Chapter Text
Yuri slams the door shut behind him, stomping over to a closed bathroom stall. From inside, soft Japanese can be heard, as well as the occasional sob.
Scowling, Yuri kicks the door, pushing it aside to reveal a young Asian man clutching his phone close to his chest, tears sliding down from his red eyes. He’s wearing a black jacket with blue accents a couple of shades lighter than the blue glasses on his face.
The man opens his mouth to speak, but Yuri beats him to it. “What kind of shit performance was that? Let me make one thing clear, there’s only enough room for one Yuri here, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be you! With a performance like that, why don't you just retire already?!”
“I-i’m sorry, it’s just that…” the man trails off, murmuring to himself before nervously shifting his eyes back to Yuri.
“There’s no excuse for skating that badly! Unless someone was murdered, I don’t want to hear it!”
The man flinches, looking as if he was going to cry again. “Well, my dog died. He is— was very energetic, and he was chasing a ball onto the street when a car came by. I couldn’t focus during the free skate, so... well, you saw what happened.”
Yuri flinches, jerking his shoulders away from the man in front of him. The words on the tip of his tongue no longer wanted to come out, and for once he doesn’t know what to say. When asked, most people blubber and place the blame on petty things, not something like death. He can feel his chest start to ache in sympathy, but tries to toss it aside.
“Why are you here then?” Yuri growls. “Shouldn’t you be mourning them or something?”
“I didn’t want to disappoint my family. They’re all cheering for me, and this was my first Grand Prix Final.”
“Though,” the man laughs, humorless and dark. “I guess that ended up happening anyway.”
He turns his head to the side, avoiding Yuri’s eyes. His fingers get drawn towards each other and twist in a way that looks painful. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You’re Yuri Plitsetsky, right? Congratulations on your gold.”
Once again, Yuri is taken aback. “You know who I am?”
“Why wouldn’t I know? You dominated in juniors, and rumor has it you plan to move to seniors next season.”
“I am.”
“I thought so. You seem advanced enough to compete with them.”
Unlike me.
The words go unsaid, but Yuri hears them, clear as day. He squats down next to the other man, careful to not touch the floor, and pulls out his phone from his jacket’s front pocket.
“Look.”
Yuri all but shoves his phone into the other’s face. The screen shows a picture of his grandfather and cat. Both are looking at the camera, Desushka with a smile on his face and Potya in his arms. Yuri swipes to reveal another picture of his cat. And then another. And another.
“Um... I don’t really get what you’re trying to imply here?”
Yuri sighs. “This is Puma Tiger Scorpion.”
“That’s… a cool name.”
“Yes, it is. My point is that I get you. Of course, if it were me I’d still win, but that’s because the other juniors are useless.”
“Useless?”
“None of them can do quads properly, and yet think they’re so amazing. That’s beside the point. What I’m trying to say is that you’ll be okay, Katsuki. You had an unforeseen circumstance and messed up; this isn’t precedent.”
Yuuri Katsuki looks at him with a bitter smile on his face, dark hair framing eyes with a cold yet polite look. “Easy for you to say. You have potential; I’m just a dime-a-dozen skater. I can barely know how to jump properly while Victor Nikiforov is doing quad flips at the same competition.”
“Trust me, Victor just knows how to do tricks, like a dog.” Yuri scoffs. “Your jumps may be absolute shit but your spins are still better than his.”
“Really?”
“And... I guess I liked your step sequences.”
Katsuki seems to brighten up at that. “My coach let me and my old ballet teacher choreograph it together! It’s my favorite part.”
“My coach gets his ex-wife to help him choreograph our step sequences.”
“You get step sequences from Lilia Baranoskaya!?”
They continue to chat, the topic shifting from skating to animals to meaningless facts about themselves. Over time, Katsuki slowly relaxes and becomes more engaged. By the time they exit the stall, his face isn’t as puffed up anymore, and the red rimming his eyes has faded to reveal a certain air of lightness in them instead.
“Thanks for talking with me, I really appreciate it!” Katsuki smiles as he splashes cold water on his face. The water drips down onto his team Japan jacket, and Yuri hands him a paper towel.
“You’re better company than the rest of my team, so it’s no big deal,” Yuri grumbles, not used to the positive attention he was receiving. People didn’t usually like his company; he was too brash, too angry, too young. And yet, this quiet, unassuming Japanese skater had not only tolerated but actually enjoyed their conversation.
“Are you going to the banquet tonight?” Yuri asks, crossing his fingers in hope inside of his jacket. Yakov was forcing him to attend, insisting on something about building connections and interacting with other skaters. There would definitely be drunk, exhausted skaters hyped up on adrenaline and caffeine, and there was nothing Yuri could do about it other than avoid them and look for someone to keep him company.
“Yeah, my coach is making me.” Katsuki sighs, dabbing away the last drops of water from his cheeks. “Plus, it wouldn’t look good if I didn’t show.”
“Then, we’ll just hang out together.” Yuri declares. “It’ll be fun.”
Katsuki looks at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “I thought this was an event for the seniors. And aren’t you a minor? Why are you allowed to attend a party with alcohol?”
