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Chapter Text

Yuuri remembers first truly realizing what the sudden appearance of symbols on the back of his hand meant sometime around the age of ten.

He remembers Yuuko breaking off mid-sentence to gawk down at where his left hand grips the laces of his skates, and his own eyes flick down to see odd looking characters being scrawled into existence on his skin.

“Yuuri!” she had gasped, eagerly grabbing for Yuuri’s wrist to bring his arm to both their eye levels. (Or sort of—Yuuri has to tiptoe a little to match the other girl’s view of his own hand.) “Takeshi! Takeshi, look! Yuuri’s soulmate!”

“What kind of alien writing is that?” the older boy scoffed, having lazily skated over to scowl at Yuuri’s hand, and Yuuri resists the urge to pull his arm back and tuck it inside his jacket. “Your soulmate’s not even Japanese? Good luck finding them then.”

Yuuri had tugged his arm back then, already feeling the pinprick of tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“Takeshi!” Yuuko had snapped then, stomping her skates into the ice. “That’s not very nice.” She turned to Yuuri, leaning down with a smile. “Don’t you recognize the writing? It’s Russian. Russian. Remember where we’ve seen those kinds of symbols before?”

Yuuri remembers perking up, eyes widening at the realization. “T-the banners! The ones on TV, the ones behind Viktor—“

“What if Viktor is your soulmate?” Yuuko shrieks then, and Yuuri has never remembered another moment afterwards where he had been more elated and hopeful than he had been just then.

Of course, it was crushed when Nishigori snorted moments later, “chances of that happening are next to none.”

Yuuko smacks him, and Yuuri turns away, tamping down his hope. Of course that wouldn’t happen.

— — —

Still, that day had left Yuuri hyperaware of the writing on his hand ever since. Sure, he’d noticed it all throughout his youth—smudges of colored markers or crayons popping up on his hands when he hadn’t even been coloring that day, awkward doodles popping into existence on his forearms—but after that day, Yuuri understood that it was his soulmate.

Yuuri loves the idea, even if it still is something that no one has been able to figure out. But it had been something that existed many, many years before, and it was such a small thing that no one ever completely questioned its existence. In fact, being able to write out messages to your soulmate on your skin made it incredibly easy to meet… as long as you knew the language.

Yuuri buys books on the basics of Russian, and struggles to comprehend where to even begin.

He hasn’t even tried to reciprocate. Writing a message in Japanese was a no go since his soulmate was obviously Russian, but Yuuri had thought to try and draw a small doodle on his skin, just to let the other person know that he was there. But whenever Yuuri tries to touch pen to skin, he falters and decides to put it aside for next time.

And “next time” isn’t until well into junior high, when the buzz around soulmate messages was at its peak. With coming of age came the interest of love, and the fact that Yuuri’s hands always seem to blossom with writing gets him more than his fair share of attention.

“What language is that?” one of his classmates asks him, her eyes wide. “Wow… is he writing an essay on your arm, or something?”

“It’s Russian, and I… I think it’s a list,” Yuuri says sheepishly, his own eyes following the never ending scrawl of Russian pouring from his palm and down his wrist. “I’m not sure what of though.” He frowns when one sentence is harshly scrubbed off, another few words settling into its place. ‘Four’, Yuuri thinks he recognizes from one of his books. Four of what?

The day when Yuuri finally writes on his skin comes in the middle of winter, one of those days where he’s too tired and cold to care about the drone of the teacher, and wishing he was skating.

Yuuri idly watches the snow fall outside when a flash of movement catches his eye. With a start, he realizes his soulmate is writing something else—not a list, but a long, solid black line down the back of their hand. And another. And another—

Yuuri lets out an audible snort when he realizes that his soulmate has drawn a tic-tac-toe board.

The teacher clears his throat, and Yuuri blushes, pretending to focus until the class resumes as if it hadn’t been disturbed. Only then do his eyes dart back down to his left hand, and Yuuri feels the beginnings of a smile when he sees that his soulmate has already drawn a bold X in one of the squares.

Yuuri pauses in reaching for a pen. Is he ready? Does he want to finally make contact with his soulmate?

Almost as if in response to his thoughts, his soulmate bolds the X, drawing it out with thicker lines and making their impatience clear. Yuuri smiles then, and lets his pen touch the back of his hand quickly enough to draw a crude looking circle in the center of the board.

His soulmate’s response is almost immediate. Instead of another X, Yuuri’s entire hand begins to fill with little hearts circling the game, and Yuuri feels his ears begin to burn. Immediately after that, he feels terrible—it’s the first time he’s ever made contact with his soulmate after years of having the other write and write, and now Yuuri’s sure he’d made the other person think they didn’t have a soulmate to begin with.

The hearts finally stop when Yuuri’s hand seems covered with black ink, and another X pops up adjacent to his circle. Before he can chicken out, Yuuri draws in his next move, replacing his circle with a heart. There’s a long pause in which Yuuri thinks his actual heart is going to fall out of his ears or something, when the entire game is suddenly and violently scrubbed out, black ink smearing into grey smudges until his hand resembles something close to clean. Yuuri’s eyes widen in dismay. Did I… Did I scare them off?

Even as soon as he’s thought it, Russian words are being scrawled into the back of his hand, a heart following soon after. Yuuri frowns unhappily, and tentatively writes back in his own language. I don’t understand.

!!!!!!!, says his soulmate.

Yuuri laughs quietly through his nose as his soulmate draws out a small flag of Japan with a question mark following it, and Yuuri bites his lip before doodling an ugly looking thumbs up.

There’s a tiny pause before even more Russian appears, followed with another heart. And another.

Yuuri ends up not replying because, hey, he doesn’t even know what that says. But for the rest of the class period, he watches as tiny hearts periodically pop up on his hand.

— — —

The rest of junior high and high school goes from days of classes, to skating, to admiring Viktor onscreen, to watching his soulmate write out lists and, when a heart was included, little messages to Yuuri himself.

He takes pictures of all of them, of course, but with school and skating, Yuuri finds nearly no time to learn Russian, or even try to translate just one of the little messages he gets.

High school ends up being a rocky time for him as well. The pressures of a future in figure skating have Yuuri alternating between eating his heart out from stress, to working his butt off to get back into shape. The messages from his soulmate become a little rarer, even if he does wake up sometimes to doodles and to the one or two messages he’s finally found time to figure out. Good morning, Yuuri sees some afternoons, and good night when he wakes up for a run at six in the morning.

And one day, Yuuri sees numbers scrawled on the back of his hand, and his heart nearly stops. A phone number.

Is it his? Yuuri thinks wildly. Is it… is it someone else’s?

His worries are assuaged when his soulmate underlines the phone number twice, a doodle of a phone and a heart appearing next to it.

And now Yuuri is confused. How were they supposed to chat if they couldn’t even understand each other?

Yuuri curses himself as a coward, but lets the number sit on his hand until the water of his hot springs bath that evening washes the ink away. The next morning, Yuuri wakes up to a sad face scrawled into his palm, and his ears burn with shame. The next feeling he gets is shock as, that afternoon, his soulmate uncertainly draws out shy? in uncertain looking characters, as if copied straight from a dictionary.

Even though it’s the middle of class again, Yuuri tugs out his Russian dictionary and frantically scours through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for. Yes, he writes back in uneven Russian characters, feeling a slight blush warm his cheeks. Sorry.

OK, his soulmate replies, and encircles it with a heart to let Yuuri know everything is fine.

And Yuuri can’t help it when he knocks his book to the floor, where it loudly smacks the ground of the classroom, when his soulmate writes out slowly, love you!

The teacher scolds him, but Yuuri is too shocked to care.

— — —

Yuuri has just cried in a bathroom stall, got his ass verbally handed to him by a fifteen year old, and locked eyes with his idol, only to ignore his offer of a picture in favor of turning on his heel and basically running away.

The next year is spent in both a mental and physical struggle. He turns twenty-three and finds himself at home, wondering what to do next.

Yuuri is twenty-three, and hasn’t even considered meeting his soulmate yet.

Those years spend in college and training in Detroit had been peppered with little messages from his soulmate here and there, but even with Yuuri replying with greetings, those messages had still appeared with far more gaps between them than he liked. His soulmate was busy— as was Yuuri. But that still didn’t help him feel better when he’d been struggling with training, or competition losses.

My name is Yuuri Katsuki, Yuuri desperately wants to write. I’m twenty-three, I’m a figure skater (was a figure skater?), and I live in Japan, but I was in Detroit for a few years. I’m trying to decide what to do next, but right now I know that I really, really, want to get to know you. But…

Well. Not that he even knew enough Russian to eloquently write even half of that out.

Yuuri slumps against his bed, hesitates, and draws out a little heart. Next to it he writes in Russian, Good afternoon.

It takes a minute or two, but Yuuri gets a reply in the form of another few hearts drawn under his message, a smiley face following soon after.

Good morning, in Russian follows that, and his soulmate draws the number 9 and a sun next to it. Then they draw a sleepy faced emoticon, and Yuuri chuckles.

Yuuri freezes when his soulmates slowly begins to write again, and Yuuri can tell they’re about to write something down in Japanese. “Will… you… meet… me?” Yuuri reads into the quiet stillness of his room, and he tucks his hands against his chest, face beginning to burn. Yuuri squeezes his eyes as he feels the usual nerves and uncertainty crawl up his throat, and he presses his arms against his midriff, never more aware of his weight than he was just then.

I want to, Yuuri thinks, I want to… I want to, but not yet! I’m not ready!

No, he scrawls out in squiggly English, and Yuuri leaps up to grab his skates and gloves from where they sit at his desk. He tugs the gloves on in an attempt to ignore any more writing on his hands as well, and resolutely heads out the hot springs in the direction of the Ice Castle.

Yuuri has always used skating as a means to take his mind off of his worries. And right now, he had something to show Yuuko anyway—no better time than the present.

— — —

Hours later finds Viktor Nikiforov sprawled out on his couch, desolately clutching Makkachin to him as his eyes burn holes into the words on the back of his hand.

“‘No’”, Viktor reads, drawing out the english word into the silence, letting it grate on his ears. “’No’”.

His hand comes up to rest against his eyes as he tilts his head back, the picture of misery. “Hey, Makkachin,” Viktor says, leaning back up to squeeze his poodle’s adorable face, “the love of my life, the person I’m meant to be with—they don’t want to meet me!”

Makkachin lets out a tiny whine, and Viktor sighs in agreement.

“Me! Not want to meet me? If they knew who I was, I’m sure that would change their mind!” Viktor squeezes the dog even closer, and Makkachin lets out another happy whine, tail wagging furiously. “You’re right! I just… I just have to find a way to convince them that I’m me. You’re a genius, Makkachin!”

The dog barks before pulling away to settle around Viktor’s waist, promptly going to sleep.

“My soulmate… doesn’t want to meet me,” Viktor repeats solemnly, and his eye twitches in an uncharacteristic show of anxiety. “How will I find my inspiration then?”

Viktor’s phone chimes, and he tugs it out, fully expecting a text. Instead, its a notification from Yakov, having shared a video privately through Viktor’s social media. The thumbnail is a small dark haired (and slightly chubby) figure on the ice of a skating rink, mid spin.

And the second that the video finishes playing, Viktor knows what he wants to do for his next move.

“Makkachin,” he says softly, gently rubbing the dog’s ears. “We’re going on a trip!”

Chapter Text

A dream. This had to be a dream.

“My, my, Vicchan, your Japanese is so good!”

“Oh, thank you! I’ve been trying to teach myself, because… ah, well, there’s no such thing as knowing too many languages, you see! Unfortunately, I’m terrible at writing it… so I’m afraid I still have quite a lot to learn!”

“But still, how talented!” Yuuri’s mother gushes, and her son lets out a confused wheeze from underneath one of Viktor’s luggages. How was his mother handling all of this so well? “Now if you need anything else, Vicchan, just let Yuuri know! We’ll take good care of you!”

“Such hospitality!” Viktor replies, his voice lilted and playful as he waves Yuuri’s cheerful mother out the bedroom door. “Have a wonderful night!”

Yuuri sets down the last of Viktor’s (very heavy) boxes, groaning in relief as he stretches out his back. Working with weights has never been one of his strong points, a fact that he now sorely regrets. Next to him, Viktor leans back on his hands as he beams up at Yuuri with his own makeshift brand of warm sunlight.

Seriously, Yuuri thinks, how can anyone be so charismatic?

“Yuuri, thank you so much! Who needs a moving company when I have you, no?” Viktor pats Makkachin’s head as he stands, silver hair bouncing as he turns to take in his room. “A little quaint isn’t it? How rustic! I love it!”

“Um… thank you,” Yuuri says, still feeling unsteady on his feet. What in the world was he supposed to say to his idol? “I… are you really going to be my coach?”

“Of course!” Viktor gracefully turns on his heel to face him, taking the two steps necessary to plant himself inside of Yuuri’s personal bubble. “I’m going to take you to victory, Yuuri! After you win is when I’ll bill you the coach’s fee, so no worries.” The older man airily waves a hand in the air. Suddenly, Viktor’s gaze sharpens, and Yuuri has to resist the urge to step back when their eyes meet.

“Yuuri,” Viktor croons, a hand coming up to cup Yuuri’s chin. “There’s so much I need to know about you before we even get started. What are your likes? Your dislikes?”

Yuuri trembles when he feels Viktor’s other hand gently tug at his left arm before slowly snaking down to entwine with Yuuri’s fingers. “What is there to see in this city? And…”

Yuuri gulps audibly as Viktor grabs his hand and squeezes, internally marveling at how soft Viktor’s palm was.

“Do you have a soulmate?” Viktor asks finally, eyes alight with curiosity.

As if he’d been doused with a bucket of cold water, Yuuri regains his senses and scrambles back and away from Viktor, back slamming into the wall behind him.

“Huh? Why’d you run away?”

“I—I do!” Yuuri yelps, face bright red. “I have one! A soulmate!”

“Oh? Marvelous! As do I!” Viktor says excitedly. “Let’s stay up and bond together over true love! What better way to get to know each other?”

“No, I… I mean, it’s better if we sleep,” Yuuri splutters, hands waving. “Because… I want to wake up early if I’m going to get back into training, so…”

“Good point,” Viktor says in English, propping his chin up with one hand. “In that case, we can just sleep together!”

“I… excuse me?”

— — —

Yuuri’s week had just gone from bad, to worse, to absolutely, incredibly amazing.

Viktor Nikiforov had burst into his life like an overly happy snowstorm, literally bared himself to Yuuri with nothing but the steam to mask him as he declared he was to be Yuuri’s coach, stuffed himself with food and sake, called Yuuri a “little piggy”, then promptly demanded that they sleep together.

Okay, so Yuuri admits that last part was the most weird out of all of Viktor’s shenanigans (actually, maybe a little less weird than the onsen incident), and he clutches his left hand to his chest even as he barricades the door against Viktor’s insistent knocking. I have a soulmate. I have a soulmate. Viktor Nikiforov is standing right outside my door, in the flesh, but I have a soulmate, and I must! Stay loyal!

Even so, the fact that the idol of his youth and young adulthood was in his house, wanting to coach him… Yuuri admits to himself that he can’t help but feel as if he was in a dream.

“We have to bond!” Viktor cries, rapping on the wood with sharp knuckles. “How will I know what you look like when you dream if you don’t let me sleep next to you?”

“You don’t need to know that!” Yuuri screeches hysterically, eyes wide as he looks around his room with fresh eyes. Young Viktor and Makkachin posted next to his desk, an extra large poster of Viktor with long hair, a framed photo of Viktor—

There was no way his idol was getting anywhere past the doorway.

Viktor Nikiforov lets out a sad little sigh that’s echoed by a small whimper from Makkachin, and Yuuri’s shoulders slump in relief when he hears footsteps retreating back down the hallway.

Only then does Yuuri relax and allow himself to step away from the door to begin the arduous task of carefully taking down every single picture and poster he’d collected over the years. Yuuri allows himself one sigh of regret—it really is a shame, but there was absolutely no way he was going let Viktor see just how far his fanboy tendencies could actually go.

Thinking of Viktor reminds Yuuri of another pressing matter.

