him my number after he and his referring doctor signed his release papers."

Yuuko squeals like a child at the words. "Oh my god!"

"Stop yelling," Yuuri whispers shamefully, groaning into the lacquered wood of their table. "I'm already nervous enough."

"You're going on a date!"

"It's not a date," Yuuri hisses, flush bright across his olive-toned skin. "It's not, I swear. We're just meeting for coffee."

"To talk about...what? His life? Yours? You can't just be his life coach or whatever, you're making this personal." Yuuko grins widely, affectionately poking his arms and laughing wildly. Yuuri is so horribly, horribly embarrassed to be out in public with her right now. "You're meeting post-alcoholic Victor Nikiforov for a date. It's not exactly an ideal situation, sure, but it's something." She mellows quite a bit to finish by saying, "I'm glad."

"Why?" Yuuri bites his lip nervously. "I can't help feeling like this is a terrible decision."

Yuuko shrugs. "I'm not sure. I guess it's just good to know that he's human, after all." She toys with her glass for a moment before calling their server over and ordering another cocktail. "I'm sure being drunk for the most part of twenty years is pretty disorienting, and he seems to trust that you'll help bring him up to speed. He's not that perfect guy from the posters." Yuuko crosses her arms on the table. "He's human, Yuuri, just like you, and both of you could use a little work."

Yuuri grunts at the last part. "What? I'm perfectly fine, Yuuko."

She lifts an eyebrow, and then sighs when creases form in his forehead. "I'm just saying you should give this a chance. It could be good for you."

Yuuri downs the dregs of his beer and frowns. "We'll see."

//

Yuuri informs his employees and the other two psychological therapists in his office that he won't be taking appointments until 12 p.m. on Tuesdays. He makes the announcement on Wednesday, and in response, Layla, Kay, and Maria give him secret little smiles. His fellows simply nod their heads and say that they'll make up for the gap in the schedule.

With that taken care of, he hurries to his meeting with Victor at Juniper. He tries very hard not to run through all of the reasons why meeting the other man outside of work is a bad idea, fails at doing so, and shuffles to the counter with a distraught expression.

He's forcibly pulled out of his head by a young man in glasses smiling. "Morning," the barista says, putting a hand down on the counter. "What can I get for you?"

Yuuri flounders for a minute, pushing his glasses up and flicking over moderately familiar words. "I'll just a get a small latte for here."

The young man smiles, pushing buttons on a tablet. "Is that it for you?"

"Yeah, thanks," Yuuri replies quietly, grateful for the pleasant exchange.

"That'll be three eighty-two." The nervous doctor hands him a five, and refuses his change.  "Thanks. You can have a seat. I'll bring it out to you."

"Thanks." Yuuri bows his head habitually, eyes roaming the café for a quiet spot. He finds a high table in an alcove and unwraps his scarf from his neck. He sits for a minute before the fashionable barista brings him a black ceramic mug, a design artistically swirling in the milk. "This is awesome."

The barista grins at the compliment. "Thanks, man. I've been working on it."

As he walks back to the bar, Yuuri shrugs his jacket off and takes a sip. It's delicious, and he hums in approval. He cradles the drink for about sixty seconds before Victor breezes in, looking more regal and well-rested than Yuuri thinks he's ever seen him.

It hits Yuuri all over again that he's having coffee with his old idol. Victor looks gorgeous. Panic creeps back into his mind, and Yuuri actively works not to let it consume him. 

"Hello," Victor greets quietly, haphazardly tossing his jacket over the empty chair and running a hand through his hair. He glances at his watch on his left hand with a frown. It's 8:50. "You haven't been here long, have you?"

"No." Yuuri waves the question off lightly. "I just got my drink. You want anything?" He moves to stand up and reach for his wallet, but Victor holds up a hand.

"I can get it." The older man grins. "I may have once been an incorrigible drunk, but I appropriated my assets well. Unless I decide that I'd prefer to own an island or an extravagant mansion, I shall never want for money." Victor momentarily laughs at himself. "If you think about it, I spent so much money on alcohol that wasn't even good! That's a true shame."

Yuuri chuckles. Victor heads to the counter and orders a café miel. The same barista brings it to the table after Victor takes a seat, beaming at Yuuri.

"So," Victor drawls, licking foam and honey from his lips, "How are you?"

Yuuri laughs at the absurdity of the situation. "I'm good." His voice dips as he lifts a brow. "Just so you know, this is by far the strangest thing that's ever happened to me."

"What?" Victor blinks his eyes owlishly. "Going on a date?"

Yuuri sputters, almost spitting his drink on Victor. "What? Oh god, shit." He hurries to stand up and grab napkins from the condiment bar. "Wait, is this a date?"

"Of course," Victor purrs, leaning over the table to give Yuuri a smolder. "What did you think it was?"

Yuuri huffs and settles back into his chair with a flush. "I don't know. First of all, I'm not exactly date material, so what was I supposed to think? Second of all, you were my patient until seven days ago," he hisses around his drink, entirely too wary of Victor's pleased look. "So you'll have to excuse me if I'm a little...surprised."

"Not date material?" Victor puts his cup down and folds his hands together. "Something tells me there's a story there."

Yuuri narrows his eyes. "You're leading me into talking about myself."

"Guilty as charged. You don't have to," Victor says easily, fingers stroking his ceramic cup. "But to be fair, you already know pretty much everything about me, so there's not much for me to say."