Yuri shrugs. “I’m Russian, and more importantly, training under Yakov. Being a part of the Living Legend’s team has its perks.”
- - - -
When Yuri arrives, trying to loosen the tie Yakov did for him (Yakov had finally had enough of him and was trying to strangle him, that was the only logical reason why this tie was so damn tight), the party had just begun.
Yuri approaches Katsuki, who is sitting alone on a leather sofa in the corner watching his fellow skaters mingle amongst themselves. “Hey.”
Katsuki looks up at him, eyes slightly glazed over with a flute of champagne in his hand. “Yuri! Hi! Boy, do I have a story for you! You know Victor?”
“Nikiforov? Katsuki, we share a coach.”
“Yeah yeah yeah, that one. Well, I’m kinda a super big fan of his. Like a huge fan; I’ve seen all his performances and have tons of posters on my wall.” Using his other hand, Katsuki hovers his pointer finger in front of his lips, the others curled up into a fist. “Just don’t tell him, okay? It’s supposed to be a secret.”
“What the— Katsuki, just how much have you had to drink?”
“Just this,” he says as he swirls the pale yellow drink in his hand. “And that. Maybe a little more. Can you tell I’m a bad drunk?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t blame me, you weren’t here and I got bored. Then I got sad, and there was nothing to do but drink my sorrows away! Anyways!” Katsuki downs the rest of his drink in one go before setting it aside. Yuri watches in morbid fascination, feeling as if he should do something. Katsuki plays with his off-blue tie, absentmindedly giggling to himself.
“What was I talking about? Oh yes, Victor! I spotted him, and I wanted to congratulate him on his win, and his amazing choreo, and his jumps, and his—”
“Alright, we get it, you’re a fanboy. What’s the point of this?”
Katsuki continues to giggle, rocking back and forth. “So I went up to him, but I was kind of tongue-tied because it’s Victor, and he’s so perfect and handsome and you know I named my dog after him?”
“Yes Katsuki, you told me only a couple of hours ago.”
“Oh, okay! Moving on, I couldn’t say anything and he turns around and looks at me and smiles at me, and I’m floating on clouds right now but then he opens his mouth.”
Katsuki sighs, waving around his hand flippantly. “It would’ve been perfect if only he hadn’t said anything. But no, he goes and opens his stupid mouth. Handsome, but stupid.”
Oh. Oh. Yuri knows where this is going. After all, he had been there, standing behind Victor when this happened. He can only hope Katsuki’s retelling does the ridiculousness of the situation justice.
“He said, ‘A commemorative photo? Sure!’” While imitating Victor, Katsuki’s voice gets deeper, and he adds a somewhat vaguely Russian accent.
After Katsuki says this, he buries his face in his hands, letting out a groan. “A fan! That’s all I am to him. There were only six of us! Surely I wasn’t that terrible.”
Yuri tries to stifle his laughs, shrugging when Katsuki half-heartedly glares at him. Although Katsuki’s imitation of Victor was about to allow Yuri to die happy, he also looks like he’s about to cry, and Yuri can’t help but feel a little bad.
“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think he knows the names of some of our rink mates. I mean, they don’t train under Yakov, but we still see them almost every day.”
“At least he knows they’re skaters!”
Without meaning to, Yuri finally starts laughing, and Katsuki looks at him with an expression of utter betrayal.
“Yuri!” he whines, throwing himself back down onto the couch. “It’s not funny!”
“No, it’s just that, Victor once thought they were a part of the ice maintenance crew.” Yuri explains. “So technically, he barely realizes that they’re skaters.”
Katsuki pouts, crossing his arms. “That’s so mean! Why would he do something like that?”
“Does this mean you’re going to join the anti-Victor club?”
“That’s a great idea!” Katsuki jumps up and waves a waiter over, taking yet another flute of champagne from them.
“Really?”
“I just need to get him to notice me! Yuri, you’re a genius!”
“Of course I’m a geni— what did you just say?”
Katsuki tilts his head and knocks back the entire glass. “I’m going to approach him. Here, you can be my backup.”
“Backup?”
“Give me your phone.”
Yuri hesitates, and Katsuki makes an impatient noise, holding out his hand and making a grabbing gesture. “C’mon, I won’t bite.”
Reluctantly, Yuri hands over his phone, and Katsuki types something into it. “There! Now you can call me! It’ll be like walkie talkies!”
“Katsuki, I don’t think—”
“Alright, wish me luck!”
Yuri watches Katsuki stumble away confidently, this time knowing he should do something. Anything. There was a blossoming friendship forming between him and Katsuki, and Yuri was pretty sure friends didn’t let friends drunkenly seduce their celebrity crush who had no idea they were a fellow competitor.
But, he doesn’t do anything. Instead, he whips out his phone and pulls up the camera app, aiming it in the direction Katsuki went. He clicks record video, and then silently screams to himself whenever Katsuki does something embarrassing.
Well, at least Victor looks properly enamored. Mission successful?
(The next morning when Victor, hungover and in love, starts to continually blabber about “Yuuri’s legs and his eyes and his pole dance—”, Yuri will conclude that this mission was perhaps a bit too successful.)