I have one! A soulmate!

Oh? As do I!

“I wonder what his soulmate is like?” Yuuri murmurs, tucking his legs against his chest. He bites his lip as he reaches up to grab a pen from his desk, hesitating for one moment before writing out a tentative I’m sorry on the back of his hand. It’s been days since he’d last heard from his soulmate—they hadn’t replied after Yuuri’s abrupt rejection, and not for the first time Yuuri wishes he had the means to express his exact feelings to the other person.

Rather than dwell on waiting, Yuuri stands to prepare for bed, and pauses when he hears footsteps thundering around the floor above him.

“Ruchka!!” Yuuri thinks he hears Viktor shriek, and he wonders concernedly if his coach (his coach!) is alright.

It goes quiet moments later, and Yuuri shrugs and opts to continue heading to the restroom to brush his teeth. It’s when he’s washing his face that, in the mirror, he sees black ink appearing on the back of his left hand. Yuuri quickly rinses and dries his face, grabbing for his glasses as he races back to his room.

Sad, his soulmate writes in stilted Japanese. But understand. Meet someday?

Yuuri feels tears pinprick at his eyes, and he blinks furiously to better see and write out his own reply.

Yes! he writes in Russian. And because he doesn’t know the word in Russian, he copies back someday clearly in his own language.

Shaky looking hearts begin to fill the back of his hand, and Yuuri presses it against a watery smile.

A floor above him, Viktor Nikiforov presses the back of his left hand against his lips as he leans back against the ruthlessly opened cardboard box he’d mauled in order to get a single ballpoint pen.

— — —

Viktor tilts his head back as he inhales the crisp morning air, looking far too pleased as Yuuri wheezes away with step ups on the bench next to him.

“Nothing like a good morning work out, I’d say,” Viktor declares. Yuuri attempts to huff out a sound of agreement without making it seem like he was dying.

“You never answered me, you know,” Viktor continues, and Yuuri takes that as permission to finally stop. He’d lost count somewhere after fifty—his entire lower half was sure to be sore the next day.

“About what?”

“About… well, I never asked straight out, did I? I wanted to know about your soulmate!”

“M-my soul—“ Yuuri yelps loudly as he almost topples off the bench, and scrambles to right himself before he face plants in front of his idol. He takes a moment to carefully step down and seat himself next to Viktor, fanning himself with the front of his shirt. “I mean… there isn’t much to say.”

“Well, as for me,” Viktor intercedes, preening. “My soulmate and I communicate more through feelings than words, you know. We haven’t met face-to-face just yet, but I already love them more than my heart can handle!”

“W-wow,” Yuuri says, simultaneously amazed and wistful. “That’s incredible.”

“Isn’t it? I think the mystery gives it even more appeal.”

Yuuri pauses, hesitant. “But why haven’t you met them yet? If it’s alright to ask.”

“Of course! Well…” Viktor stops, his normally cordial features smoothing into something pensive as he looks across the treetops in front of them. “They aren’t ready, and it isn’t my place to push them. Well—to not push too much.” Viktor suddenly turns sheepish, and Yuuri cocks his head to the side curiously. “I do hope to see them very soon, though. I mean, I don’t know where they are, exactly, but I do know that they live h—“

Makkachin lets out a series of hearty barks, and both men turn to see the poodle excitedly engaging a bird perched in a tree.

“Makkachin!” Viktor scolds lightheartedly, “leave the poor thing alone!” He pauses then as his eyes catch the rooftop of the castle looming above them, and his lips purse. “Yuuri, what is that?”

“Ah…” Yuuri’s eyes light up, and his mouth turns upwards in a smile. “That is a ninja house!”

“Ninja!” Viktor echoes excitedly, already standing to leave. “Wow!”

Yuuri’s smile grows larger when he snaps a picture of Viktor and Makkachin in front of the castle, silently thinking that who ever Viktor’s soulmate was, was pretty lucky indeed.

But also, Yuuri amends, right to be nervous to meet someone as talented as Viktor Nikiforov.

— — —

The arrival of Yuri Plisetsky is another storm upon Yuuri’s life, only this one is significantly less friendly and ten times as destructive. How could someone so small be such a threat to everything Yuuri has looked forward to in the past week?

“Food! And a bath!” the fifteen year old demands, and Yuuri’s eyes nearly roll out of his head. “I saw that!”

“Yes, yes,” says Yuuri placatingly, raising his hands in a show of non-aggression. “Just let me show you the bath house, and you can head over there right after dinner—“

“Like I said, I don’t want to bathe with other people,” interrupts Yuri scathingly. “I want to take a bath by myself.”

“Alright,” Yuuri finally says, a patronizing smile pasted onto his face. “Just let me feed you first.”

“The pork cutlet bowls here are delicious, Yurio,” Viktor chimes in, and Yuri splutters indignantly.

“Don’t call me that. What a ridiculous nickname to give to someone you just met, this family is crazy—and you! Give me two bowls.”

“Alright, alright,” Yuuri repeats, heading out the door to let his mother know of their newest arrival.

“Don’t call them crazy.” Viktor’s airy voice follows Yuuri as he walks into the hallway. “They’re very nice. And they make delicious food.”

“Hmph. I can’t wait till we’re back in Russia.”

“Now if you want that, you’re going to have to work hard to win the Hot Springs On Ice, Yurio!” Viktor says cheerfully, and Yuuri clenches his fists against the sudden onslaught of anxiety.

Viktor? Leaving?

I’m going to take you to victory, Yuuri!

Yuuri catches Yuri’s faint, “I said don’t call me that!” as he darts out the inn’s front door, shoes on and skating gear tucked safely into his backpack.

— — —

Skating has always been Yuuri’s escape.

The ice rink was his sanctuary, even as much as it was the cause for his anxiety. The competitions, the pressure, the stress of getting a routine right and being in shape for a season—

But when it came down to it, figure skating was his one true love.

Being granted access to Ice Castle Hasetsu was one blessing Yuuri had always cherished, relishing in the soft hiss of blades against ice, and the sharp click of a successful landing.

Yuuri exhales as he turns in a slow circle, letting his arms float in the cool air. When he wasn’t practicing for an upcoming competition, Yuuri liked to let his body move naturally, giving himself time to just let go and think.

Unsurprisingly, the first things that came to mind were the Hot Springs on Ice, Viktor, and his soulmate.

Wait— Yuuri startles, and his skates wobble for a precarious second. Soulmate first. I was thinking of them first. They’re important.

Feeling oddly chastised, Yuuri attempts to regain his composure, leaning forward into an easy two-foot glide that takes him from one side of the rink to the other.

What am I thinking? Yuuri lets out a nervous breath. Of course they’re important, but first things, first—I have to win the Hot Springs on Ice competition if I want Viktor—

And there he breaks off again, losing balance. Frustrated, Yuuri grabs for the edge of the rink, letting his body sink against the barrier.

What is… am I feeling guilty? Yuuri shakes his head furiously, pressing a hand against his forehead to wipe away the sweat that had begun to appear despite the cool temperature of the rink. Viktor is my idol. Of course I’d be happy that he’s here. Of course I wouldn’t want him to leave. This is a chance I’ve waited for, for my entire life.

Still, that doesn’t seem to help dispel the sudden guilt weighing on his chest, and Yuuri turns to other thoughts. Eros. Eros. This would have been so much easier if I’d been given Agape. Yuuri groans internally as he pushes away from the edge of the rink, letting himself slide aimlessly along the ice. A sexual love? I haven’t even had puppy love. I haven’t even had love-love!

Now feeling distinctly childish, Yuuri rakes his gloved hands through his hair until it sticks up in different directions. Eros. Eh-roh-s… He closes his eyes, thinking of an invisible hand drawing out a tic-tac-toe board. Writing out dozens of hearts against skin. A mouth moving in greeting, a soundless Good morning, good evening. Shy?

Yuuri imagines those hands in his, stretching his own in front of him as he glides forward, imagining warmth enclosed in his palms.

The hands in his imagination move upwards, and one of them comes up to cup his chin, and suddenly Yuuri is looking into the eyes of Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuuri shudders, guilt coming back full force. Still, he allows his imagination to continue, feeling Viktor’s touch as real as the rest of his surroundings. His eyes fall to half mast as he presses his hands against his chest, letting them slide down until they float away at his sides, balancing him in a slow, backward one-foot glide. The Viktor of his imagination tugs him forward, and Yuuri complies, spinning back around until he skates forward on one foot, arms outstretched to reach for his partner.

Viktor smiles with plush lips and motions for Yuuri to turn. Yuuri lets out a small sigh as he picks up speed, taking himself around the rink.He can feel himself gaining momentum, pushing onward until he lifts off into an elated triple flip, another echo of Viktor’s skating.

Yuuri’s eyes slide nearly shut once again, letting the colors of the rink blur and melt into one as he falls into a smooth combination spin. He’s warm—he can almost imagine arms wrapped around himself, a lilted voice in his ear, the bright eyes of Viktor staring at him from the edge of the rink—

Yuuri’s eyes fly open to meet Viktor’s for a good half second before he loses control of his spin and falls flat onto his butt with a startled yelp.

“Yuuri!”

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” Yuuri gasps, ears burning from embarrassment for more than one reason. “What—what are you doing here?”

“Well, older Katsuki sister said that you’re either here or at ‘Minako’s place’—very cryptic wording I might add, I was surprised she meant a ballet studio—and here you are!” Viktor leans against the rink’s barrier, eyes never leaving Yuuri’s. “Already practicing your Eros personality? I haven’t even finished the choreo, you know. But I applaud your enthusiasm.”

“No, that was just…” Yuuri trails off helplessly, finally turning his head away as he scrambles upright. He’s never felt this unsteady on the ice before.

“It was beautiful,” Viktor interjects softly, and Yuuri perks up, “if not a little rough. But that’s to be expected. Who were you thinking of?”

“Who—?” Yuuri feels as if he’s choking on air, and he presses his hands against his stomach nervously. Viktor’s smiling face flashes in his mind, and he faces the real one, flustered. “I… my soulmate. I was thinking about my soulmate.”

“Mm.” Viktor’s face smooths out into uncharacteristic blankness for a second so fast that Yuuri thinks he could have imagined it. Then the charismatic TV smile is back full force, and Yuuri feels like he has to blink against sunlight. “Well, I have to say, I’m a little jealous! Who wouldn’t be, after seeing how much love you were exuding? They are very lucky.” Viktor pauses again, and this time Yuuri is almost sure he can see the hesitation on Viktor’s face. “But not as lucky as mine! I have an overflowing spring of love for my darling!”

“I can tell,” Yuuri says, a hesitant smile on his lips, and Viktor beams back for an uncomfortably long second before the older man finally turns away, waving for Yuuri to follow him.

“It was a beautiful atmosphere, Yuuri,” Viktor says lowly, and Yuuri wishes he hadn’t turned so he could see Viktor’s face. “But still!” And finally his would-be coach whips around to smile devilishly at the darker haired man. “You’re not doing Agape, so that kind of lovesick look on your face tonight won’t cut it for you in the upcoming week!”

“Viktor!” Yuuri protests, feeling his ears burn. Lovesick?

“Also, it’s time for former-little-piggy to come hoo-oome,” Viktor sing-songs, tapping his foot impatiently as he walks backwards towards the Ice Castle’s entrance. “You’re not skating tomorrow, but even while I’m choreographing, I’m expecting a great and many sit-ups to be done! Come, Yuuri!”

“I’m not a dog,” Yuuri replies half-heartedly as he skates over to the rink’s entrance. He blushes when Viktor smiles at him, and hastily sits down to tug his skates off.

I have a soulmate, Yuuri thinks for the nth time. And we’re meant to be together. As soon as we meet.

Yuuri glances up to see Viktor staring at him pensively. When the older man sees he’s been caught, Viktor turns on his high beams again, waving at Yuuri to hurry with a cheerful grin on his face.

Yuuri blushes and ducks his head down.

…as soon as we meet.

— — —

It is exactly midnight, and Yuuri Katsuki is most definitely not sleeping in preparation for the long day of training ahead.

His lone desk lamp shines in the gloom of his room, giving enough like for him to see both his hands. And a pen.

I want to see you. Yuuri grits his teeth and uncaps his pen. ‘I… want… to… meet… you.’ Come on, Yuuri! Just write it!

Yuuri exhales shakily, thumbing through his Russian dictionary for the thousandth time. But just as he finally lifts his pen, a dark line appears on the back of his hand.

He gasps, nearly dropping the pen and dictionary down the side of his bed as he leans forward to watch the formation of characters against skin.

In Japan for business. A long pause in which Yuuri feels like his heart might combust. His soulmate was here? In Japan? Ask one time. OK if ‘no’… And then the invisible pen speeds up as if they had practiced this one line carefully, over and over until it came out almost perfect. Will you meet me?

Ridiculously enough, Yuuri feels tears gathering at his eyes again, and he hardly hesitates when he pens down a quick yes!

Yuuri feels goosebumps crawl up his arms when, after another moments hesitation, his soulmate begins to write again. Instead of a bunch of frivolous hearts, or a written exclamation, his soulmate pens out a single, heartfelt phrase.

I’m so happy.

Chapter Text

Yuuri slumps over his breakfast, blearily blinking his eyes and not even noticing that he’s unconsciously decided to use his chopsticks as a makeshift pillow.

Across from him, Viktor heartily inhales his food in enthusiastic gulps, seemingly energetic even as his distressingly dark eye bags cast deep shadows on his face.

Yuri glares between them both, utterly perplexed.

“What is wrong with the both of you?” His face twists. “Did you do extra practice without me?”

Yuuri sits up immediately, arms flailing, failing to notice how his chopsticks have stuck into the deep indents on his face from laying on them for so long. “We didn’t!”

“Okay,” Yuri says, appeased. “Then why are you both dead?”

“What are you talking about?” Viktor interjects, waving his own chopsticks in the air with gusto. “I have never felt more alive! Come now, eat more of your vegetables! We have quite the practice today, I’ve put the finishing touches on the choreography, and they’re ready for you to learn them!”

“If you’re not tired, then what,” Yuri says flatly, “are those under your eyes?” And he jabs at his own eyes, finger coming precariously close to gouging one out.

“A man’s resolve.”

“…What?”

“I think it’s understandable if Viktor was staying up to finish the choreography… as for me, I just wasn’t able to sleep,” Yuuri finally interrupts, thankfully cutting short a trademark Yurio temper tantrum. “I was… trying to think about eros.”

“You mean your ideal bowl of pork?” Yuri says slyly, resting his chin against his palm. “That’s your idea of seductive, right?”

Yuuri blushes, wide awake. “I just said that because—I mean—“ He lets out a startled yelp when the utensils unstick from his face and clatter loudly onto table. “What the…”

“Idiot…” Yuri mutters, reaching over him to reset the chopsticks back to their rightful place. “You think too much.”

“I for one,” Viktor cuts in, again, voice loud and cheerful in the tiny room, “have some wonderful, amazing news!”

Both Yuris lean forward expectantly, immediately serious.

A deep breath in. “But I’m not telling you!”

Yuuri slumps back as Yurio growls frustratedly, slapping the table with an angry palm. “Jeez, Viktor, I thought it was going to be something about our programs!”

Viktor laughs airily. “Sorry~”

All at once, Viktor turns sober, his eyes flicking to Yuuri for a second too long, and Yuri tenses. Suspicious…

“I’ll tell you after it happens,” Viktor says suddenly, and he receives a curious lift of the brow from two sides. “But for now… all you’ve got to do is focus on the upcoming week!”

“If it isn’t about the competition, I guess it can wait,” Yuri replies, already beginning to shrug it off. He lifts another bite to his mouth, ready to dig in, until something dark catches his eye.

“Oi, Viktor,” Yuri mumbles through his mouthful, and Viktor turns his one hundred watt smile towards the boy. “I get that you want to keep keepsakes, or something, but leaving ink on your hand for long isn’t very hygienic. Gross.”

At this, Yuuri seems to perk up, craning his neck to peer around the table. But Viktor’s left hand rests on the floor closest to Yurio, hidden by both the table corner and Yuri’s leg, and Yuuri leans back, looking disappointed. Yuri cocks an eyebrow at him, confused.