Awkwardly enough, Victor doesn't know the half of the truth of that statement. "There's not much for me to say, either. I'm boring."

"Untrue."

"It is true," Yuuri insists quickly, blowing his hair out of his eyes. "I sit around most nights petting my dog. I bike most of the way to my job. I work, I eat, I sleep." He looks into Victor's blue, blue eyes and tries not to get flustered at the strong eye contact Victor is maintaining with him. "Boring."

"So you're not seeing anyone, then?" Victor's voice pitches on the last word, and Yuuri's heart thuds.

"No, of course not." Yuuri finds the words flying out of his mouth urgently. "I mean. The only things I like to do are watch skating competitions and visit museums. I only have two friends."

"Well then," Victor drawls, sipping on his drink, "Tell me about them."

Yuuri sighs, begrudgingly diving into stories about Phichit Chulanont, his college roommate and occasional Skype call companion, and Yuuko Nishigori, a childhood friend of his.

Victor listens attentively, laughing at Yuuri's dry humor and giving Yuuri all the time he needs to recall the memories properly.

The meeting goes on for quite a bit longer than half an hour.

//

Victor gets into the habit of video chatting his modern contemporary on Saturday evenings. "Yuuri is adorable. I'm dying."

"I hate that he shares my name," Plisetsky's scathing Russian cuts over the web, blonde tresses falling into his eyes as he plaits a braid in his hair. "Do you know how disgusting you're being right now, old man? Horrible."

"You wound me, Yura," Victor whines. "Someone has to listen to me ramble about him. I would collapse otherwise."

"Call Chris or Mila," Yuri replies lazily, scurrying around his room for a set of colored pencils and a coloring book. "I'm sure they'd love to hear you wax poetic about your boyfriend."

"We're not dating yet," Victor corrects him with a click of his tongue. "We've only been on several dates."

"What is the fucking difference?" The skater rolls his eyes. "I guess if you're happy, it's fine."

"I am so happy."

They let a pause fall between them for a moment, and Yuri is the one to break it. "Listen, Victor," Yuri is uncharacteristically quiet as he asks, "Is this all you want?"

Victor blinks in surprise. "I'm sorry?"

"You know," the young man murmurs, "a normal life, or whatever." He watches Victor give him a blank look for a minute before he snaps and snarls. "I'm asking whether you're just going to stay on the sidelines forever!"

Victor's mouth goes dry as he asks, "What?"

"Are you going to come back to the skating world?" Yuri leans too close to the camera. "Are you going to let the Russian populace know you're alive at all? There are people who'd hand you a million goddamn rubles if you'd just fly over and hold an interview or two." Victor is silent for several minutes, so Yuri sighs heatedly. "Forget it. I should've known that you'd dodge the question."

Victor sighs. "Truthfully, Yura, I haven't thought about it." He holds up his hands, eyes quickly glistening. "It's been so long. I don't even know if I remember what to do."

"It's like riding a bike, you shithead. You never forget." Yuri growls at him. "You won the Grand Prix five years in a row; you won't fall on your ass at a rink."

They let a tense silence pass before Victor sighs again. "Let's not talk about this right now."

Yuri glares for a moment before his shoulders fall and the fight drains out of him. "Alright."

//

Yuuri is psychoanalyzing Victor, and Victor can tell.

The older man sighs and drops his head. "You could just ask me what I'm thinking."

Yuuri colors. "Sorry. Habit." He picks a piece of his muffin up and chews on it as he speaks. "What's on your mind?"

"I talked with Yura this weekend," Victor says quietly, more withdrawn that Yuuri has seen him in months. He fusses with his cup absently, sloshing the coffee in it around. "I seem to have fooled myself into thinking that getting clean would somehow make me feel better about my past."

"What do you mean, exactly?" Yuuri tries his best to keep his voice professional, and his business voice would usually make Victor laugh, but Victor is a bit too anxious to do that.

"I was a fairly functional alcoholic," Victor admits, "but I don't remember doing much skating after I retired." He lets his eyes drift away to the window, an act so unusual that it makes Yuuri stare at him. "Most people, you know, they retire, and they take something else on. They become commentators. Judges. The truly ambitious go on to coach others to succeed their legacies." Victor pulls his gaze back to Yuuri's dark brown eyes, sorrow painted all over his face. "The pathetic go to the wayside, knowing nothing of the sport after they leave it."

"You aren't pathetic," Yuuri says immediately, rushing to Victor's own defense. "You were terrified. I mean, who wants to watch their titles get consistently stolen by younger people? Who wants to remember that their body is breaking down, and that they can't do what they love?" Victor feels that he might cry with relief at the words, and seizes in surprise when Yuuri cautiously grabs his hand. "You're not pathetic, Victor. You were just scared." Victor does start crying at that, bowing his head when Yuuri smiles. "Being scared is normal."

"I hate it," Victor whispers, leaning forward and clasping Yuuri's hand with both of his own. "I hate this feeling."

"You've been running from it for twenty years," Yuuri murmurs softly, keeping his tone uplifting and calm. "That's a long time."

Victor laughs wetly, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve. "A very long time."

//

Phichit logs in at his usual time, so Yuuri kicks back at his desk and throws a blanket over his shoulders. He's just finished taking Vicchan for a walk, so the dog is napping on his mattress, and he's left the overhead light on so his friend can see him.

"Sup," Phichit greets easily.