- - - -
Yuuri wakes up to a pounding headache and no recollection of what happened last night. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He remembers talking to Yuri, then leaving the teen to go somewhere else. Other than that, it’s a complete blur.
Lucky for him, he gets a text while in the airport that confirms his worst nightmare.
Unknown: last night was wild
Unknown: this is yuri btw
Clutching onto his backpack strap tightly, Yuuri is almost afraid to ask what he is about to type out.
Yuuri: What happened?
Yuri Plitsetsky: you don’t remember
Yuuri: Whenever I drink, I blackout.
Yuri Plitsetsky: this is gold
Yuri Plitsetsky: (sent image)
Yuuri clicks on the picture, then immediately turns off his phone, willing himself not to scream out loud. Yuri sent a picture of him, pantless with his tie wrapped around his head, a leg wrapped around a stripper pole, laughing at something off-screen. Where did the stripper pole come from? Yuuri walked into that venue sober, he knows for a fact that there isn’t a stripper pole there.
Yuuri: WHAT?!
Yuri Plitsetsky: my thoughts exactly
Yuri Plitsetsky: you really don’t remember anything???
Yuuri: Just that we talked for a bit.
Yuuri: Why?
Yuuri: Should I be concerned??
Yuri Plitsetsky: don’t worry about it
That does nothing to quell Yuuri’s worries. If anything, he’s even more concerned, wringing out his hands in his lap. Now he’s sure he did something dumb. But how dumb exactly? He was sure Yuri knew, but would never tell him.
Sighing, Yuuri slowly follows the rest of the passengers onto the plane. At least he’s going home now; he plans to soak in the hot springs until he prunes, eat his mother’s katsudon until he’s round, and cry into his pillow until he falls unconscious. It’ll be oddly soothing, and Yuuri will be creeped out that he finds it oddly soothing. Most importantly, however, it will be routine, and Yuuri will know exactly what’s going on at all moments.
- - - -
Yuri is very close to kicking Victor in the face right now, “Living Legend” be damned.
“When do you think he’ll text me? What should I say in return? What if he doesn’t like poodles? Should I censor our first meeting for our future children?”
Yuri, surprisingly and reluctantly, knows the answers to all those questions. (He’ll never text you, this is non-applicable because of the previous answer, he loves poodles, and, well…)
“I don’t think you’ll need to censor your first meeting.” Yuri snickers. Yakov casts him a questioning look, having also experienced the banquet disaster first hand. Yuri shoots back a glare that he’s pretty sure conveys how stupid he thought the two of them are.
“You’re right! I shouldn’t censor true love! Yuri, I never knew you were such a romantic.” Victor coos, looking extremely delighted.
Yuri’s about to start cackling like a witch with an agenda, but he manages to hold it in. “No, it’s not that.”
“Huh?” Victor asks, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Yuri sucks in a deep breath. “‘A commemorative photo? Sure!’."
Unlike Katsuki, who had lowered his voice, Yuri’s imitation of Victor involved a lot of high pitched squealing.
Victor’s dumbstruck expression was the final straw in the coffin. Yuri doubles over laughing, pointing a finger at Victor.
“H-he, I said that to him? When? I thought he was a skater?”
“He is! You just thought he was one of your fangirls!”
“You’re joking! You’re just jealous that I found love and you didn’t.”
“Yakov, tell him I’m not lying!”
Yakov thinks about it, scratching the top of his head. Then, his face slowly morphs to house a stern expression. “Yura’s right. I remember that encounter. Katsuki looked a bit upset after you spoke to him. Then I told you he was a skater and you said, ‘Oh, like an amateur one’, and ‘He’s copying me, that’s so cute’.”
Victor looks overly distraught by now, as if he just learned his lover died, and grabs Yakov’s arm, shaking it violently. “I can’t believe this! He must hate me! What can I do to earn his forgiveness?”
Yuri continues to laugh under his breath and takes a picture of Victor’s face, sending it to Katsuki, who responds immediately.
Yuri: (sent image)
Yuuri Katsuki: Is he okay? Does he need help?
Yuri: nothing
Yuri: he’s just being stupid
“For the last time, Vitya, the boy doesn’t hate you! Why would he dance with you if he hated you?”
Victor perks up, letting go of a relieved Yakov’s arm to clap his hands together. “You’re right! Maybe he’s forgotten about the whole thing.”
Yuri scoffs, kicking his legs up to rest on the seat’s arms. “Try the other way around.”
“What was that? Speak up Yuri, I couldn’t hear you.”
“Nothing, you’re just an old man who’s hard of hearing. Good luck in your pursuits of love. Trust me, you’ll need it.”
Victor beams at him. “Thank you for all your encouragement! Do you think it’d be too much if I flew to Japan?”
“Vitya, if you even dare leave St.Petersburg without my permission, I’ll find you and skin you alive!”
Yuri rolls his eyes, digging out his earbuds to plug into his phone. The sound of heavy metal fills his ears, drowning out the argument happening in front of him.
Finally, some peace and quiet.