“Oh,” Viktor says, for once sounding completely off guard. “I… I hadn’t realized. Let me just make sure I have this information down before I wash it off!” And their would-be coach smoothly lifts himself off the ground, left hand tucked too closely to his side to be natural.

This time, Yuri doesn’t miss the disappointed sigh that comes from Yuri #2, and the teenager turns to assess him. “Huh? What’s with you?”

Yuuri freezes, eyes blinking wide. “Nothing! I was just hoping… maybe to, I don’t know, learn more about Viktor’s soulmate?” Yuuri turns even redder under the other’s scrutinizing gaze. “I don’t mean to pry. He just speaks about them so much, so I was just curious…”

“Well.” Yuri turns back to his meal, fully intent on scarfing it down as fast as possible. He needs the fuel if he wants to win, after all. “There isn’t much to say. They’ve been in contact for as long as I’ve known Viktor, and even then I haven’t learned much about them. Viktor rarely ever shows anyone else what his soulmate writes. I'd do the same, actually.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, nervously tugging at his fingers. The agitated movement draws Yuri’s eyes, and he turns his head slightly to glance.

“Wh—“ The second that his eyes fall on Yuuri’s hand, Yuri violently inhales the large serving of rice in his mouth, sending it careening down the wrong way.

“Yurio!” Yuuri gasps, worriedly thumping at Yuri’s back. “Cough it out, you’ll choke!”

Never to be one to quit, Yuri snatches at a glass of water and gulps it down in record time, eyes watering against the dense packing of rice in his throat until his airways are finally clear. “Damn it—”

“Yurio, wait, drink some more water—“

“Show me your hand!” Yuri demands, already grabbing for Yuuri. The man flinches but allows his arm to be manhandled to Yuri’s eye level, face quickly turning another level of flushed.

And Yuri stares blankly for a few seconds at the bits and pieces of scattered Russian and Japanese words in two different styles of handwriting and in a perfect copy of what he’s sure he’d seen on Viktor’s hand, before the ink suddenly and unceremoniously blurs into smears. Yuri gapes as the words are wiped off before his very eyes, and beside him, Yuuri lets out a tiny sigh. “It’s a good thing I thought to take a photo before breakfast,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and Yurio’s head turns at an infinitesimally slow pace to regard his rival. “I didn’t think they’d wash it off so soon.”

“You—your soul—“

“Yuuri!” a light voice calls out, and his mother bustles into the room to regard both Yuris with fondness. “Good morning, Yurio! Yuuri, I need your help! The main kitchen’s faucet just won’t work again, and your father and sister aren’t home to help me fix it!”

“Sure,” Yuuri says good-naturedly, and his arm easily slips out of a petrified Yurio’s grasp. “Yurio, you’re practicing Agape with Viktor first, right? I don’t know how long this will take, but can you tell Viktor I’ll meet you both at the Ice Castle?”

“Hblurbgah,” Yurio replies, grains of rice toppling down from his lower lip, and Yuuri frowns. Yuri ends up having to fight Yuuri and his disgusting tissue away, pointing the other man to the door imperiously. “Just. Leave.”

“Alright, alright,” Yuuri concedes, hands raised, and really, Yuri can’t figure out why he does that so often. His rival is out the door before Yuri can even form another sentence, and he struggles to form coherent thought through the confused white noise in his brain.

“I’m back!” Viktor sings, cascading through the doorway, and Yuri sets blazing eyes on the older man. “What?”

The run to the Ice Castle is a blur, with Yuri only faintly registering Viktor’s cries of “wow, Yurio, how fast! We didn’t even wait for Yuuri! Ah, Makkachin, no, we’ll play fetch later!”

Yuri all but stomps onto the ice rink, gouging deep cuts into the surface. Finally, Viktor seems to register his agitation, pausing in zipping up his jacket to regard the boy with keen eyes. “What is it?”

“You,” Yuri hisses, thoughts finally scrambling into place, “who is your soulmate?”

“Haven’t we been over this? It’s a secret!”

“Yes, but do you actually know?”

Viktor pauses, the corners of his mouth beginning to turn down at the corners. “…If we’re being honest here, then no. But as in Agape, one must feel the love, rather than trying to analyze—“

“Teach later, talk now,” Yuri interrupts bluntly, and Viktor’s eyebrows shoot upwards into his immaculately styled hair. “Have you known this entire time? Why didn’t you just tell me? If you wanted to come here to meet your soulmate, why go under the guise of being a coa—“

“How did you know they were from Japan?” Viktor interjects, seemingly both impressed and confused. “I didn’t know you actually paid attention to what the writing was! Not that I mind, of course, I always only ever go out of my way to hide my more lovelorn messages.” Viktor presses a finger against a goofy smile that quickly overtakes his face. “I wasn’t planning on telling anyone anything until after I’d met them face-to-face!”

“Of course I would know,” Yuri snaps, disregarding the fact that he hadn’t realized anything until less than an hour before, “it’s so obvious—wait. You… you think you haven’t met them yet?”

“Of course I haven’t, it’s not an ‘I think’, it’s an ‘I know’!” Viktor pouts dramatically. “Honestly, Yurio, it’s like you’re rubbing salt onto the wound!”

Yuri stares blankly at the man, dumbstruck. “You really, actually, don’t know.”

“No?” Viktor cocks his head, beginning to look unsettled. “Why are you looking at me so funny?”

“You don’t know… and they don’t know…”

“Yes? I just said that?”

“So you were never planning to be impartial in judging,” Yuri mutters. “You never even knew.”

“Yurio, you have to speak louder, I can’t hear you!”

“Don’t call me Yurio,” Yuri protests automatically, mind one hundred miles away. “I cannot believe this.”

“I can’t believe it either. Yurio has finally lost his mind in the pursuit of agape. That’s why you wanted to hear my beautiful love story, no?”

“No,” Yuri grumbles, finally coming back to his senses. “Okay. I’m ready to skate.”

“Oh?” Viktor smiles at this, leaning against the rink’s barrier. “Truly? Glad you’ve gotten whatever you needed to out of your system.”

“I just want you to know…” Yuri turns back to stare Viktor down with hard eyes, and his would-be coach raises an eyebrow, looking completely serious for once. “I’m going to win, no matter what the circumstances are. There may be something ‘there’, but even if there is, I’m going to make you choose through talent itself.”

Viktor stares back, one eyebrow hitched. “…As much as I love to hear your gusto, Yurio, I have to say I’m a little lost. But I hear your determination.” Viktor smiles. “Loud and clear.”

Yuri snorts embarassedly, then tenses when Viktor frowns.

“You seem a little too tense to encapsulate the essence of agape just yet though. Maybe… if you needed some serenity… the temple would be a good first stop for now, then?”

Yuri scowls, deeply confused. “Temple? What temple?”

An hour later, Yuri deeply regrets ever even asking.

— — —

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri says when he steps into the Ice Castle, hours later. “Sorry, the faucet thing took up a lot more time than I thought it would.”

Yuuri was perplexed at the sight of Yurio slouched on one of the rink’s benches near the entrance, looking sulky as he rolled his shoulders back and forth. “Oh. You.”

“Yes?” Yuuri replies somewhat hesitantly, still unsure how to treat the other after their weird behavior during breakfast.

Yuri merely rolls his eyes, and turns his head to the side. “Nothing. My practice just ended—which went very well, okay—and Viktor said to send you inside once you got here.”

“Ah, got it,” Yuuri says hastily, quickly stepping forward. His heart begins to race at the thought of finally learning eros under Viktor.

Under Viktor’s tutelage. His teaching. Yuuri’s ears begin to burn a warm red. Learning under Viktor in the most professional way possible, that’s what he had meant—

“Idiot couple,” Yurio mutters, and Yuuri thinks he’s heard wrong.

“Huh?”

“No-thing,” enunciates Yuri, managing to look both furious and smug at the same time. “Go away already.”

Yuuri hums a confirmation, glancing back at Yurio one more time before he turns away and towards the rink.

The hiss of blades against the ice is crisp in the air, and Yuuri inhales slowly at the sight of Viktor gently gliding along the center.

“Eros,” Viktor says, his lilting voice carrying over the soft scratch of his skates as he slows to a stop, “is something you must embody, Yuuri. Otherwise, how will the audience believe in your eros if you don’t even believe in it yourself?”

“I will,” Yuuri promises, eyes following Viktor as he blindly fumbles for his skates. “I—I will become Eros!”

“So you’ve said,” Viktor replies, a gentle smile on his face. “And again, I applaud your enthusiasm.” He beckons Yuuri inside the rink, and Yuuri complies, blushing when they brush shoulders, with how close Viktor is standing to the rink’s entrance. “But do you even know what eros is to you?”

And suddenly, Viktor comes even closer, bright eyes blinking inquisitively at Yuuri, who suddenly feels like all the air has been expelled from his lungs.

“I—yes!” Yuuri squeaks, turning bright red. “Pork cutlet bowls!”

Viktor leans back to let out a pleased laugh, one hand coming up to rest on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Like I said, how unique! If that’s so…”

Viktor leans forward again, and Yuuri finds that, for some reason, he doesn’t feel like backing up and away. Viktor is close enough that Yuuri can feel warm breaths against his cheeks, and he almost stops his own breathing out of self-consciousness.

“How will you portray the seductive pull of the pork cutlet bowl?” Viktor asks, voice falling deceptively low. “How will you translate its attraction into every single movement you make?” Then there’s a hand cupping Yuuri’s chin again, and he has to fight not to swoon forward into Viktor’s grasp. “If the motion of eros and the understanding of its concept is inside of you, Yuuri, can you bring it out and show it to me?”

!!!!!!, screams Yuuri’s mind.

“Oi!” Yurio bellows, and Yuuri flinches away from Viktor’s grasp like he’s been burnt. Viktor merely raises an eyebrow and leans back to rest on his heels again, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Ye-es, Yurio?”

“Quit flirting and start skating,” Yuri demands, leaning up against the barrier and obviously planning to observe. Oddly enough, he has that conflicted look on his face again, this time a contrasting mixture of irritated and bemused.

“Yurio,” Viktor coos cheerfully, “this is all a part of the feeling of eros!”

“Well, it’s kind of weird,” Yuri retorts, smirking into his hand. “Mr. Pork Cutlet Bowl over there hardly even looks like he’s got the slightest inkling of where to begin.”

Punk, Yuuri thinks sullenly. Extremely talented Russian punk. He shakes his head in an effort to clear it, and the motion has both Yuri and Viktor turning to look at him.

“I can do it!” he says, determinedly straightening his back. “Show me the choreography, and I’ll reflect the essence of eros into it!”

“Wonderful!” Viktor enthuses, beaming, and Yuri merely blinks at his rival, resting a cheek against his palm.

It’s easier said than done, of course—Viktor ends up having Yuuri run through his basics for most of the practice after he falls out of one of his jumps, and Yuri snorts once before going back to staring at them both with that same weirdly keen look in his eyes.

“I think that should be enough for today,” Viktor calls out after Yuuri pauses for breath. “You don’t want to overload with too much to remember on the first day of practice.”

“B-but I can do it!” Yuuri protests. “We’ve barely gone through the very beginning of the program—“

“Because someone had to go through their basics again, no?” Viktor says with another hundred watt smile, and Yuuri flushes and looks down, chastened.

He also finds it slightly weird that Yuri doesn’t pipe up with a scathing remark of his own, but the teenager merely scowls and begins to roll his shoulders again as if stretching out sore muscle.

“Besides,” Viktor continues, “there is always tomorrow.” Yuuri freezes when Viktor’s hand comes up to rest at the nape of his neck, fingers brushing the soft hair there.

He glances up at his idol to find Viktor staring back down at him, looking caught off guard as he hadn’t expected himself to do that either. “Ah… I—“

Before Viktor can continue, Yuuri leans in a little into his touch until Viktor’s hand slides even higher, tangling in Yuuri’s hair as Yuuri’s side brushes against Viktor’s.

And suddenly, both of them pause at a confused standstill.

What am I doing? Yuuri thinks suddenly, unable to tear his eyes away from Viktor’s. What am I doing, whatamIdoing, whatamIdoingwhatamIdoi—

“OI.”

Yuuri and Viktor leap apart, and Yuuri desperately tries to ignore how nice it feels to have Viktor’s fingers slide through his hair as it passes through.

“Yes?” Viktor laughs, and Yuuri swears he imagined the nervous lilt in his voice. “Are you feeling neglected too, Yurio? Come, let me give you a hug!”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Yuri snorts, rolling his eyes. “Just hurry up so we can go home already. I’m hungry!”

Makkachin barks as if to second Yuri’s statement, and Viktor laughs as he bounds out of the doors with his poodle. “Are you hungry too, my darling? Are you? I’ll feed you the most premium of Japanese dog food immediately for being so amazing!”

Yuuri watches him leave in stunned silence, slowly trying to process his actions. Did he almost—

No. Yuuri presses a hand against his mouth, furrowing his brow. It didn’t mean anything.

“Yurio,” Yuuri begins hesitantly, flushing bright red. “That wasn’t… it wasn’t any—“

“Huh?” Yuri groans, stretching his arms above his head. “What? I didn’t see anything.”

Yuuri hesitates as he watches Yurio gather his things, feeling oddly like he has to justify himself. “I’m meeting my soulmate the day after the Hot Springs on Ice competition!”

Yuri pauses in stuffing his skates into his bag, and looks up slowly to regard Yuuri with narrowed eyes. There’s a beat of silence before he shrugs.

“After the competition right? Then it’s not my problem.” Yuri shoulders his bag and looks at Yuuri with a closed off expression. “…But good for you. I guess. Now hurry up and get moving. I want to eat!”

“Alright, alright—“

“Stop saying that!” Yurio rolls his eyes as he brushes past Yuuri, and Yuuri thinks he can faintly hear him go, “this entire situation is absolutely ridiculous.”

How odd.

— — —

The days pass in a blur as both competitors work towards victory in Hot Springs on Ice, punctuated by Viktor’s clear, commanding voice and filled with hazy hours of endurance training.

There comes a day that Yuuri hereby refers to as Yurio’s Waterfall Revelation, and it only works to strengthen his determination to capture the meaning of eros in order to win.

Again, it’s easier said than done… but a single outfit glittering under the warm yellow lights of his childhood home ends up providing all the information he needs.

“Ah, that one,” enthuses Viktor, leaning over Yuuri’s shoulder to gaze fondly at the garment. Yuuri becomes distracted from the glitter and shine as he becomes hyperaware of the tickle of Viktor’s bangs against his face. “The fit and appearance of that one suited my performance well—with my longer hair, it gave off the impression of a fluid atmosphere. Both a feminine and masculine feel.”

And Yuuri certainly does remember that exact performance, and he ducks his head down when he feels an undercurrent of something run right through him. An instant later, he clutches the garment to him, bolstered by his newfound inspiration.

“I choose this one!”

— — —

Yurio presents a performance so stunning that Yuuri is floored by the teenager’s ability to present another side of him through each and every one of his movements, and to make it seem so easy at that—

Yuuri presses his hands against his face, grateful for the sudden darkness that signals the end of Yurio’s program. The anxiety always started off as prickles that began from his shoulders and steadily spread up his neck and trickled down his back to make his knees as weak as jelly. There’s a roaring of white noise in his ears—or is it just the murmur of the audience? And why does his heart sound so loud?

“Yuuri. It’s your turn.”

Yuuri stifles a gasped sob as he flinches upwards to lock eyes with Viktor. Viktor looks supremely confident, as per usual, as Yuuri wishes not for the first time that he could naturally exude the same sort of poise.

“I’m… going to perform the tastiest pork cutlet bowl you’ve ever seen,” Yuuri says finally, taking strength from the warmth in Viktor’s eyes. “I promise.” And before he can chicken out, Yuuri steps forward to wrap his arms around Viktor’s neck, his face pressing against soft silver hair.

“Of course,” Viktor says lowly, and Yuuri shudders. “I love pork cutlet bowls.”