"Hey," Yuuri greets back, holding back a small sniffle. His dark eyes flash to the plastic containers and he rolls his eyes. "Chinese again?"

"What can I say?" Phichit flashes a v-sign. "It's quick, it's good, and it's cheap."

Yuuri chuckles. "Can't argue with that."

They momentarily chat about work - Phichit works in Computer Programming, so he has many complaints about his clients - before segueing into their personal lives. Phichit has gotten married and divorced, the first because he'd been terribly in love with his grad school sweetheart, and the second because he'd discovered that being married just was not for him. He'd hated living with someone, and had really hated the pressure to have children. There had been many uncomfortable discussions about finances because she'd never felt obligated to build a two-income household, and he'd gotten sick of the endless exhaustion fairly quickly. The experience makes him joke about romance easily with Yuuri, who has had few dates in his life, and has shied away from mindless sex even more than Phichit had.

"How's Victor?" Phichit always smirks when he mentions the retired skater. He'd been around for all of Yuuri's excessive fan ramblings in college, to watch him drift when Victor left the scene, and, finally, to hear about his transition from an adoring fan to Victor's therapist, then his frequent dating partner.

Yuuri seems hesitant to say that they're dating, even though they've been seeing each other at the same café for hours every Tuesday for the last three months or so.

"Victor's...complicated," Yuuri says truthfully, hurt flashing in his dewey brown eyes. "He's going through a rough patch right now."

"Aww, that sucks," Phichit comments quietly, frowning. "What's his new therapist say?"

"Just the usual," Yuuri replies. "He needs to take his time with things. There's no point in him going to an ice rink and immediately breaking down. He needs to feel ready."

"And? What do you say?" Before Yuuri can open his mind and answer, he holds up a hand and adds, "As his friend. You are friends, right?"

Yuuri processes the question for a long moment before he says anything. "Yeah. I guess we are." He pauses again, then he sighs. "I don't know. He's very physically affectionate, but he keeps his thoughts private." Sheepishly, he murmurs, "To tell you the truth, he asked if I wanted to go to a rink with him last week."

"Oh my god!" Phichit chirps. Yuuri sinks lower in the chair with a groan. "That's like your dream come true."

Yuuri's face is hot red as he whispers, "Oh, shut up. Victor needs help, and I was his therapist. He probably just wants me to come for...emotional support. To talk him through things."

"Or," the Thai man counters, "He wants you to keep him company and hold his hand because you make him feel better and he likes you."

Yuuri lets out an embarrassed noise. "Phichit!"

Phichit shrugs. "Just saying."

Yuuri taps his fingers on the keyboard, still overly flushed. "Would...would it be too weird to say that I'm kind of...hoping that's the case?" A smile creeps over Phichit's face and Yuuri groans. "I regret telling you any of this."

"Yuuri, you dummy! Of course Victor likes you." Phichit sticks out his tongue playfully, accusingly pointing his chopsticks at his screen. "He's been dating you and kissing your cheeks in cafés for months. Just admit it already."

"I'm too old for this," Yuuri whines, hiding his face. His ears are pink. "None of this feels real."

"Get used to it," Phichit giggles. "You're dating Victor Nikiforov. I can see the headlines now! Local Anxious Therapist Dates Legendary Ice Skating Train Wreck."

"Phichit!"

"I hope he marries your gay ass. You deserve each other."

Yuuri glares at his computer. "I hope you die in a fire."

Phichit winks back at him. "You love me."

//

Victor and Yuuri stand outside of the rink for an inordinately long time in June. Yuuri sneezes because of his allergies, and Victor clasps his hand with a smile. "We should go inside."

"Yeah, probably," Yuuri sniffles.

Victor chuckles, pulling away to reach in his pockets and pull out a travel pack of tissues. He hands Yuuri a handful and waits for him to blow his nose before holding his hand out again.

They keep holding hands as they enter, separating from each other only to buy tickets and rental skates. Yuuri hasn't been skating in ages, and he was never phenomenal at it like Victor, so he just barely manages to stay upright. Victor wobbles a bit, but he grips Yuuri's hand tightly, getting the hang of it swiftly.

For a few minutes, the two of them just drift on the ice, quietly pushing into a lull while the music plays in the background and children fall in piles around them. They start picking up speed and spinning while they go around the rink, laughing loudly at each other's awkward faces.

Yuuri gives Victor a look before he kisses Victor's cheek and smiles, pushing his back. "Go on."

Victor slips away from him on the ice with wide eyes. After a stunned moment, he grins and starts circling the ice at top speed. People move out of his way as he goes, grinning wildly. He cuts it close to the walls every time he cycles the rink, and then, after a couple minutes, he kicks himself up, twirls very quickly, and, fantastically, sticks his landing.

He slows down next to Yuuri, a flush high on his cheeks. "I can't believe it." Victor laughs loudly, pressing his lips to the crown of Yuuri's head. "I can't believe I did it. My legs hurt like hell."

"Well, that was no quad flip," Yuuri says dryly, and Victor barks out a chuckle. "That was amazing, Victor. I'm really proud of you."

Victor is close to tears, forehead pressed against Yuuri's as they drift on the ice. "It's all thanks to you."

Yuuri wraps his arms around Victor's middle. "You were the one who did it in the end. I'm just here for support."

Victor shakes his head, fingers caressing Yuuri's chin. "No, Yuuri," his eyes are shimmering and Yuuri's throat closes up. "I was able to do it because you believed in me." His fingers flit over Yuuri's lips, and Yuuri flushes. "I did it because I love you."