Yuuri fights back another onslaught of tears, this time borne from happiness. He tightens his arms around Viktor for one more second before he slides free, allowing himself one more look into Viktor’s eyes. His idol looks completely serious for once, and stares at Yuuri with none of the childish gaiety and mirth that had been constantly present throughout his entire stay in Japan so far. In fact, Viktor has the same look he gets during a performance—cool, calm, and self assured. Yuuri allows himself to indulge in seeing that expression in such close proximity for a while longer before he steps away, skating guards thudding determinedly against cement.

“Watch me, and only me,” Yuuri says as he leaves, and Viktor finally smiles, a mere upturn of one side of his mouth.

“Of course,” he repeats.

And he does—Yuuri swears he can feel Viktor watching closely throughout the entirety of his program, and his motions become more fluid, more seductive, all in the name of keeping Viktor’s eyes on him and only him.

Who am I dancing for? I know who.

The performance is all heat—Yuuri nearly breaks his persona when he steps out of his salchow, and his heart stutters before he mentally grips onto his eros with white knuckled hands. He refuses to let go. He refuses to lose.

I am the one with the power to seduce, Yuuri thinks, making sure his audience knows exactly that. I am the one in control.

With a final flourish of his arms, Yuuri cocks out a knee and poses, marking a crisp end to a passionate dance. And I am the one who is going to win his heart.

The roar of the audience fills his ears, and Yuuri drops his act as if he’d been burnt, looking around with wide eyes at the screaming faces. Minako and Yuuko both have tears in their eyes, and the triplets continue to eagerly film him at every angle possible. Even Takeshi shoots him a proud thumbs up, amazement clear in his childhood friend’s eyes.

And Viktor—

“Yuuri!”

His idol’s voice is like a splash of cold water after a burning day, and Yuuri all but flies to him, barely feeling the ice underneath his skates. He’s welcomed with open arms and Viktor’s smiling face, all lightheartedness returned.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says again, “that was the tastiest pork cutlet bowl I have ever seen!”

Yuuri nearly cries with relief, all to happy to settle himself in Viktor’s arms.

He’s so overwhelmed with exhaustion and elation that he all but collapses when Viktor immediately transitions to his coaching mode—but, in all honesty, Yuuri can’t say he minds it all too much.

Standing on the podium and accepting victory is all just a formality that Yuuri knows he doesn’t really need. It’s Viktor’s gloved hands, tight on his arm and elbow, that ground him, and Yuuri lets himself smile his first real exhilarated smile for the first time in ages.

— — —

“Yurio!”

Ah. It’s that girl.

Yuri barely even allows himself to turn, only letting one eye peek past the fabric of his upturned hoodie, and even then the sight of Yuuko worriedly running up to him is almost enough to make the threat of tears all too real.

Almost.

“Are you leaving already? Even without hearing the results?”

Yuri snorts, throat thick as he swallows before answering. “I already know the results. I’m going back to train under Yakov—I’m not stupid enough to stick around and hope.”

Yuri inhales deeply, hand clenching around the handle of his suitcase before he finally turns to regard Yuuko with steely, dry eyes.

“I’m still going to be the one to win the Grand Prix. I hope they know that.” He grits his teeth. “It’s a pain to admit, but even with their disgustingly gross connection, even I can still see that his performance was…”

“What?” Yuuko says when he doesn’t continue, looking completely lost.

Yuri scowls, and begins to walk away. “Nothing. See you later. Dasvidaniya.”

— — —

Yuuri lays on his bed that night, feeling all too boneless and satisfied from a victory and a warm bath.

He replays the events over and over in his mind, always going over the final few moments where he’d been proclaimed the winner, Viktor’s pleased face taking over his thoughts.

I won. I won! Yuuri smiles, rolling over in his bed ecstatically. Does this mean I get to eat a pork cutlet bowl?

He sits up when he’s struck with another thought. His soulmate. Yuuri eagerly scrambles off his bed and towards his desk, quickly rummaging around for a pen. His soulmate—he has to tell them, wants to tell them what happened, how we won and is so happy, and the only thing that could make this even better is the thought of seeing them tomorrow—

“Yuuri!” Viktor sings, and Yuuri jumps about a foot into the air at the sound of sharp knocking against the wood of his door. He shouldn’t have even bothered knocking, Yuuri thinks bemusedly, as literally five seconds later Viktor bounds through the unceremoniously opened door, Makkachin hot on his heels. “Sorry to intrude—really, I am, I just… I’m so excited!”

Yuuri yelps when he’s wrapped in another hug, and internally screams when he’s lifted off the floor and taken on an elated spin. Seriously, how strong was Viktor? Makkachin barks excitedly, circling them as Viktor takes Yuuri around and around his room.

“That was quite a performance! You have things you need to work on, like I said, but that’s what I am here for!” Viktor laughs, and Yuuri yells out as he suddenly feels them topple over.

He isn’t sure whether to be relieved or alarmed when he realizes their fall is cushioned by the soft mattress of his bed, and then Viktor’s full body weight is pressing against his, and Yuuri realizes that, yes, alarm is probably the right emotion.

“And now that I’m officially your coach,” Viktor continues, seemingly unruffled, “we can finally, properly bond!”

“Excuse me?” Yuuri says, finally ripped away from his Viktor induced la-la land, and his coach (his coach!) laughs again.

“I still need to see what you look like when you dream!”

“No!” Yuuri screeches in English, and Viktor only, infuriatingly laughs again, entangling Yuuri into a playful chokehold.

“No, no! This is all a part of the road to victory!” Viktor crows, ruffling Yuuri’s hair with a devilish glint in his eyes. “We also need to work on your image. Your hairstyle for today’s performance was quite a heart stopper—but your every day style needs to be enhanced!”

Yuuri’s protests dissolve into laughter as Viktor’s fingers roughly comb through his hair.

“Maybe an everyday slicked back look for my pupil? Oh, my, maybe we could go for an idol boy look? A refreshing military style haircut? People these days like uniformity, I suppose.” Viktor gasps, eyes lighting up. “How about a style that looks just like mine?”

“V-Viktor!” Yuuri protests again, though his elated laughter continues to sideline him. “I like my hair!”

“Oh, so do I, but you know the public! They always want better, newer, and brighter!” Viktor sobers then, both hands still entangled in Yuuri’s hair, and Yuuri’s laughter dies off to stare up at his coach.

“Viktor?” he finally says, and Viktor breaks his self-induced staring contest with Yuuri to blink confusedly.

“Hm, what was I saying? Ah well.” Viktor smiles, beginning to comb his hands through Yuuri’s hair, and Yuuri’s eyes begin to droop. Ah, he was a lot sleepier than he’d thought, wasn’t he…

“I think I was saying something about a military haircut,” comes Viktor’s voice through the fog, and Yuuri struggles to keep his eyes open. But he never knew how nice it felt to have someone play with your hair.

“See, we could cut this part, trim right here…” Viktor twirls one of Yuuri’s longer pieces of hair through his fingers, and the breath of his voice is warm against Yuuri’s face. “And here, we could…”

Yuuri swears he can’t blame himself for drifting off to sleep—Viktor’s voice is all too soothing, and combined with the hands in his hair and the exhaustion deep in his bones…

Yuuri falls right asleep, right in Viktor’s arms.

—— —

Barking cuts through Yuuri’s hazy thoughts, and for a second he thinks he’s still dreaming.

“Vicchan?” he asks blearily, beginning to fumble for his glasses. Damn, where were they? What time was it—was it time for Vicchan’s walk?

“Hm?” someone murmurs sleepily from right next to him, and Yuuri’s mind switches back into overdrive.

His glasses—he finds them squished underneath his right arm, spares one thought to thank whatever deity that they hadn’t broken, and wastes no time in slamming them on his face to see who exactly was in his bed.

Viktor Nikiforov blinks sleepily up at him, rubbing at his eyes. “Hnhuh? Yuuri, what time is it?”

His coach’s bleary face and the bright sun streaming through his window tells Yuuri that it’s far too late into the morning, and—

Yuuri freezes as another thought breaks into his mind with all the force and violence of a speeding bullet train.

Yuuri leaps out of bed and over Viktor, silently cursing himself for not setting an alarm. One click of his phone has the time blinking up at him in sharp white numbers, and he feels his heart drop down to his feet.

1:05 PM.

He had been supposed to be on a train and on the way to his soulmate five hours ago.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asks. “Time?”

“It’s one in the afternoon,” Yuuri whispers, stricken. Behind him, the rustle of sheets halts immediately, and Yuuri turns to find Viktor looking as horrified as he did.

“I…” And suddenly his coach is springing to life, tucking the inn’s robes tighter around himself (Yuuri blushes at the peek of skin, despite himself) and tugs his own phone out of one of his pockets. Viktor lets out a low groan and presses a hand against his face, looking utterly devastated.

“I… was supposed to be somewhere,” Yuuri says quietly, still horrified with himself. “And I…”

“Me too,” Viktor says from behind his hand, before rubbing at his eyes. “I can’t believe I… do you have a pen?”

“A pen?” Yuuri echoes, still reeling from the fact that he has missed his meeting with his soulmate by a distressingly great number of hours. “Sure, I…”

Viktor freezes, and glances at Yuuri as if suddenly realizes who he’s speaking to, and raises another hand to stop him. “I mean—I just need one to write out a reminder for the itinerary of out training schedule. I don’t need one right now. I mean, if you have one, then wonderful, Yuuri! I could use it to scratch a spot on my back that is just absolutely killing me right now, and I can’t reach, but oh! It’s passed! I’ll just be going now, so you can keep your pen. For homework.”

“I already graduated from college,” Yuuri says blankly, and Viktor exasperatedly waves him off, looking uncharacteristically flustered.

“Yes, I know—training starts tomorrow, Yuuri, first I have to take care of some…” Viktor glances at him one last time before he takes off and out the door, Makkachin close behind, “business.”

Yuuri sinks to the floor after his coach breezes out the door, staring at his distressingly ink-free hands with no little amount of horror.

What... What do I do?

Chapter Text

At ten, Viktor isn’t interested in much beyond the wide expanse of the ice skating rink and the early Saturday morning cartoons he gets to watch on the living room television. Now though, he can recall vague memories of conversations between aunts, or the titters of his cousins and classmates, all regarding one thing: their soulmates.

It was an interesting thing—he would be animatedly speaking to a friend, only for him to cut Viktor off and wave a hand suddenly filling with unsteadily scrawled words right in his face. “Look! She is writing her name—it is what she does when she wants to get my attention!”

“Okay,” Viktor would say cheerfully, still slightly confused as to why that would have been important enough to interrupt a conversation. “That’s cool.”

A teacher would be writing on a board, discussing a math concept, when Viktor would catch the smallest of notes sliding into existence on the back of her right hand.

“Ah,” she says when Viktor quietly asks her after the class had ended, “it’s a reminder from my wife to pick up milk before I come home.”

Viktor even notices his mother writing notes to his father, and vice versa, even when they were in the same room.

Weird, Viktor thinks some days as he floats across the rink. But interesting. The other ice skaters, both in classes of their own, or skating for pleasure, all stop to look at him, something he acknowledges with another jauntily done spin. Viktor preens a little on the inside at the ensuing oohs and aahs of his viewers, and the topic of soulmates is dropped from his mind.

He’s fourteen when he realizes two things. One, he’s very, very good at figure skating, and decides that it’s something he’s going to do competitively, and for the rest of his life.

Two, Viktor realizes that he may not even have a soulmate at all.

He remembers sitting next to his classmates in primary school and idly watching as their hands filled with colors, even when they were merely sitting still. Viktor’s hands were almost covered with markers and paint, and he realizes now that he couldn’t have discerned his markings from his soulmate’s—had they even been there in the first place.

But now, it seemed as if soulmates were all that people could talk about, and a tiny pinprick of unease begins to blossom in Viktor’s chest.

Viktor begins to write—on his hands, and all over his arms. Swooping Russian characters describing his thoughts for the day, things he needed to remember, and even some ideas for choreography.

And still, his handwriting remains the only thing he sees on his skin, and Viktor grows more and more frustrated by the day.

It’s around this age that he realizes the pull he has towards people of all types. Viktor would raise his eyes from his homework, only to lock eyes with a girl who would quickly turn red or turn away. More than once, Viktor finds himself fending off confessions from both girls and boys.

“Don’t you have a soulmate?” Viktor finds himself asking on multiple occasions, innocently tilting his head. The other person would flush, guiltily tucking both hands behind their back before stuttering an excuse and darting away.

Once, Viktor receives a “no” in response to his question, and his lighthearted smile almost drops in his surprise.

“Really?” Viktor asks, eyes wide. His skin suddenly feels hypersensitive, all too aware of the ink on his arms that he’d placed there himself.

“Really,” the girl replies, staring him determinedly in the eyes. “I don’t believe in it. Sure, people can be with their soulmates—but since I don’t have one, I believe I’ve been given the freedom of choice.” She wavers then, before biting her lip and finally asking the one question Viktor has asked himself for quite some time.

“Do you have a soulmate?”

Viktor pauses before answering, tapping his fingers from where he rests them on his hip. “Yes,” he says finally, ignoring the burning sensation in his chest. “I do. I’m sorry.”

The girl’s eyes fill with tears, and for one long moment, Viktor thinks she’s going to burst out crying—but then she steps away, a steely glint appearing in her eyes.

“You’re lying. I’ve watched you. You only ever write, and nothing else ever appears on your skin.” She furiously rubs at her eyes. “You’ll get tired of waiting. Believe me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Viktor replies with an easy smile. “I’m sorry.”

She dashes off with one last longing, but baleful, look at the writing on Viktor’s arms, and Viktor stands in the corridor, feeling distinctly unsettled.

I have one. I do.

Becoming a sixteen year old marks the beginning of some of the best years of Viktor’s life, and some of the most difficult. By sixteen, he’s floated to the top of the rankings in the world of figure skating, constantly being hailed for his talent and his poise.

Viktor also finds himself dedicating more and more hours to training, silently deciding that he would always surprise. Always inspire.

However, it’s also at the age of sixteen that Viktor realizes that, if he has a soulmate, he wants them. Full stop—Viktor wants to have a soulmate.

His longing and desire for “someone just for him” leaks into some of his performances, with judges and critics praising them as some of his best yet. Viktor merely accepts the compliments with his go-to cordial smile, waves off Yakov’s criticism, and goes back to determinedly scrawling on his arm.

The morning after one of his competitions, Viktor lounges on his bed and stares at the blank expanse of skin, stretching and flexing his fingers.

One more time, Viktor thinks almost lazily—near hopelessly, even. His right hand comes up to worriedly tug at the length of his hair, restlessly twining the end of his ponytail around his fingers.Just one last try.

Viktor slowly draws out the first line, and another one parallel to that. The tic-tac-toe board looks lonely on his hand, and Viktor exhales, feeling oddly nervous.

One X goes into a square, and Viktor waits.

And waits.

Viktor sits up against his headboard, clenching the pen in his fist and letting the plastic dig into the palm of his hand. “I know you’re there,” he whispers, feeling his throat tighten. “I know you exist.”

He bolds the X, careful enough not to let the pen dig into his skin. Viktor pauses, holding his breath, and lets it out when a few seconds pass and nothing else appears.

No one, Viktor thinks, staring almost balefully at his hand. He struggles to pull up his usual cheer, but it’s as if there’s a weight sitting on it, and he can only continue to silently come to terms with the fact he’s got to give up. No one’s been on the other side for y—

A circle appears.

Viktor nearly chucks the pen across the room in his delight, and leaps from his bed in an elated arc that takes him from one side of the room to another. In a homage to his skating abilities, he spins in place in his socks as he covers the entirety of his left hand with crudely drawn hearts.

He can’t help it—Viktor is excited, and even though he knows he should probably be mad, he isn’t, and he can only hope that every single inked heart conveys the love and affection he’s had cooped up all of those years.

When Viktor feels that he’s conveyed enough of his never ending love in ink form (and feels that his dizziness level are reaching dangerous heights), he collapses back onto his bed, and writes out another X with a shaking hand.

Viktor’s soulmate—his soulmate—draws out a shy little heart near their circle. In a flash, Viktor springs up from his bed and races down the hallways, hardly noticing when he nearly careens into someone—his mother?—in an effort to get to the bathroom. Even before the door slams shut behind him, Viktor is already scrubbing away at the ink until his skin is gray with its residue.

Good enough! he thinks impatiently, and his pen flies down onto his skin.

I have always, always wanted to meet you! I am so happy you exist! Viktor draws in a heart with a little flourish, holding his breath as he waits for a reply.

It takes a couple seconds, but characters slowly flow into existence on his hand, and Viktor’s eyebrows dart up to his hairline in his surprise.

He writes out his surprise and follows it with a quickly drawn flag of Japan. Japanese?

A potato appears underneath it—oh, wait. Viktor pauses to bring his hand closer to his eyes, and smiles in amusement. Oh. Thumbs up.

Viktor promptly decides that they could be from Mars for all he cares, and he would still love them. He says so too, even if he knows now that they don’t understand, and etches out another few hearts for good measure.

“No wonder they haven’t said anything all these years,” Viktor breathes. He darts out of the bathroom, and promptly receives a reprimanding smack on the head from his mother as he nearly crashes into her again.

He continues onto his room, highly unbothered, dotting his hand with hearts along the way.

———

Still, Viktor quickly finds out that having a soulmate does not immediately mean… well, “The End”.

It’s almost a constant struggle to get his soulmate to write anything, though he graciously accepts every chance he gets to trade even the smallest of phrases with them. His heart soars the first time they greet him in carefully worded Russian, and he eagerly seeks out different methods of learning Japanese. Many of Viktor’s pre-performance psyche ups consisted of Japanese vocabulary filtering into his ears through tinny ear buds, and he sketches the characters he knows in the air as he practices his choreography in the hallways of the stadium.

“‘I love you’,” Viktor enunciates airily, and Yakov shoots him a raised eyebrow as he dances past. “‘I. Love. You.’”

If his audience thought they couldn’t be more stunned from his abilities than they already were, they were proven wrong at the way Viktor’s newfound gusto translated into each and every one of his movements.

However, Viktor still has to tell himself to be patient after a couple of failed attempts at getting into contact with his soulmate beyond ink on skin communication. He sighs at the forlorn looking, sorry on his hand, and replies back with a cheerfully rounded OK in English. And then, love you! in Japanese.

Viktor preens when he doesn’t get a response, fancying that he can feel the other’s shyness filtering through his skin. He worked hard on getting the phrase right, after all.

— — —

“‘No’,” Viktor says, drawing out the word until it fills the empty space around him with its negativity. He sighs inwardly. “’No.’”

He promptly turns to his dog for comfort, and Makkachin whines, tail wagging.

He’d been hoping… Viktor buries his face deeper in Makkachin’s fur for a second longer. The years had been peppered with exchanges between him and his soulmate, and while Viktor cherished each and every one of those occasions, he’d been hoping to finally meet them face to face. To have true love bring back the magic into his performances, to be inspired and inspire in return—

Viktor is in the middle of jokingly (and half seriously) contemplating whether or not it’s worth it to invest in one of those shady looking companies he’d seen that supposedly, somehow leads you to your soulmate, when his phone chimes cheerfully in the silence.

Viktor tugs it out, ready to text. Instead, he finds a message from Yakov with a video link and nothing else, and when he clicks on it, the title startles him.

Viktor isn’t sure what he expects when he clicks the play button—but as soon as the video ends, he’s one hundred percent sure he knows what he wants.

Katsuki Yuuri has piqued his interest, and Viktor thinks he’s finally decided what his “next step” was going to be.

How interesting!

(And he ignores the fact that Yuuri is currently based in Japan, where Viktor firmly believed the other half of his heart to reside.)

— — —

Katsuki Yuuri, however, does turn out to be very interesting.

And so fun! Viktor thinks amusedly, watching his soon-to-be pupil slam right back into the wall behind him. How cute!

In fact, getting to know Yuuri is far more interesting than it should probably be, and Viktor finds himself entranced the first time he sees Yuuri skating, right after Yurio’s arrival.

(Speaking of which—Yurio. Viktor lightly berates himself for his own forgetfulness, but ah, what can he do about it? After all, they’d ended up getting something fun out of all of it!)

It’s the same atmosphere that Viktor had seen in the video, but to see it for himself, in person… it’s completely different. Viktor isn’t sure what he expects when he asks, “Who were you thinking of?”

What had he been expecting? For Yuuri to beam at him and say, ’Oh, just my very amazing and talented idol, Viktor Nikiforov!’?

’I was thinking about my soulmate.’ Yuuri’s words echo in his mind now, and Viktor sighs, rubbing at his bare left hand. How envious.

Viktor freezes, fingers tightening around his left wrist. I mean—I do the same. Of course. His passion is just… He hesitates, smoothing his bangs away from his face, part of him missing the weight of a longer length on his head. It’s just… interesting.

But teasing Yuuri, watching Yuuri, becoming delightedly baffled at his determination to utilize pork cutlet bowls, of all things, as his inspiration for eros…

Though it’s only been a few weeks, being around Yuuri has grown more and more addicting, and Viktor can’t help but feel as if some distinct part of him is slipping. Some part of him is drawn to Yuuri—and another piece holds a little fear for himself at what could happen if he continued to learn more and more about the man he left everything to coach.

It’s mainly because of that, that Viktor steels himself to try and ask once more for his soulmate to meet him, feeling grounded as he touches the pen to his skin. These were phrases he’d practiced over and over again, in notebooks, on pamphlets, and even on restaurant napkins. Viktor even has an exact picture of what he’d like to write somewhere on his phone, but he recalls the exact wording and characters from memory. In Japan for business. Ask one time. OK if ‘no’. Viktor’s hand twitches a little as he writes that part—a ‘no’ is not okay, but he’ll swallow the bitter pill of rejection for his soulmate if he has to. Again. Will you meet me?

Viktor has already resigned himself to be rebuffed once more, and is quietly resolving himself to love his soulmate no matter what, when he realizes his soulmate has already responded.

His heart leaps at the excitedly scrawled yes! written in messy Russian, but Viktor really couldn’t care less about the visual—his soulmate could have drawn out that potato-looking thumbs up again and Viktor would still be over the moon.

Viktor closes his eyes and presses his lips against the ink for a split second before penning out one last message to his love. I’m so happy.

— — —

I’m so screwed.

Viktor groans loudly, alone in his room in the Katsuki’s Yu-Topia save for Makkachin, who barks at his owner with increasing worry. It’s the morning after that catastrophe of an afternoon wake up call, and Viktor hasn’t seen Yuuri since dinner the night prior—who, Viktor had noticed, had been quiet, more so than usual, opting to stare at his hands rather than the steaming pork cutlet bowl placed in front of him. Which was odd, because wasn’t the pork cutlet bowl Yuuri’s entire reason for his performance the day before? But Viktor had to admit that he could relate—Viktor had been far too absorbed in waiting on any sign from his soulmate to fully pay attention to his surroundings, and had scarfed down his own bowl in record time before all but flying back to his room.

“Ah, Makkachin, what have I done!” Viktor wails, hugging the dog around his neck and burying his nose in the soft fur there. “They hate me! Years of poking and prodding at them for a meeting, and the day of, what do I do? I abandon them!”

Makkachin licks worriedly at Viktor’s face, whines increasing in volume. Viktor struggles to keep his own voice down, all too aware of the fact that his pupil, the man he was supposed to be coaching, the man he spent the night cuddling with, could walk nearby or into Viktor’s room at any moment. Just in time for a full-out, uncharacteristic Nikiforov breakdown, Viktor thinks sullenly, gently pulling Makkachin close. The poodle sniffs at Viktor’s face as if to gauge whether or not his owner was finally through with his theatrics.

In all honesty, Viktor hadn’t meant to stay the night. It hadn’t been until well into his military haircut spiel that Viktor noticed that Yuuri had fallen asleep right then and there, no doubt having passed out from the excitement and the exhaustion of the day. It had been late too—Viktor had waltzed in near midnight after seeing Yuuri’s lights still on, fully intent on berating his pupil for not sleeping, and had been completely and totally sidetracked the minute he’d seen Yuuri’s blushing face.

Somewhere in the middle of all the hair ruffling, Viktor remembers part of him feeling like he’d just gotten himself into trouble, and the next thing he knew, Viktor was carding his hands through Yuuri’s hair like a teenage boy experiencing his first bout of puppy love.

I am in love, Viktor thinks grandly, flicking his hair away from his face, with my soulmate!

Yuuri’s eyes, crinkled from laughter, flash in his mind, and Makkachin barks at his owner incredulously when Viktor sprawls out on the floor, ears turning a bright red.

“Hmm,” Viktor says to his dog, the couch, the ridiculously expensive lamp in the corner of the room. “Complicated.”

Makkachin sighs as if in agreement, flopping down next to Viktor and looking thoroughly done with his owner’s dramatic antics.

“Makkachin,” Viktor says suddenly, “pen!”

Makkachin opens his mouth and yawns straight into Viktor’s face.

“Hmm,” Viktor says again, mouth dipping into a frown. “Rude.”

He ends up having to get one for himself, and flops down onto Makkachin, who gives him a good natured nibble on the shoulder.

“‘I am sorry’,” Viktor recites to the back of his dog’s head, smiling graciously, “‘for leaving you alone in the place where we agreed to meet, alone, where you waited, alone—‘“

Viktor allows himself one Russian curse word, before slapping the pen down to the floor next to him. “Do I even know the Japanese word for alone?”

Viktor closes his eyes. How could he have gotten himself into this mess? He was twenty-seven. Years and years of victories upon victories, and he chooses something different and then—

Yuuri. Viktor sighs, recalling the feel of Yuuri’s hair in his hands and the sound of the other man’s laughter. Yuuri hadn’t laughed like that in front of Viktor before that night, had he? Viktor tries to recall, but all that pops up is Yuuri’s constantly startled, blushing face.

Well. Maybe I’ve teased him a little too much, Viktor thinks, feeling slightly chastened. But he’s just so adorable!

Again, Viktor truly hadn’t meant to stay the entire night. But even after Yuuri had fallen asleep… Viktor’s mouth twists in equal parts childish frustration and embarrassment. Seriously! To have allowed himself to flop down next to Yuuri and just watch him sleep… Viktor’s face smooths out into a goofy smile. He hadn’t recalled ever being that peaceful in a long while. Viktor’s face scrunches up again. Maybe Yuuri’s face had a calming effect equivalent to the feeling one gets watching a goldfish swimming around in its bowl…?

A low woof is all the warning he gets before Makkachin nips on his hand—hard.

“Makkachin!” Viktor gasps, betrayed. He sits up, staring at his poodle with no little amount of shock. “No premium dog food for you!”

Makkachin pants and leans forward to lick at Viktor’s left hand, and Viktor all but snatches it away when he sees ink, his heart leaping into his throat.

“Nevermind, you get all the treats you want,” Viktor amends distractedly, eyes already scanning the words there. It takes him a little while, because this time all the Russian words have been haphazardly traced into some semblance of a full sentence, and Viktor’s heart goes out to the soulmate he has never even met.

I’m sorry I did not go. I couldn’t get there. Please don’t hate me.

Viktor narrows his eyes, thoroughly confused. They hadn’t been able to make it either? In an instant, Viktor feels as if a weight has fallen of his chest, and he eagerly responds the best he can.

No! Couldn’t go either. I don’t hate you!

A long pause, and then: Really? I’m so relieved…

So am I. Viktor bites his lip, tapping his pen on his knee. His hand has already filled with a smattering of Russian and Japanese from their brief exchange, and still he struggles to find words in both languages that can best convey what he wants to say. Viktor is so eloquent in Russian, and isn’t half-bad either in speaking Japanese or English, if what his fans are saying is true. But never before has he had to struggle to convey a simple message through writing. There is so much Viktor could say, so much he could have figured out by now… if only language hadn’t been such a difficult barrier to overcome.

Viktor taps his pen on his lips thoughtfully. Though… did he even actually want to know more about them? The thought nearly has him reeling, but Viktor can’t deny that there is some truth to it all—in all the years he’d been in contact with his soulmate, Viktor had never seriously attempted to get to know them past their location. But their name, their gender… Viktor frowns. All a mystery. Yes, he’s desperately wanted to meet them for quite some time, but there was no way around the realization that he wholeheartedly enjoyed the idea of a soulmate, the mystery surrounding it, and the pining. Viktor straightens himself up into a cross legged position, smoothing his hair back agitatedly. Had he ever even thought about what would come after the meeting? The girl from his secondary school days pops up in his mind after years of trying to ignore her words, and Viktor feels the tiniest current of unease run through him.

“Let’s meet, let’s meet,” Viktor murmurs to himself, frowning. “‘Let’s meet’, I say, but I don’t even know what happens after that.”

Would they be willing to move to Russia? Viktor likes Japan, but… would he be willing to stay for someone he will basically just have met?

Now, Yuuri, though. Viktor would stay for Yuuri.

Viktor curses his brain quite soundly.

Of course Viktor would stay for Yuuri. Because I’m his coach! Viktor thinks, rather proudly. He’s going to win the Grand Prix with my help and experience.

He hasn’t known Yuuri long, but Viktor can tell that something is there, underneath the shyness and the anxiety. There was something special about Yuuri, and Viktor was looking forward to seeing his growth as a skater.

But first… Viktor looks down at his hand to see that nothing new had been added to the conversation. His soulmate was obviously waiting for a reply, and Viktor sighs before penning down a solid looking, Let’s try again.

“Vicchan! Breakfast!” Mama Katsuki calls through the door, and Viktor bounds up to slide it open, genial smile already in place.

“Good morning!” he coos, smile growing wider when Yuuri’s mother beams back at him. “It looks like I woke up just in time!”

“Yes, yes!” Mama Katsuki replies, bustling Viktor and Makkachin down the stairs. “Yuuri has already started eating, I’m sure he’s excited to start his first day of official training!”

Viktor hums in agreement, feeling his heart pick up speed at the sight of Yuuri quietly munching away at his breakfast, eyes down. Still quiet, actually. Viktor cocks his head, feeling a little confused. Didn’t Yuuri get his pork cutlet bowl last night in celebration? Shouldn’t he at least look a little bit happier?

Yuuri startles when Viktor slides into a seated position across the table, but smiles when Makkachin sidles up to him to place a fluffy head on his shoulder.

“Good morning, Yuuri—I hope you got a good enough night’s sleep?” Viktor smiles gently when Yuuri’s cheeks tint a light pink. Still cute. And far too easy too tease, but Viktor pauses and internally scolds himself. Maybe in moderation then, he amends cheerfully.

“Good morning. I did,” Yuuri replies, smiling weakly. “I think I’m just a little sluggish, but I promise I’ll be fine as soon as we get started. His left hand comes up to scratch at his head sheepishly, and Viktor freezes. “I'm a little tired but I’ve been looking forward to being coached by you, Viktor! So…”

Yuuri could have been suddenly spouting the words to the Russian National Anthem, and Viktor wouldn’t have registered it at all because—

What. Viktor blinks, hard, his eyes following Yuuri’s hand as it settles back down to disappear behind the table.

What—?

“Yuuri,” Viktor says tightly, keeping his voice carefully cheerful. “You seem to have a message from your soulmate.”

“Wha…?” Yuuri turns bright red when he looks down at his hand and realizes what Viktor means. “Oh, n-no, I’ve already seen it! I’m sorry for just blatantly showing it off, I’m not actually trying to show off or anything, it’s just that we were talking, and I wanted to keep it their messages for as long as I could…”

Viktor beams, feeling his cheek muscles begin to hurt. “I don’t mind. It all depends on how you feel about it—I’ve known people who are rather private about it, but I don’t get too bothered if someone catches a glimpse once in a while.”

“O-oh, I don’t mind either,” Yuuri agrees, waving both hands in the air, and Viktor’s smile stays plastered onto his face even as his eyes hungrily follow the glimpses of ink he sees. “I mean, we actually don’t have too many conversations because of the language barrier, so…”

“Hmm?” Viktor’s voice sounds like it’s risen about two more octaves higher than usual, but in his fluster, Yuuri hardly seems to notice.

“It’s pretty interesting, I mean, we had some… misunderstandings… recently,” Yuuri says, quieting down, “or something like that… But still, I’ve learned some of their language, and it’s been interesting.”