"I love you too," Yuuri blurts out before he can stop himself, and Victor tosses his head back with relief.

//

Yuuri fidgets in place while he eats his rice. His mother is giving him a look that shows she knows he's ready to say something. His father just eats his fish quietly and waits for him to do the same.

"So, I, uh," Yuuri finally starts to talk, putting his chopsticks down, saying, "I started...seeing someone. A while back."

The older woman gasps and nearly drops her bowl. Her son winces as she starts grinning like a fool, smile nearly splitting her face in half. "Oh, baby, good for you!"

Yuuri flushes hot as his dad starts smiling too. "Stop, Mom, I'm so nervous."

"A woman? A man? Neither? Where did you meet?" Her questions come rapid-fire and Yuuri wants to bury himself.

"Slow down, Hiroko," Toshiya murmurs. "Give him time to breathe."

Yuuri gives his dad a grateful look before he inhales and says, "His name's Victor Nikiforov. We met at work."

Hiroko frowns, putting a finger to her chin. "That name sounds familiar."

Yuuri flushes hot, averting his eyes as he mutters, "He used to be an ice skater. You know, back in the eighties and nineties."

Toshiya snaps his fingers in recollection. "Ohh! Is he that boy from all your posters?"

"That Victor?" His mother gasps again, flushing with delight. "Your childhood celebrity crush?"

"Stoooop," Yuuri whines pitifully, burying his face in his hands. "He doesn't know that I had a crush on him when I was kid, so you definitely can't tell him about that!"

"That's adorable," Hiroko coos, and her child groans. "How old is he now?"

"He'll turn forty-seven in December," Yuuri laughs as he says that, remembering how much Victor had grumbled about becoming an old man in their early sessions. "I think you'll like him a lot."

Toshiya and Hiroko wrap arms around Yuuri and grin. Yuuri's mother pushes their cheeks together and asks, "So, when are you bringing him for dinner?"

Yuuri colors again before whispering, "I don't know. Next weekend?"

They hug him close and ruffle his hair, excitedly chattering about what they should make, and what they should do to welcome Victor to their home.

They're embarrassing to Yuuri, sure, but he loves them and how accepting they are about everything in his life.

//

Victor turns his laptop on, heart full to bursting. He's due to have dinner with the Katsuki family on Sunday, and he's thrilled about that. Still, he has appointments to keep in the meantime. He works part time at a grocery store a few times a week, messages Chris on Wednesdays, calls Yakov on Thursdays, texts Mila on Fridays, and video chats Yuri on Saturday nights, which means that he only has one thing left to do before the dinner date.

The internet dials out for a few minutes before Yuri Plisetsky comes into view, surly and tired as always. It's seven in the morning his time when Victor calls, and Sundays are his rest days, so, understandably, he's groggy. "Hey."

"Good morning, Yura," Victor chirps happily, running a hand over Makkachin's floppy ears. "How are you?"

Yuri narrows his eyes and yawns. "Just woke up. I'm alright. You sound way too chipper today."

"Yuuri's invited me over to meet his parents tomorrow!" Victor beams like a child, throwing his arms up as he speaks.

"Congrats, I guess," Yuri grumbles, rolling his eyes.

They chat about life, skating, their pets (Victor still can't believe that Yuri is a cat person, what a scandal), and more. After they chat for about twenty minutes, they find a lull in the conversation, and Victor scrounges up his courage to ask him something he's been shying from for months.

"Yura." Victor is uncharacteristically soft-spoken as he says, "Do you remember when we met?"

"Yeah," Yuri says, kicking his legs up on his desk.

"Could you maybe...tell me about it?"

Hurt flashes over Plisetsky's face. "You don't remember?"

"No." Victor's throat goes dry, and he nervously licks his lips. "I'm sorry."

Yuri just breathes for a moment, and then he sighs wistfully. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You were always pretty forgetful." He taps his fingers on wood for a few moments, scowl deeply ingrained on his face. "I was thirteen. Nobody had heard from you in years, so you can imagine the shock of seeing you at my home rink. The place wasn't much to write home about. I'd placed forth at the Junior Worlds at the time, and you came to see me perform the same routine. You sat next to my coach, babbling all the while." Yuri's look turned soft and a smile graced his features. "You got really focused during the second half. Your critique was a little dodgy, but I'll never forget what you said to me. Your technical elementals are graceful, but you lack emotional depth in your performance." Yuri tosses his head back and laughs. "You were right, but the way you said it pissed me off beyond belief."

Victor chuckles dryly at that. "That sounds like me, yes."

"It really got to me, though. I'd heard lots about you, but I didn't know you when I heard the rumors, you know?" Yuri shrugs. "We quipped back and forth before you called a cab and hurried off, and I became determined to exceed your reputation. It's hard though, because your old routines are fucking insane."

"I have arthritis in all of my joints as a result," Victor says in warning. "You should be careful not to push your limits too far. My routines were perhaps a bit too insane."

Yuri's hackles raise and he slams his fist on the desk. "Are you saying I can't do it?"

"I'm saying that I was a fool," Victor replies quickly, feeling somber about his past. "There's more to life than ice skating, Yura. I know it's hard to imagine right now, at the peak of your career, but it's true." He leans on his keyboard and sighs. "I wish I had figured that out so many years ago."

"Alright." Yuri sympathetically studies Victor's distraught expression and he bows his head. "I'll be careful."