“Interesting,” Viktor echoes. Makkachin pads around the table to settle himself against Viktor’s side, and Viktor carefully buries his left hand into Makkachin’s fur as he beams back at Yuuri, who looks incredibly, adorably embarrassed. “Yes. It seems that way. I couldn’t help but notice that it was Russian on your hand—“

“O-oh, yes!” Yuuri says. “What are the odds, right? They live in Russia. Maybe you or Yurio have met them before I have!” He laughs nervously. “Just kidding…”

“Possibly,” Viktor replies. Is his smile still on his face? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his hopes have suddenly been elevated so fast that Viktor is surprised they haven’t left a visible hole in the roof above them. “It’s alright if it bothers you, so you can say no, but may I see? I’m just curious as to how you two communicate.”

Yuuri’s face turns an alarming shade of red, and he visibly hesitates, eyes flicking up at Viktor and back down to his hand.

Viktor desperately needs to know. Still, he forces himself to make sure his smile is gentle as he waits, and eventually Yuuri gives him a shy smile, and slowly presents Viktor his left hand, and Yuuri’s coach leans forward to stare intently at inked skin.

“We have trouble communicating, because writing is much more difficult than speaking,” Yuuri says, and Viktor hazily thinks, Yes. Yes it is. “So that means I don’t really know much about them.” He frowns, looking a little sad. “At all. But I’ve learned some Russian, so that’s my handwriting in Russian, right there. Sorry if it doesn’t look very right, I had to kind of rely on a store bought dictionary…”

Viktor wants to fling himself across the table and lock Yuuri into an embrace even as much as he wants to smack both their heads together, because really. Seriously. How could they have been so blind?

“I… think your Russian looks fine,” Viktor says, eyes still glued to the words, both his and Yuuri’s, an exact transcript of the conversation on Viktor’s own left hand. His hand flexes in Makkachin’s fur self-consciously.

“Thank you!” Yuuri beams, and Viktor smiles right back.

Yuuri is mine, is all Viktor can think. Mine, mine, mine.

“Amazing,” Viktor says instead. He presses a finger against his lips in thought (his right hand, naturally. His left stays hidden in Makkachin’s fur) and snaps his fingers decisively, making Yuuri jump.

“What an incredible love story. No wonder your eros was so convincing during the Hot Springs on Ice!”

Yuuri visibly blanches at that, and Viktor feels a tiny pinprick of confusion, before it’s washed away by his own resolve. “Well. I think it’s time to get ready for training,” Viktor says cheerily as he stands. He picks up Makkachin like a ragdoll, ensuring that the poodle’s paws are carefully covering any glimpse of his inked hand.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Oh, I’m plenty satisfied,” Viktor replies, jauntily stepping towards the door, Makkachin dangling happily in his arms. “I’ll give you a while to get ready before we begin our warm-up, yes? I’ll meet you at the door in an hour!”

“A-alright,” Yuuri answers shyly, and then Viktor is out the door, so deep in his own thoughts that he hardly realizes where he was going.

Was Viktor still going to take his coaching seriously? He scoffs inwardly. Of course. However, were Yakov’s accusations that Viktor was a selfish man entirely false?

Once he slides the door of his room shut, Viktor sets Makkachin down and stares down at the back of his left hand. No. Not so false at all.

Viktor smiles, eyes hooded, and he presses the back of his hand against his lips once again.

Even if Yuuri only thought of Viktor as his idol, he still had to have Viktor on his mind a majority of the time, especially now that Yuuri saw him every day. He was sure of it. However… Viktor didn’t think he liked sharing a headspace with Yuuri’s vague idea of another person as his soulmate.

With all the hesitation and unsurety lifted clear off his shoulders, Viktor feels as light as a bird, all prior confidence restored.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, gently flopping down onto his bed and raising his hand in the air. “You can wait a little while longer, can’t you?”

Viktor solemnly decides that the only time that Yuuri was ever going to find out about their connection was after all he could think about was Viktor, and only Viktor.

He laughs suddenly, and Makkachin settles himself into the bed next to his owner, cocking his head inquisitively. Viktor pats his dog on the head, feeling absolutely elated. “I can’t wait!”

Chapter Text

Yuuri doubles over, hazily watching as one drop of sweat slides down a strand of his hair until it falls with barely a sound onto the ice beneath him.

It’s the fifth time—the fifth time he’s tried to land a quadruple salchow, and the combination of nerves and exhaustion is slowly getting to him. Yuuri’s bones and muscles ache thanks to the strain and the impact of falling on hard ice, and he straightens himself back up with a groan.

“You always seem to fall out of your jumps when you’re thinking about something,” calls out a lilted voice. “Isn’t that so, Yuuri?”

Yuuri allows himself just a few more long seconds of staring at his skates before turning around to meet the eyes of his coach. Viktor leans back on one leg with his arms crossed, staring at Yuuri with unreadable eyes. As soon as Yuuri looks up though, Viktor switches to one of his kindest smiles of the day, and Yuuri feels his face begin to heat up from something other than exertion.

“Y-yes,” Yuuri replies, looking down to brush the ice away from his pants as an excuse to look away. “I’m also just a little tired, but I’d really rather power through than end it without landing a single one…”

“Mm,” Viktor says in lieu of actual agreement, and is still smiling affectionately when Yuuri looks back at him again.

Viktor has been… weird, to say the least. Weirder? Something about him had seemed a little different than usual since their breakfast together. Actually, Viktor hadn’t even eaten any breakfast. He had told himself to shrug it off, especially since Viktor’s advice and coaching had still been sound throughout the morning. And after all, Yuuri was pretty sure all of Viktor’s quirks were a Viktor-thing, since Yurio certainly didn’t act as oddly or flamboyantly as the older man did.

Still, it wasn’t even a matter of flamboyancy. Viktor already had a penchant for skin ship, and as odd as it was, Yuuri was slowly (but very slowly) beginning to get used to it. But the sudden appearances of a quietly sincere Viktor throughout the morning had began to take Yuuri off guard, and even his lighthearted touches had suddenly seemed to feel heavy with meaning.

Which was ridiculous—Yuuri ran his hands through his hair in an effort to shake off some of the sweat, watching detachedly as more droplets fell from his hair. Shouldn’t Yuuri already know that all of Viktor’s actions were borne out of his usual easygoing affection? The man treated everyone and everything with the same amount of cheer. But… Yuuri shook his head, enjoying the feel of the cool air of the rink against his neck. He had to admit that Viktor really only ever initiated actual physical contact with him so far. Had he ever done that with Yurio? Yuuri presses his hands against his lower back and arches in attempt to work out some of the kinks from his last fall. Has Viktor ever acted like that with other skaters? Yuuri suppresses an inane surge of jealousy. Even if he had, it wasn’t any of Yuuri’s business—

“Yuuri, as much as I’m enjoying the show, I think you should get back to practice.” Viktor sounds highly amused, and his grin widens when Yuuri’s head whips around to stare at his coach in shock. “Give me one last try, and then we’re calling it a day. Judging from what I’m seeing, I think someone needs a relaxing bath in the hot springs.”

Yuuri’s face goes from lightly flushed to completely roasted in barely a second, and he quickly presses a gloved hand against his face. “S-sorry! Sorry!”

“Enough of that! Let’s get ready for take-off, yeah? Or else your nickname really is going to end up being Aeroflot from now on!”

“Ah, no, no, no,” Yuuri says hastily, quickly skating to position. Viktor quiets, and the same gentle smile is back as his coach presses his fingers against his mouth in quiet observance. Yuuri swallows nervously, dragging his eyes away from Viktor and back to the flat plane of ice before him.

You always seem to fall out of your jumps when you’re thinking about something.

Yuuri inhales, one long steady breath, letting the cool air chill him and sharpen his focus. He tries to ignore the buzz that he gets from the knowledge that Viktor is standing there, watching him, and instead thinks about the speed and power he needs in order to make his jump.

His boots dig into his feet, pressing against the sorer spots, and the sweat on his skin is beginning to cool uncomfortably, but Yuuri ignores that too. His mouth tightens in a thin line. Yuuri barely lets himself think about it, pushing off with his good leg and plunging right into the jump. This one feels different from the rest—Yuuri feels lighter than ever, and his exhale as he lands is hardly a puff of air, his skates slicing against the ice with a crisp sound.

Yuuri looks up elatedly, expecting Viktor to cheerfully begin clapping, or maybe even just light praise, so he’s surprised when he turns and is met with a wall of black fabric.

“Wonderful, Yuuri, I knew you could make it!” Viktor cheers as he lifts Yuuri clear off the ice, and Yuuri yelps as his hands scrabble for purchase, falling to grip at Viktor’s biceps.

“I—thank you—“

Instead of being set down like he’d expected, Yuuri is surprised to find himself trapped in a bear hug as Viktor gleefully skates them both across the ice, and as Yuuri’s legs dangle in the air, part of him wonders if this is what Makkachin feels like most of the time.

“Very good, very good,” Viktor says in English, “a good end to a good practice! Of course, there is still improvement to be made, and don’t you remember what I said about your free leg? Also, now that you’ve gotten a rough landing down, we need to work out the technicalities of…”

Yuuri allows himself to be carted to the edge of the rink, the blush on his face at its lowest setting as he idly listens to Viktor chatter on. He’s listening, of course, as he always does, but Yuuri can’t help but let part of himself relax—Viktor doesn’t seem like a traditional sort of coach (after all, he only really had Celestino to compare him to), but he’s beginning to enjoy learning under Viktor in comparison to Celestino by far. Even if his coach does things like—

“Yuuri!” Viktor throws an arm around Yuuri as the younger man stands to sling his backpack over one shoulder. “Come with me to the ramen place!”

“The last time you went, you drank till morning,” Yuuri hedges mildly, beginning to smile in spite of himself.

“Ye-es, but that’s why you need to come with me! If I have company, I’ll be less likely to indulge myself in solo drinking! I can’t have you drinking either, not on the training schedule I have you on.”

“Yes!” Yuuri replies, eager.

Viktor beams down at Yuuri, and Yuuri can’t help it when his eyes widen in surprise as Viktor tugs him closer to his side. “Good enthusiasm!”

Yuuri laughs nervously, squeezing the straps of his backpack. He enjoyed Viktor’s company, but even so… having your idol around was certainly an experience.

Still, even if having Viktor around was a novel experience that sent Yuuri’s heart into a violent skip stepping rhythm on more than one occasion, it was impossible to ignore the real problem weighing on his mind.

Yuuri’s soulmate hadn’t initiated any contact past their Let’s try again, written in shaky Russian that Yuuri had to spend a little while poring over his dictionary to translate. His heart twinges at the memory, thinking back to how his soulmate’s penmanship could have been a good indicator of their emotions. Had their hand been shaky from relief, like Yuuri’s had been? Yuuri glances at his bare hands one last time before tugging his gloves back on.

If there was one thing Yuuri had to admit, it was that he was definitely bad at facing his problems head on. If one hoped to avoid calls by stuffing their phone out of sight and on vibrate, Yuuri covered his hands with his figure skating gloves most of the time now, and even avoided keeping a pen on his person unless he really needed it.

What was he hoping? That his soulmate would write something, and it’d wash or rub off before Yuuri could possibly see it? Or that Yuuri would see it, but not have anything to write back with? Yuuri gloomily stares at Viktor’s back as his coach led the way back to the Yu-topia on his bike. He shouldn’t be doing this, and Yuuri admonishes himself soundly, because doing that… wouldn’t that just make things worse?

The sudden squeak of the bike brakes rouses Yuuri from his stupor, and he plants his feet just in time to stop himself from crashing straight into Viktor’s bike.

“The moon looks pretty over the water tonight, Yuuri!” Viktor says, blissfully unaware of his pupil’s inner turmoil.

“Mhm,” Yuuri says noncommittally, squatting down to wrap his arms around Makkachin. The dog eagerly laps at Yuuri’s face, both their breaths combining into one cloud in the cool night air. He lets out the smallest of sighs and buries his gloved hands in the poodle’s soft fur, desperately missing Vicchan more than ever.

Suddenly, Yuuri feels a hand on his own head, and he looks up, startled. Viktor grins down at him before roughly mussing his hair, and Yuuri lets out an undignified squawk. “Hey—!”

“You landed one in practice, but are you nervous about landing it in competition?” Viktor says, and Yuuri realizes that Viktor has noticed his silence. Viktor continues to gently mess with Yuuri, bopping his head around like a bobble head as he continues to try to guess. “Maybe you’re missing your pork cutlet bowls? I did tell you that you’re going to win, so you’ve just got to work hard and be patient!”

“It’s not that,” Yuuri begins hesitantly, and Viktor settles down next to him, reaching around Yuuri to pat at Makkachin as well.

“Is it stress?” Viktor guesses again, glancing at Yuuri.

Rather than admitting his real worries, Yuuri opts to nod instead. It wasn’t really a lie, anyway.

“Well…” Viktor says slowly, “if there’s anything I can do to help, you’ve just got to tell me. I’m very good at these advice things, you know.”

“Really?” Yuuri replies, feeling the smallest of smiles begin to turn up the corners of his mouth. “Okay. I believe you.”

Viktor gives him a sidelong glance, mirroring his small grin. “Oh? You don’t sound so sure though?” In one swoop, Viktor has Yuuri’s hands in his own, and Yuuri reels at finding himself eye to eye with Viktor again, with only the barest of distances between them.

“I’m here for you,” Viktor says seriously, looking so solemn that Yuuri almost feels ridiculous for turning red this time, “and it’s my duty as a friend and coach to make sure nothing’s bothering you, Yuuri.”

“T-thank you,” Yuuri replies, feeling like his head was spinning. “Um… you can let go now.”

Viktor does let go… of one of Yuuri’s hands, leaving Yuuri’s other hand entwined with Viktor’s left as his coach settles down into a more comfortable sitting position. “I find that the best way to relax is to just listen to the ocean waves sometimes,” Viktor says, looking completely at ease with having Yuuri’s hand in his, even as the former struggles to form a single coherent sentence.

“You know,” Viktor continues, hardly ruffled, “the closer we become, the more I’ll be able to understand how you skate.”

“I guess… that there is some logic to that,” Yuuri says, flustered.

“But it’s true! A coach should understand every inch of their trainee, don’t you think?”

Every inch? “I-in a sense,” Yuuri stammers.

Viktor hums, and his fingers tighten around Yuuri’s. “Didn’t your previous coach spend time getting to know what makes up Yuuri? Besides the pork cutlet bowls?”

Yuuri sits back, stretching his legs out before him in a more comfortable position. He gives an experimental tug against Viktor’s hand, and is surprised when Viktor lets his fingers begin to slip out easily—Yuuri stops then, letting the tips of his fingers rest against Viktor’s palm even as his face burns. Bonding, right?

“I-I guess we did, kind of,” Yuuri says when it’s apparent that Viktor is waiting for an answer. “He did get kind of busy outside of training, and I guess we were only ever really able to ‘bond’ on competition trips. I don’t know if that counts, though.”

“It could,” Viktor acquiesces, and smiles as he watches Makkachin stand to settle himself back down in between Yuuri’s legs, pressing a fluffy head against the younger man’s chest. “Though I’m hoping by the time competitions roll around, I’ll have a better understanding of how you skate, Yuuri.”

“I see…”

“But anyway, I’m your coach now,” Viktor says, preening, and Yuuri cocks his head to the side bemusedly. “My methods are different, and I hope that you’re ready to handle it, now that you’re mine.” Viktor’s eyes slide to the side to gauge Yuuri’s reaction, only to look delightedly satisfied to see that Yuuri has blushed himself into silence. Again.

It suddenly hits Yuuri that he and Viktor are sitting on a sidewalk overlooking a beach at night, lit only by the soft light of the moon. No one else is in sight, and everything about the situation feels strangely… intimate.

Yuuri all but flings himself up into a standing position, and Makkachin lets out an upset whine at losing the warmth. Even Viktor looks slightly downcast, but smiles when Yuuri looks back down at him.

“We should go! The ramen place might close soon!” Yuuri says, trying his absolute best not to start stammering. Viktor hums in agreement, slowly raising himself back up.

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m certainly hungry!”