"Thank you." Victor keeps his hands clasped, trying to keep them from shaking. "That's all I can ask."

Yuri hangs up and tries not to let curious dread drop in his stomach.

//

Victor is all smiles at the Katsuki house.

Hiroko feeds him well, posing for pictures that Victor puts up on Instagram. Toshiya humors Victor by making V signs at the camera while he slurps his soup.

After the four of them have a pleasant chat about how the men met, what Victor does now, and so forth, Victor and Yuuri curl up on a couch in the living room to watch movies with the older couple. Halfway through, Yuuri can tell that Victor's getting edgy and restless, so he pokes him in the side and asks if he wants to go on a walk. It's August, so it's still warm outside, but they shrug on jackets, hold hands, and wander through the suburban neighborhood.

Victor waits five minutes before speaking. "I spoke to Yura yesterday."

"Yeah?" Yuuri flicks his eyes up at the older man. "What'd you talk about?"

He wraps his arms around Yuuri and takes deep breaths. Yuuri's arms envelope him in return, rubbing soft patterns on the taller man's back. "This and that. I just had an unpleasant reminder that being black out drunk is horrible." Victor laughs sadly. "I wish I could go back to the ice. I was calmest when I was skating. I knew who I was when I was out there. Who I wanted to be."

"Well," Yuuri offers gently, pulling back so he can look at Victor properly, "Why don't you become a coach?"

Victor draws in a sharp breath. "I couldn't."

"Why not? You're more than qualified," Yuuri says, trailing his hands over Victor's jaw tenderly, basking in the watery, vulnerable gaze Victor gives him. "You could take seminars. I could go with you to the rink on Tuesday mornings and weekends."

Victor's breath comes short as he falls back into Yuuri's hold. "You'd do that for me?"

Yuuri leans up and kisses Victor's cheek. "Yes, of course."

"I have no idea what I've done to deserve you." Victor kisses him chastely on the lips, running a hand through his dark hair.

"You don't have to deserve me or anything. I love you." Yuuri holds his hand tightly as they walk back to his parents' home.

//

The summer just seems to drag on, so Dr. Katsuki often comes into his office covered in sweat.

In the mornings, his employees wave to him and chat as he has coffee and his colleagues greet him pleasantly before heading to their own offices in the Suite.

Kay and Layla come to the break room at lunch, smiling when they see him intently studying apartment pamphlets. Layla slaps him on the back and makes Yuuri spill spaghetti sauce all over the table. "Seems like you and your boyfriend are getting pretty serious, huh? Moving in together?"

Yuuri flushes, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean, we're just talking about it right now."

Kay cackles. "Well, these places are closer to the office. Maybe you'll finally be free from the shitty bus schedule."

When Yuuri kicks back, the two women pat him on the shoulders.

Maria strides in, finds them all chatting, and raises an eyebrow at the array on the table. "Wow. Victor's finally ready to make you a love nest, huh?"

"Maria!" Kay hisses while Layla loses her shit laughing so hard.

Yuuri blushes up to his roots. "We're old men, Maria."

Maria rolls her eyes fiercely, flicking her curly hair over her shoulders. "So what? I've known many a horny old man. And let me tell you, your boyfriend? He's fucking thirsty."

Yuuri sputters, face burning red. "I'm...he's what?"

"Horny. Desperate. Ready for you to yell take me and have sex for hours," Maria clarifies, much to the amusement of the other women and to Yuuri's horrendous distress. "He comes here three times a week to drape himself over you and bring you lunch. You two pet each other's hair and make kissy faces every time. I'm not an idiot."

"Oh my god, stop." Yuuri buries his face in his hands. "I never even noticed, I feel so stupid! I'm gonna tell him to stop coming over here."

"Aww, no, you two are cute!" Layla assures him, wiping tears from her dark eyes. "I like it. You come so far out of your shell when Victor's here."

Yuuri groans, pushing his lunch away. "I'm so embarrassed."

"She's right, though," Kay says quietly, grinning at him. "It feels like you've always been really shut off and vacant. It was like you just lived your life just to live, you know? I'm happy to see you really enjoying life." She pats his head like he isn't ten years older than her. "He's good for you."

"Thanks, I guess," Yuuri mumbles.

Not even five minutes later, Victor bursts in with a pastry from Juniper, bliss painted all over his face. "You know Neil, that barista we both like? He gave me a discount when I stopped in. Do you like blueberry muffins?"

Kay, Layla, and Maria laugh viciously when Yuuri flushes again, burying his head in his hands.

//

Victor decides to clear the air in the middle of October, fully aware that Yuuri's lease is up in November so they have decisions to make, and quickly.

"I want to coach," Victor unsteadily says, then he repeats the words with more confidence. "I want to coach."

Yuuri looks up from his book with a loving smile. "That's great, Victor. I'm glad to hear that!"

"But, before I do," Victor chokes his words out in staccato, "I have to...I have to tell the world everything."

"Okay." Yuuri puts his book away, stands, and rubs a hand on Victor's back. "That's a hard thing to do, going public about your addiction."

Victor nods, then shakes his head. "Not just that. I won't be able to go back to Russia." He tentatively holds Yuuri's hand, blue eyes shimmering. "I want to stay with you forever, but I won't be welcomed in my country as a hero once they know how I feel about you."

Yuuri shrugs and says, "I'll marry you, then." He doesn't realize the gravity of his words as Victor's eyes widen impossibly. "I want to stay by your side forever, and you'll become a naturalized citizen here in the states after we get married."

Victor sweeps Yuuri into his arms, kissing him breathless. When he pulls back, grinning wildly, Yuuri is flushed with surprise. "Oh, Yuuri, I'm so happy to hear that. I love you too." He kisses Yuuri a second time, more deeply, hands falling to rest at the cusp of Yuuri's behind. Yuuri yelps as Victor pinches his butt, blushing furiously red up to his ears. "You're so cute. I just adore you!"

Yuuri's heart races. He's still reeling from the French kissing, and the butt touching, and oh god, Victor Nikiforov might want to sleep with him.

He has not even remotely considered the possibility before, and they'll be moving in together in less than four weeks.

Yuuri can't decide if this fact scares him to death or thrills him to pieces, but he eventually figures that they'll have the sex talk after Victor schedules his interviews.

It is due to be a busy Winter.

//

When he tells Yakov the news, the man hangs up on him.

Victor doesn't waste time feeling sad about it. Instead, he contacts a handful of radio stations, two television studios, one magazine, and gets his speech prepared. The people he knows at each of these establishments quickly run through the red tape to make his media-coverage outstanding, eager to get their paws on him after twenty years out of the spotlight.

Yuuri helps him correct certain elements, asks questions when the reporters might, and Victor is grateful for his calm presence.

They decide on an apartment on the second week of November, with his interviews scheduled for December. It gives them time to move and settle before he has to go to California.

Yuuri quietly delights in Victor's attention, still shying away from taking their physical relationship further. Victor is a bit too distracted with his upcoming interviews to question Yuuri's silence, so the two of them just live on a fine line of anxiety and familiar relaxation.

The move is quiet and unassuming. They get unpacked efficiently. They go to their jobs and run through their regular procedures.

Yuuri sees Victor off at the Detroit airport with a soft smile, simply kissing his forehead and patting his back. "Good luck."

Victor swivels on his heels to pull Yuuri close, kiss him on the lips, and then dash off. "Thank you. I'll need it." He hurries through the check in area to security, and Yuuri stands in a daze until he's gone.

His drive home is quiet.

He's lived with Victor for just four weeks, but the apartment feels vacant without him.

His shoulders are cold, and so are his hands, and his lips, and his sides.

Yuuri settles on their shared mattress, restlessly trying to read. By now, he's met Victor for some reason or another almost every day for the last six months, and he can feel his absence like a wound. He fiddles with his phone, waiting impatiently for Victor to call and say that he's arrived in L.A.

When he does call six hours later Yuuri comes out of a doze to answer his phone groggily. "Hello?"

"Sorry, darling," Victor says, and Yuuri immediately perks up, eyes flying open. "The flight ran a bit long, and my bag got held up." Victor sighs, pausing for a minute to call a cab. "I miss you already."

Yuuri feels tears well up in his voice as he keeps his voice level. "Yeah, I miss you too. Stay safe, okay? Thanks for calling."

"I will. I love you."

"Love you too."

//

When Victor comes home, he looks haggard. Yuuri picks him up at baggage claim a week after his departure, and turns music on softly in his mother's car. He's sure that Victor does not want to talk about his trip, so he speaks his mind instead.

"I missed you."

Victor breathes a sigh of relief, tangling his left hand with Yuuri's right where it rests on the console between the driver and passenger seats. "I missed you more. I wish you could have gone with me."

"I'm sorry." It had been too abrupt a trip to take off of work. "Hey, listen, do you care if I tell you about something really personal right now?"

"No, of course not," Victor says breezily, blinking his blue eyes curiously at Yuuri. It's a pleasant surprise, because his boyfriend is typically so reserved about talking about himself or about his thoughts.

"I'm a virgin," Yuuri blurts sloppily, gripping Victor's hand tightly while he keeps his eyes glued to the road. "But it's not like. I'm just. Nobody's been the right one, you know?" He rambles, refusing to gaze to the side and see how Victor is visually responding. "And I get so fucking nervous when I think about us, and you leaving me. It's not that I don't want to have sex - I've never tried, and I never wanted to before, and I'm so old now. Oh god, I just don't want to screw this up. I don't want to lose you."

He feels close to tears, but Victor just keeps holding his hand tightly, smiling at him. "Oh, Yuuri, I never want you to feel obligated to have sex with me. I respect you, and I love you terribly." He kisses Yuuri's fingers. "I want to do whatever you want to do. I'm an old man now. To have someone as beautiful as you by my side when I'm so terribly ruined is already enough to make me float."

Yuuri feels close to tears, the heat of his eyes nearly fogging his glasses over. "Oh, fuck, that wasn't like. A no? We can, um, maybe, try it some day. You're so great, and patient, and like. I don't...hate it when you. Touch me? I'm kind of way too into it." He flushes desperately, gripping the steering wheel with his free hand. "I'm too old for this, hoooly shit."

Victor laughs until he's breathless. "You're amazing."

"Don't make fun of me." Yuuri pouts as he turns for their exit.

"I'm not! I swear." Victor kisses him on the cheek. "I mean it."

Victor reassures him for the rest of the car ride, but Yuuri doesn't really believe him until after they get home.

Once they get there, Victor dips him as low as he can manage, kisses Yuuri silly, and brushes Yuuri's dark bangs from his face.