Yuuri keeps his eyes on his shoes as they continue walking, the only sound being the step of their shoes against concrete and Viktor’s voice as he recounts some foods that Yuuri “really ought to try someday in Russia”.

With as flustered as Viktor made him, Yuuri had to admit that he could definitely grow to enjoy having Viktor’s time all to himself. It was a little selfish but… for years, he’d only been able to watch Viktor through some sort of screen, wondering what the man could be like in person. And now that Yuuri knew what Viktor was like… well, Viktor was certainly much more cheerful than Yuuri could have probably imagined, but he was still enchanted anyway. And still, he should have expected it—aside from his talent, Viktor’s charisma was what made him popular even among the most casual of figure skating fans.

Yuuri glances at his coach, smiling when he finds Viktor still recounting the best restaurants in Russia. Yes, Yuuri certainly was lucky.

Yuuri idly watches his breath make tiny clouds in the air as he listens with half an ear to Viktor’s spiel, feeling his stomach suddenly twist itself into knots. If his time with Viktor was some of the best hours of his day, then the nights were some of his toughest. The worry and the want for success, coupled with the unwelcome (and sudden) memories of every one of his past failures… Yuuri rubs at his eyes irritably, feeling the eye bags more than ever. Not to mention the issue with his soulmate. Was it even an issue?

“Do you like fish? Oh, what am I saying, of course you do! You won’t have a problem with the smoked salmon at this place, but I want you to try our borscht, I want to see what you’d think of it… Also, at dinner you’ll have to let me know what foods you like! You’ve already introduced me to the wonder of pork cutlet bowls!” Yuuri is brought back to Viktor’s food talk by the arm around his shoulders, and he leans in a little despite himself, grateful for the warmth.

If his soulmate was the terrifying unknown, Yuuri could probably consider Viktor as the one who grounded him and kept him steady.

— — —

“My, Yuuri, your soulmate certainly is bold!”

“What?” Yuuri says, looking up blankly from his shoes. It’s the morning after his first day of practice, and his muscles still ache from the intensity of the day before. Viktor lounges against the doorway, thumbing through his phone and amicably patting Makkachin on his head as they both wait for Yuuri to finish putting his shoes on.

His mother leans down to point in the general direction of Yuuri’s neck, pressing a hand against her cheek cheerfully. “Normally I wouldn’t nose my way into things, but at this rate it would have washed off without you even noticing! Right there, on the back of your neck, there’s a little heart!”

Yuuri’s face flames, and he slaps a hand to cover the nape of his neck as his eyes automatically swing to Viktor to gauge his reaction. Oddly enough, his coach has his mouth covered with a gloved hand, looking intently at the screen of his phone as if it held all the secrets of the figure skating world. Who knows—with Viktor, it probably did. Yuuri’s just grateful he doesn’t seem to be paying much attention, and he turns to his mother with a sheepish look.

“Well, well, don’t worry, your father did much of the same when we were younger! Still does, I find the surprises to be the sweetest thing!” His mother giggles as she bustles off, leaving Yuuri torn between feeling slightly embarrassed at the information, and glad his parents were still as sickly sweet as ever. “Still, how bold!”

Yuuri watches her leave before letting his eyes slide back to Viktor, who had finally lifted his eyes away from his phone. When their eyes meet, Viktor merely smiles before turning on his heel and sliding the door of the onsen open. “Come, boys, we have work to do!”

Yuuri gives a final half-hearted tug on his shoelaces before standing, and by then, Viktor and Makkachin have already darted out the front doors. Yuuri stalls for a bit longer, pressing a hand to the back of his neck. A heart…? Yuuri gently rubs at marks he can’t see with an index finger, before bringing it back up to his eyes. He does find the smallest of smudges of ink on the tip of his finger, and he fights down another blush. Neither of them had initiated contact for a couple of days now, but maybe this was his soulmate’s way of leaving a reassuring message? They were probably busy, after all. But why put it somewhere where Yuuri wouldn’t have been able to see?

Yuuri finds himself keeping pace with Viktor’s bike this time, but just barely. In between heavy panting, Yuuri sneaks glances at his idol, still excited even with it being the second day. Viktor has that congenial smile on his face again, and his ears and nose are red in the morning cold. Or at least Yuuri thinks it’s the cold—all he can feel is his own body heat, especially the longer he runs.

“Hot, isn’t it?” Viktor says when his bike squeaks to a stop, and Yuuri lets out one final puff of air in relief at the sight of the ice rink.

“Oh… I thought it was a little chilly,” Yuuri pants, looking at Viktor from where he was doubled over. “Your… ears are a little red.”

Viktor’s eyes widen, one hand flying up to an ear. “Ah, yes—chilly! The heat I’m feeling must be from your shining enthusiasm, Yuuri,” his coach says, but for some reason it sounds more half hearted than usual. Viktor sighs as Yuuri stretches in place, raising his own arms in a stretch above him. “I didn’t think anyone would notice my writing…”

“Huh?” Yuuri quirks his head, barely able to hear Viktor past his own accelerated heart rate. Seriously, he hated running. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing!” Viktor replies cheerfully. “Now come on, Aeroflot!”

“Viktor!” Yuuri protests, even as he trails after the former. His coach beams at him, and Yuuri accepts the arm around his shoulder with only the barest of blushes. He even gives himself a mental pat on the back—if Viktor’s way of showing affection was through friendly touches, Yuuri can get used to that, right?

— — —

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Yuuri was about to combust.

“Yuuri!” Viktor says innocently at dinnertime, flopping down next to the younger man with a hand warm on Yuuri’s thigh. It’s suddenly as if their shoulders are glued together, and when Yuuri’s mouth drops open despite himself, Viktor takes the opportunity to gently press a serving of rice into his mouth.

“Yuuri,” Viktor coos in the hot springs bath, tugging Yuuri close with the excuse of helping him stretch out after a tiring day of training. Oddly enough, they have an audience again, and an old man seems to really like praying through the glass doors of the hot springs, it seems.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asks, before asking if they could watch a movie together, and they spend ninety percent of it talking about anything other than the movie playing in front of them. Which is nice, Yuuri thinks, and then his brain short circuits when Viktor falls asleep and his head lands on Yuuri’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to move and wake his coach up, so eventually Yuuri falls asleep too, and wakes up with mouthful of fur (courtesy of Makkachin), a crick in his neck, and an armful of a snoozing Viktor Nikiforov.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says thoughtfully, and brings Yuuri closer in order to tilt his chin up and examine Yuuri’s face. Wouldn’t Yuuri look good with eyeliner? Yuuri vehemently protests, and Viktor sighs, letting his hand slide against Yuuri’s cheek before he finally steps back.

“Yuuri!” Viktor whines when Yuuri attempts to roll his coach off his bed. No, they could not sleep together again and yes, Yuuri was sure. Still, Viktor playfully pins Yuuri to the bed again, messing with his hair in a repeat of the night of the Hot Springs on Ice. Yuuri would look better bald, after all! Maybe Viktor should shave it for him right now. Yuuri wails in faux terror, but his succeeding laughter subsides when he catches Viktor staring solemnly at him.

“Yuuri…” Viktor says right after that, voice low, and thumbs at Yuuri’s bottom lip. “Good night.”

Yuuri. Yuuri? Yuuri!

“What is happening.” Yuuri whacks his head on his desk in exasperation, but does it a little too hard, and regrets each and every little star he thinks he sees spinning around his head. Was it possible to get sick of your own name? Probably not with they way it sounded in Viktor’s voice. What was going on with him anyway?

“He’s on a whole other level of skin ship,” Yuuri groans into his desk, tapping a finger against the wood. Makkachin whines from his bed, and Yuuri’s head lifts up to regard the poodle, flicking back towards his doorway apprehensively. “Maybe you shouldn’t be in here,” Yuuri tells the dog regretfully. “Viktor might come in looking for you.”

Makkachin only barks at this as if affronted, and Yuuri hastily presses a finger against his lips to silence him. “Makkachin! Shh!”

The wood of his chair creaks as he lifts himself up to walk the few steps toward his bed. Makkachin only lets out a contented huff when Yuuri flops face first into soft fur, scratching behind one of Makkachin’s ears. He probably shouldn’t—his hair is still wet from his bath earlier, and he’s bound to end up having poodle fur stuck to his hair at this rate. But Makkachin is so comfy, and he reminds Yuuri of Vicchan. “Makkachin, is Viktor normally like this?”

Makkachin sneezes.

“I see,” Yuuri says seriously. “So he’s normally like this. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it, I don’t feel like it’s something he needs to stop…” Makkachin turns to look at Yuuri, giving him a long lick on the side of his face. “Oh, maybe you’re right! It’s probably weird! But is it bad if I said… that I kind of liked it?” Yuuri sobers, sitting upright on his bed and allowing Makkachin to scramble onto his lap like some kind of oversized lap dog. “I’ve never been this close with someone before, and I really like his company…”

Then what’s the problem? Makkachin’s head tilt seems to say. That, or he’s wondering why Yuuri has stopped scratching him behind the ear.

“The problem,” Yuuri murmurs as he resumes his petting, “is that we both have soulmates to think about.”

Yuuri buries his face in fur again, and Makkachin sighs, disgruntled that the petting has stopped yet again.

What was Viktor’s soulmate like? Yuuri turns to press his cheek into Makkachin’s neck, letting the curls of fur tickle at his nose. I bet they’re gorgeous, Yuuri thinks. Anyone who has Viktor has a soulmate is probably amazing. Anyone who has Viktor is incredibly lucky…

He stays there for a few beats until he can’t hold his breath any longer, and Yuuri gently sets Makkachin to the side in order to walk over to his desk for a pen.

Ridiculously enough, Yuuri’s hands are shaking, and he clenches and unclenches them before finally uncapping the pen. He’s torn—but even with all the turmoil he’d been putting himself through, he had to admit that he had to spend more time focusing on his soulmate, rather than… Yuuri shakes his head roughly.

Hello, he writes. How are you?

Yuuri hears footsteps approaching his room, and he glances up, fully expecting Viktor to waltz in. However, they stop abruptly, before beginning again and fading back away. Yuuri tilts his head quizzically, but it had probably just been one of his family members…

He shrugs and turns back to his hand, only to freeze. His characters had been abruptly scrubbed off, only the barest of gray shadows left behind from the ink. Yuuri’s mind immediately goes into overdrive, and he makes sure to check every inch of himself for any possible reply. Why—why had they—why did his soulmate erase his words without—

Yuuri reaches for his pen again, fully intending on writing another shaky greeting, when his door slides open, the back of it clicking loudly against the wall. Yuuri swings around, barely able to see Viktor through the tears in his eyes, and his coach freezes, his ready smile plastered onto his face almost comedically. It melts off an instant later, and Viktor looks absolutely shocked.

“Yuuri?”

“V-Viktor,” Yuuri whispers, mortified. He quickly rubs away at his eyes, turning away. “Sorry, this really isn’t the best of times.”

“I…” Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri sees Viktor’s eyes flick towards Yuuri’s left hand, wiping away at a stray tear, and his face seems to blanch. “Yuuri?”

“I don’t…” Yuuri pauses, at a loss for words. Why was he crying? Was it even worth crying over? There could actually be a plausible reason for his words being wiped off almost as soon as he wrote them, and communication between the two had been difficult in the first place.

But that’s why I thought every interaction was so precious, Yuuri thinks, feeling fresh tears well up in his eyes.

“Yuuri—“

“No, Viktor!” Yuuri snaps—then freezes. He and Viktor stare at each other in varying levels of shock, then Yuuri feels as if his tears have suddenly dried up thanks to the horror he suddenly feels. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Viktor looks down, pursing his lips. When he looks up, there’s a steely look in his eye, as if he’s decided something, and he motions for Yuuri to come and sit with him on the bed. Yuuri sniffles a little, but complies, and Makkachin hops onto the floor in order to accommodate the two.

“Is it anything I can help with?” Viktor asks solemnly, placing a reassuring hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri shakes his head.

“No… sorry… right now I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“We can talk about something else then. Also, if you want to relax, will you let me comb out your hair?” Viktor clicks his tongue gently, lifting up a damp strand of Yuuri’s hair. “You can’t sleep like this—also, you have some fur in it.”

“I knew it,” Yuuri says, laughing wetly. Viktor looks almost sad as his hand comes up to wipe away the last of Yuuri’s tears, and Yuuri blushes. “Sorry, I know I always tend to cry…”

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor says soothingly. “Can you come and sit on the floor? Grab a cushion if it isn’t comfortable. And do you have a comb?”

“Mm.” Yuuri roots around for it, and hands it over to Viktor as he settles himself in front of his coach. “It’s a little embarrassing… I’m just lucky you didn’t see me at my worst. This is nothing compared to my reaction after… the previous Grand Prix…”

“Emotions aren’t something you disregard easily,” Viktor retorts, injecting a smaller dose of his enthusiasm back into his words. “There’s nothing wrong with showing your emotions easily.”

“Embarrassing still,” Yuuri mumbles, already more relaxed at the glide of the comb through his hair.

“Well, whatever it was, just know that every problem has a solution,” Viktor says cheerfully, and he gives one reassuring tug at Yuuri’s ear. “It might take time, but nothing lasts forever.”

Yuuri hums, his eyes cracking open to stare at the low light of his desk lamp. “I hope you’re right.”

“I know I am.” Viktor pauses, a hand brushing Yuuri’s neck by accident, and Yuuri shudders lightly. “At least in this regard. I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

“Hm? For what?” Yuuri’s eyes close again, and he leans back into Viktor’s touch.

A camera shutter goes off, and Viktor’s hand pauses from where it slides against Yuuri’s hair. A pitched giggle erupts in response to two other voices hissing in reprimand.

“The triplets,” Yuuri says loudly, one eye sliding open to regard the cracked doorway, “are visiting today while their parents have a date night. But they really should be asleep by now.”

The giggling only grows louder, and the door snaps shut soon afterwards, the sound of three pairs of rapid feet pattering away.

“You would think they would know to mute the phone, at least,” Viktor says lazily, resuming his task of combing through Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri merely hums in response, letting himself sink back into relaxation.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, and Yuuri’s eyes open again at the low urgency he thinks he hears laced in Viktor’s voice. “I’m so sorry.”

Yuuri yelps when he feels Viktor’s arms pick him up off the floor to pull him straight back into Viktor’s lap, and his face burns at the feel of Viktor’s face burying into the back of his neck. “Viktor—?” The comb clatters loudly onto the floor.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispers. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“But you didn’t,” Yuuri says, squirming. His face feels uncomfortably hot, and he can feel the warmth of Viktor’s breath tickling the hairs at the nape of his neck. Viktor sighs, only making it worse. “Hey!”

Yuuri yelps loudly when he feels Viktor’s lips at the side of his neck, and he scrambles forward and out of Viktor’s grasp to fall flat onto the floor. “What are—what was that!”

“Yuuri—“

“No, nonono,” Yuuri says in garbled English, face aflame. “You don’t get to do that. You can’t! Don’t you care that you have a soulmate?”

“Yes,” Viktor says seriously.

“Don’t you think they’d mind? If they found out?”

At that, the corner of Viktor’s mouth seems to twitch. “Probably not.”

“Hey, stop smiling,” Yuuri scolds firmly, and Viktor’s tiny half smile falls as he nods back seriously. “Oh my god, you’re crazy.”

Viktor manages to contain himself for one second before blurting out, “crazy about you.”

Yuuri groans, burying his face in his hands. “I can’t do this… I know that you know that I’m attracted to you, I guess it’s been obvious, but I can’t allow myself to…”

“You are? Yuuri,” Viktor says again, gently tugging at Yuuri’s arm. “Please.” There’s a click of a pen uncapping, and Yuuri blinks up at Viktor confusedly. He only gets a second to register a pen in Viktor’s hand before he’s tugged forward and onto Viktor’s lap, all but falling against the other man’s chest.

“Hey, hey!” Yuuri gasps as Viktor quickly tilts his chin up. The tip of the marker is cold against his upper lip, and Yuuri freezes in shock. “You—purple?”

And Yuuri watches, shocked, as a swooping purple mustache appears on Viktor’s face, outlining his idol’s ridiculously shit-eating grin.