Yuuri blinks at him and flushes slowly. Victor chuckles, kissing his neck as he whispers, "See? Amazing."

Yuuri figures that he can come to terms with being called this in his own time.

//

The special airs in the middle of Spring.

Victor warns his mother, Plisetsky, Chris, Yakov, and Mila about it. He doesn't say anything specific, only that it will detail the last twenty years of his life and touch on his future plans. Yakov tells him that he's a damn fool for doing this, but it's done now, and Yakov figures he might as well congratulate Victor for doing what he thinks is right.

The week following the special, he has several video interviews lined up with rinks around the nation. He tells Yuuri that he doesn't want a job handed to him before everyone in the world knows what he's been up to. He'll be working around the stigma of having once been a drunk along with the prestige of his past reputation, so it will make the playing field more equal.

He sits on the bed with Yuuri, curled together as the television plays stupid commercials for cars and island vacations. Victor curls up between Yuuri's legs, joining their hands over his chest. 

Victor watches as the interviews roll through. He zones out halfway through, and finds that Yuuri has turned the volume down and is humming to him.

He falls further in love with him for that.

//

Below is the transcription of the interview between US branch Skate Monthly's Rudy Wraith and Victor Nikiforov.

Victor Nikiforov: I was an idiot. I just drank all of the time. I associated drinking with my career. When I was competing, I drank to celebrate winning.

VN: Drinking was emotional, so I just kept doing it. I retired and drank my days away. Some days are clearer than others, but I can't remember a day in those twenty dark years that alcohol didn't touch my lips.

Rudy Wraith: You drank to remember ice skating? Isn't that a bit counter-intuitive?

VN: Absolutely. But when you are drinking, you can rationalize anything.

RW: Including more drinking.

VN: Yes, of course.

RW: How did you finally get dry?

VN: I changed my lifestyle. I had a nutritionist help me handle my diet, and I went to therapy.

RW: It's very brave of you to talk about this. Did your therapy help you build your confidence again?

VN: In a way, certainly. It helped me do many things, but it was mostly a wake-up call. Going and talking things out as I became clean made me realize how abysmal my life had been when all I did was drink.

RW: That's incredible. Do you still attend therapy sessions?

VN: I do, once a month.

RW: That's all?

VN: Everyone needs a different amount of attention. I went once a week at the beginning of my journey.

RW: That's very inspiring. Did your therapy have an impact on what you'd like to do in the future?

VN: That's a very complicated question, Rudy. All I can say is that I met someone very important to me around the time this journey began.

VN: They've probably had the most impact on my thoughts for the future.

VN: I plan on becoming a skating coach in the near future, but regardless of what my career has in store for me, I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

RW: Wow. I don't think I've ever heard you talk about anyone so highly, even at the height of your fame in the nineties.

VN: I've never felt this way before. Love is truly a force of nature.

RW: Well, thank you, Victor. It was great to meet you and talk about this. I think it's important for more people to talk about issues like this. Do you have any final words?

VN: Stay safe, stay healthy, and drink responsibly. I'm lucky to be alive and well right now, and I'm grateful for where I am, but it was not easy to get here. It was nice to meet you too, Rudy. Thanks for having me.

//

Victor has hundreds of emails flooding his account, along with calls and messages and everything else. He does manage to land a job at a fairly large rink in Detroit, so thankfully, he and Yuuri do not have to plan on moving again.

The hype dies down in the Summer, so Victor and Yuuri settle back into their normal lives then. This means that on Saturday night, he sets up his laptop, sends Yuri Plisetsky a message, and waits for the application to show him that his modern contemporary is calling.

Yuri snarls at him as soon as the call connects. "You're fucking late."

"Don't yell," Victor grimaces. "Yuuri is trying to sleep."

"Hi, Yuri," Yuuri waves drowsily from the bed.

"You don't call me for weeks, you kept skating's greatest secret of the decade under wraps, and then I have to find out through translations of interviews in magazines, watching you speak with subtitles?" Yuri slams his fist down. "You're an asshole."

"I'm sorry, Yura," Victor murmurs softly. "I was nervous about telling you - no, anyone - the truth."

"I'm not angry with you for drinking yourself stupid for twenty years," Yuri hisses tiredly. "I'm mad that you couldn't trust me. That you couldn't trust anyone. That nobody went out to find you and kick your ass and knock some sense into your head." The sound of his voice makes Victor sorry that he's made Yuri so emotional. "That's so fucked up."

"It's okay now." Victor assures him with a soft smile. "I have people in my life now. You're one of them, Yura. I'm glad for that."

Yuri sniffles on the other side of the monitor. Victor winces. He hates watching people cry, more so if they're crying over something he's said. "You're an idiot."

"So I am."

They grow quiet and Yuri wipes away angry tears before he points at Victor through his camera. "Since you fucked up ever coming back to Russia, you stupid gay piece of shit, you better believe I'm coming to see you instead!"

"Okay," Victor agrees easily, excited to meet the boy he's taken such a shine to over the last year and a half.

"Since you're going into coaching, coordinate a program for me," Yuri asserts quickly, snapping at Victor. "I'll take it to the Grand Prix. I'll show the world you haven't kicked the dirt."

Victor laughs airily. "You have so much faith in me. It's been twenty years since I coordinated anything professional, you know."

"Don't wimp out on me!"

"I never said I wouldn't do it," Victor hums. "But since you're talking so big, I hope you're prepared to work hard. I am very strict."

"Bring it on!" Yuri hangs up then.

Victor crawls into bed and giggles with his lips on Yuuri's neck. "That boy is so excitable."

"Well, he loves you." Yuuri mumbles. "I'm glad he took it so well."

"Yes, me too." Victor pulls the comforter over them and snuggles against his boyfriend's side. "But it's too bad about his loving me. I belong to you and you alone."

Yuuri chuckles sleepily. "Don't be mean. He's just a kid. I can share."

Victor dramatically pretends to cry. "You wound me."

Yuuri rolls his eyes and burrows into Victor's hold. "Go to sleep, Victor."

//

Phichit calls as soon as he sees the invitation.

"I called this. I called this two years ago. I demand payment."

Yuuri groans. "We didn't bet anything."

"I bet on your personal happiness. Now look at you. You're flying all over the world with your fiancé, who is coordinating for some of the biggest names in figure skating right now." Phichit laughs loudly. "Oh my god, you anxious bean, I bet you almost threw up when you asked him to marry you. Are you nauseous right now?"

"A little bit, but, you know, I'm happy." Yuuri rolls his eyes at his friend's reaction. "I thought, through all these months, you know, Victor would get into coaching, and realize that our mundane life in Detroit wasn't fun any more. But nowadays, it seems like he's happier sleeping on our couch than he is to be flying all over the globe and leading kids to the podium."

"What, you thought he was going to leave you when he went back to skating?"

"I have anxiety, Phichit," Yuuri states dryly. "I think the worst is going to happen when Victor stubs his toe in the kitchen. I can't explain how my brain works. All I can say is, when he said yes, I was so happy I could have died." His voice goes airy and dreamy, and he smiles like a fool, not that his friend can see it over the phone. "If someone had told me this was going to happen twenty years ago, I would have cried because I would have thought that they were making fun of me." He turns, sees Vicchan and Makkachin playing in the apartment, Victor reprimanding them in equal parts English and Russian, and he grins like a fool again. "It's crazy."

"I'm proud of you, man," Phichit says happily. "You're getting married to the love of your life. You have twice the pretty dog stats. You ended your forty year virginity streak."

"Oh my god," Yuuri flushes, hissing at his friend, "Who cares about the last part!"

"I care. I want nothing but your happiness in life. In the world. In bed."

Yuuri colors and Victor comes over to his side, finding his blushing boyfriend - fiancé, now - unspeakably adorable. "Aww, you look so cute. Who are you talking to?"

"It's Phichit," Yuuri answers with a roll of his eyes.

"Hello, Phichit," Victor greets, kissing Yuuri wetly on the lips as he lies across his back. "Thanks for saying whatever it was you said. Yuuri looks very adorable right now."

"No problem. It was my pleasure."

"You two are the worst together," Yuuri grumbles. "Listen, I'm gonna go. Victor's getting clingy. You got him started."

Phichit hums. "Bye, Yuuri. I'm so happy for you. Thanks for making me the best man."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

//

Victor drops Yuuri off at the office when it's raining outside.

Yuuri kisses him goodbye, gold ring glinting on his hand. He hurries to his office in Suite 807 after clinching his umbrella closed and waiting for the elevator to slowly rise to his floor.

When he gets inside, he is surprised by his colleagues and employees waiting with a little cake and a little banner.

Congratulations, Dr. Katsuki !

Yuuri cries and hugs them all.

//

Yuuko is the one who makes Yuuri the most aware of how much his life has changed.

"You know, when you met Victor, he was battling with panic attacks, loss of self-worth, alcoholism, you name it." She tells him at the park while his dogs run around. "When he met you, you had a lot of the same problems. You were lost, withdrawn, anxious, and all around, kind of a pain in the ass to be around."

"Hey," he grunts in response.

"But you brought out the best in each other," Yuuko continues with a big smile, patting her best friend on the back. "He taught you that emotions were something worth dealing with. It feels like he taught you to enjoy feeling like a kid again, so, of course, you taught him how to be a grumpy old man."

"I resent this," Yuuri grumbles good-naturedly.

"The point is, I love it. I love you in love. It's so great." Yuuko winks at him. "And, you know, having an autographed copy of a poster of Victor Nikiforov is an added bonus, since he's your husband."

"I'm starting to get the feeling that our friendship is becoming more and more merit-based."

"Never," Yuuko says coyly. She stands with a wave, calling the girls and Takeshi over now that they're finished talking. "We still on for dinner next week?"

"Yes, if Victor isn't too tired," Yuuri replies, taking her hand to stand up and dust off his jeans. "Tell Takeshi his shoes are untied."

"I will. Bye, Yuuri! Stay safe."

"Take care, Yuuko."

He waves and walks home, smiling a little at the thought, appreciating his friend's words.

//

Victor ends his therapy sessions two months into their marriage, knowing that he no longer needs them.

He has the best person for his mental health beside him every night, and he loves Yuuri with all his heart.

His four year sobriety certificate comes in the mail the same day he finds out that Yuri Plisetsky wins gold again with his choreography, and Yuri retires that same year, after winning three Gold Prix golds in a row. It doesn't beat Victor's record, but Yuri feels damn good about it, so Victor is pleased as he can be.

Yuuri kisses him on the eyelids before bed, and lets him cuddle for most of the night, and Victor has never been more thankful that he can remember every moment of the last five years.

Drinking is overrated, he thinks as he kisses his husband good night, and Yuuri giggles, kissing him back ever so softly.