“Surprise!” Viktor says as he doodles a heart onto Yuuri’s cheek—and Yuuri knows that it’s a heart because he can see its exact copy popping up right under Viktor’s eye. Purple. Ridiculous.

“I only found out recently, I promise. Days ago?” Viktor begins, the purple mustache bobbing up and down ridiculously. “I only meant to wait until I could make you focus only on me—I wanted you to like me for me, rather than through some sort of… oh, Yuuri,” Viktor breaks off, distressed. “Please don’t cry!”

“You asshole!” Yuuri wails, hardly caring that he’s using an expletive against his idol for the first time in absolutely forever. “I was dying over my feelings for you and my soulmate, and you’ve known that you were both for days?”

“‘Dying’ is a strong word,” Viktor says mildly, pulling Yuuri further onto his lap. Yuuri hardly has the strength to resist, as weak-kneed as he’s become, and he can only push against Viktor’s chest with limp arms. “I’m sorry…”

“H-how did you… when did you—“

“When we were having breakfast, and you showed me your hand,” Viktor admits sheepishly, and Yuuri glares furiously through a fresh wave of stunned tears.

“I should just leave you, right now,” Yuuri says seriously, and Viktor shakes his head, burying his face in the crook of Yuuri’s shoulder. “Lucky for you, I’ve been waiting for you for forever.”

“Lucky,” Viktor echoes in agreement, and his head moves up to press warm lips against the side of Yuuri’s neck.

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispers, feeling absolutely stricken. “Why did you make me wait? You’re mine? You’re really mine?”

“Yes,” Viktor murmurs, nosing at Yuuri’s jawline. “Yes.”

“You should have told me,” Yuuri cries. Viktor tightens his arms around Yuuri, gathering him close.

“I know—I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to have to work on that forgiveness,” Yuuri says, trying to sound furious through his sniffling. “I just don’t want to… I don’t want to have to wait for you any longer.”

“Does it make you happy? That I’m your soulmate?” Viktor murmurs, finally looking up, and Yuuri can’t help but snort at the now-smudged purple mustache.

“I can’t… the mustache is distracting me.”

“Mm.” Viktor swipes at his thumb with his tongue and begins to rub at Yuuri’s upper lip. Yuuri blushes when Viktor deliberately presses his thumb against Yuuri’s lips, eyes half lidded as he comes closer still.

He wipes away at the heart under Yuuri’s eye too, and Yuuri watches, amazed, as it rubs off of Viktor’s face as well.

“I’ve never… seen it before,” Yuuri whispers. “So that heart at the back of my neck, that was you?”

“And all of the other times before,” Viktor says as he hands Yuuri the marker. “I wanted to surprise you and make it a happy occasion, but part of me wanted to make sure you only had me on your mind.”

Yuuri watches, mesmerized, as the line he draws down Viktor’s left forearm appears on his own. It makes him think back to junior high and tic-tac-toe boards. “I made you wait for so long,” Yuuri realizes suddenly.

Viktor sighs and leans forward to touch noses with Yuuri, smiling when the younger man’s eyes flick up to meet his. “You didn’t know, then. Besides, anyone would be nervous if their soulmate was writing in an entirely different language.”

“We could have written in English,” Yuuri murmurs, allowing himself to a relax a little in Viktor’s hold. “I went to Detroit for a few years, I could have written…”

“Maybe we were both scared to seek out alternatives,” Viktor suggests, and Yuuri startles a little at the feel of Viktor’s lips brushing against his cheeks. “I didn’t know what to expect if we ever did meet.”

“What about now? Are you… were you happy when you found out it was me? Or did you wait a little while longer because…”

“Yuuri,” Viktor interrupts, leaning back. “I came to Japan for you. Your video, your skating—I might have thought you were interesting, but the more time I spent with you, I thought you were amazing.” Viktor smiles, rubbing Yuuri’s tearstained cheek. “I was so happy when I realized you were mine. I took it a little too far, I guess.”

“The confusion was difficult,” Yuuri admits, voice low, and Viktor presses their foreheads together as he links his hands behind Yuuri’s back.

“It was stupid to wait as long as I did,” Viktor replies, smiling, and Yuuri finally feels the beginnings of a smile start to lift the corner of his lips. “Ah, Yuuri.”

“I think I’m dreaming,” Yuuri interjects seriously, and Viktor laughs delightedly.

“That would make me the man of your dreams! Such high praise, I can tell you’re already going to spoil me.” One of Viktor’s hands comes up to press against the back of Yuuri’s head, tugging him closer and closer. “I think if this was a dream, I’d never want to wake up.”

Yuuri can’t help it—he whimpers when Viktor’s lips finally press against his, and its all he can do to keep his hands clenched around the fabric of Viktor’s robe. Viktor, however, kisses just as how Yuuri would have expected him to; all skill and heated passion.

Viktor only relents when Yuuri begins to struggle for air, and even then Yuuri’s soulmate (his soulmate!) moves to press kisses all over Yuuri’s face. Yuuri barely gets his breath back when Viktor renews his assault, enthusiastically tugging Yuuri closer until Yuuri’s chest is pressing against his.

It’s almost too much for Yuuri—he feels himself arching backwards under Viktor’s eagerness, and links his hands together behind Viktor’s neck for purchase. He’s never kissed anyone like this in his life, and he almost thinks he might faint from the entire situation. It’s almost how ridiculous how safe Yuuri feels. He’s basically straddling Viktor as the latter bends forward until only Viktor’s arms keep Yuuri from falling onto the floor, and still Yuuri receives kiss after kiss.

He makes the mistake—or maybe it was a good thing—of letting his lips crack open for air in the middle of another kiss, and Viktor takes the opportunity to deepen it. It’s embarrassing, but Yuuri lets out a high whimper at the feeling, and Viktor’s hand strokes the back of his head soothingly.

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispers when he’s finally able to break free, and Viktor hums from where he’s buried his face in the crook of Yuuri’s neck. A nip has Yuuri squirming, and Viktor lets out a soft laugh. “Wait…”

Yuuri blinks gratefully when Viktor raises them back up into an upright sitting position, and his soulmate brushes away at Yuuri’s bangs. “Mm?”

“I think… maybe we need to slow down,” Yuuri says sheepishly, and Viktor smiles gently, eyes sweeping adoringly over Yuuri’s flushed face.

“Okay,” his soulmate says in English, pressing an innocent kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. “Whatever you’d like.”

Yuuri blushes when his eyes slide down to find that Viktor’s robe has fallen again, baring one shoulder. Viktor’s eyes follow Yuuri’s almost lazily, watching as Yuuri picks up the marker again and draws an unsteady looking heart on the pale skin there. With a mischievous smile, Viktor reaches up to tug down the collar of Yuuri’s own shirt, and both of them marvel at the sight of an identical heart.

“I doubt this will ever get old,” Viktor says, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri nods in agreement, his eyes sliding shut. Viktor’s breath flutters against Yuuri’s cheek, and his eyes open to find Viktor staring right back.

“One more kiss?” Viktor asks, smiling. “I know we have to go to dinner soon.”

Yuuri looks down and watches the rise and fall of Viktor’s chest, slowly raising his eyes back up to peek at a gently smiling Viktor. “Mhm.”

“Okay,” his soulmate repeats, voice low, his right hand coming back up to cup the back of Yuuri’s neck. “…I’m so lucky, Yuuri.”

Yuuri gets soundly kissed before he can even begin to reply, but as he drops the marker again to finally allow his hands to feel just how soft Viktor’s hair was, he couldn’t help but think that he had to be the lucky one to be able to have Viktor as his soulmate.

Chapter Text

When Yurio is granted one of his few rare breaks of the day, he doesn’t expect it to be spent agonizing over the two people he really should not be thinking about. At all. (Or so he tells himself.)

He can’t help it—every ping of a notification from his phone has him near violently snatching it up, ready to be relieved of this guilt, only to frustratedly chuck it aside after seeing just another useless text message.

Yuri shouldn’t care, he really shouldn’t.

He’d left Japan after the Hot Springs on Ice suddenly and without another word to Viktor or Yuuri, because the sight of them so grossly overjoyed was too much for his stomach to handle. (Or too much for his “teenage angst to process”, as Mila put it. He had childishly spat at her, then spent the next five minutes being tossed unceremoniously in the air.)

But even his abrupt departure and the ensuing feelings of beat-the-Japanese-piggy-into-the-dust did nothing to curb the beginning stirrings of guilt that had occurred over the next few days.

Yuri wasn’t heartless. He knew just as well as anyone the importance of soulmates, even if his own feelings towards the topic was complicated at best. And Yuri had just left without another word, fully expecting the two idiots to figure it out in no time. After all, living together? Training together 24/7? As much as it soured Yuri’s mouth to think about it, he had to grant them that, didn’t he? And Viktor had to have figured it out by now—even with the older man’s forgetfulness (Yuri grounds his skates into the ice), Viktor should have at least begun to realize that he was already breathing the same air as his damn soulmate. Maybe four eyes got the hint already too. And they were even going to meet their “soulmate” somewhere the day after the competition. There was no way for them to mess that up, was there?

Yet when Yuri touched down in Russia and threw himself into practice—with great spurring from Yakov’s terrifying ex-wife—he allowed himself to keep the tiniest bit of attention to his phone for a notification from Viktor. Or a news article. Anything, really. Viktor was one of the most flamboyant people Yuri knew… If Viktor had found out already, he would have had to blab about it to someone by now. He would have only had to tell one or two people for it to spread like wildfire through every news outlet on every inch of the globe.

And yet… nothing.

It’s been days, and Yuri is torn between a mix of smug satisfaction at the expense of two idiots, and guilt at having not at least told someone.

Yuri scowls. But really—it’s Not His Problem. Yuri pauses then to lean up against the ice rink’s barrier, furrowing his brows in thought. But maybe if Yuuko knew, then she’d be able to hint it to them… or at least tell Yuri if the two idiots had already “met” each other for the second time…

No. Yuri shakes his head before reaching up to pull back his hair into a sloppy half pony tail. No, that was one step too far, but… it was such an important topic…

Unbeknownst to Yuri, Yakov shoots him a confused look as the coach skates by to talk to Mila, looking worriedly at his youngest skater as Yuri agitatedly slams the blade of his right boot into the ice repeatedly.

Lilia looks up from her clipboard, narrowing green eyes behind her glasses. “Yuri. If you insist on spending your break vandalizing the rink, should we end it early and have you go straight back to work?”

Yuri straightens up in a most military-like fashion, arms at his sides. “Sorry!”

“Hm.” Lilia turns away again to pore over her notes, and Yuri lets the tension bleed from his muscles.

This had to come to an end. The only way Yuri should even be thinking about piggy-Yuri was in terms of crushing him in competition, not agonizing over his damned love life. Yuri pulls out his phone again, checking the time to confirm he had a few more minutes of free time left, before pulling up a new message to Viktor.

Oi, Viktor. Did you meet them?? Have you found out who your soulmate is yet???

Yuri pushes it into his pocket almost violently, stretching his arms over his head in an attempt to loosen up. Five seconds later, he whips out his phone again. It’s the Japanese Yuri, Yuri clarifies, wishing he had an iPhone so as to do that slam-effect thing that iMessage had. Anything at all to get the message across to the older man. Katsuki Yuri. That one.

Now, Yuri hands his phone to an even more thoroughly confused and disgruntled Yakov before skating over to the side of the rink Lilia leaned on, still focused on her clipboard.

“Ready,” Yuri states clearly, meeting sharp green eyes. “I’d like to get back to practice, please.”

He isn’t let off until hours later, and when Yuri pulls out his phone, it’s with slightly wobbling hands. Yuri is in the middle of a drink out of his water bottle when his bleary eyes register two replies from Viktor Nikiforov, and he spits it out onto the floor in front of him. (“Gross,” Mila tells him, affronted.)

Yurio, are you psychic? Wowow, how did you know!

I found out somehow the morning after Hot Springs on Ice! Yuuri has been soooo adorable, I can hardly stand it! Speaking of which, have you encompassed the meaning of Agape yet, Yurio?

Yuri nearly chucks his phone into the space in front of him and gets hoisted up by a furious Mila, thinking that he’d meant to throw his offending piece of technology at her. (“First you nearly spit water on my bag, then you assault me?” “I did not! Let me down, баба!!”)

Honestly, Yuri thinks as he straightens his clothes back into order. Those two were nothing but trouble. I’m sorry I even tried to get involved, Yuri decides, feeling disgruntled.

“Yuri,” Yakov says roughly as he passes. “We’re closing up, get ready to go home.”

Yuri grunts in reply before shouldering his bag. He wouldn’t say that he felt better, but… Yuri squeezes the strap of his backpack. Now, with the last of anything bothersome hanging over his head gone, he could focus one hundred percent on winning the Grand Prix.

Yuri steps out into the crisp air of the night, eyes skirting over the parking lot until his gaze falls on Yakov and Lilia, waiting by the car. A cold breeze hits his cheek, and he shivers, tucking his head down to his chest for warmth. At least, that’s his excuse. Yuri lets his eyes slide down to his bare hands for one long second before wrenching them back up and stepping forward into the cold evening air.

Just you wait.

— — —

Yuuko inhales sharply when she opens Instagram one day, and a picture of Viktor and Yuuri pops up to sear at her eyes. It was cute. It was domestic. It was a photo of Viktor combing out Yuuri’s hair, soft light from an off camera lamp gently illuminating the small smiles on both of their faces, and Yuuko was one hundred percent sure that this was one picture that was most definitely not taken with either of their permission. Especially judging from the soft intimacy of the photo.

That, and the photo was posted under her girls’ Instagram account.

“Azel, Lutz, and Loop!” Yuuko yowls, her phone slapping the kitchen table with a loud smack. She gives one second of thanks for her phone case before she’s distracted by three different colors of pajama sets darting into the room, their owners looking anywhere but at their mother.

“What—“ and Yuuko picks up her phone, “is this?”

“Yuuri!” all three of them pipe up, their cherubic faces finally swinging up to beam at their mother with faux innocence. “And Viktor.”

“Ye-es,” Yuuko says slowly. “And don’t you think that it’s a little rude of you to post a picture like this?”

“Why?” Lutz interjects, her head tilting. “They’re not dating. Besides, all the skating otaku will love it!”

Yuuko opens her mouth to protest, before clamping it back shut. Sure, they weren’t dating. They had different soulmates, didn’t they? But…

Yuuko glances at her girls one more time before picking up her phone to stare at the photo. Her eyes slide down from the screen to her wrist, where Nishigori had written Will be home soon an hour before. The chance that Viktor and Yuuri were soulmates was incredibly slim, right? But…

“They look good together,” Yuuko muses, frowning slightly.

“They do!” the triplets chorus.

“Who do?”

“Papa!”

Nishigori wobbles a little under the onslaught of his daughters’ affections, even as he sidles up to his wife to peek over her shoulder at her phone. “Hey, girls, you did it again, huh? Don’t you think it’s a little much this time?”

“They aren’t dating though,” Yuuko says, a bland echo of her daughter’s words. “So…”

“They aren’t?” Nishigori frowns. “I know this might sound a little weird, but I always thought…”

“That they were soulmates?” Yuuko turns incredulous eyes on her husband, who flushes lightly.

“Well, you never know! I mean, especially what with how often Yuuri had his hands covered in Russian when we were kids, and now a Russian comes out of nowhere? Granted, it’s Viktor, but doesn’t that just make even more sense?”

Yuuko stares slack-jawed at her husband, slowly processing the possibilities.

“Oh, my gosh.” Nishigori reaches up and gently closes Yuuko’s mouth with a finger, and she swats at him absently. “Oh, my gosh! They could be soulmates! Do you think they know? Oh, of course they have to know, I bet they knew from the very beginning!”

“Hey, wait,” Nishigori says hastily. “I said it was just a thought because it kind of made sense. Don’t get any weird ideas into your head now—“

“We’re going over there for dinner,” Yuuko says firmly, already punching in Yuuri’s number into her phone. Her daughters whoop delightedly, drowning out Nishigori’s sigh.

“Just don’t assume, okay?” Nishigori hedges, and Yuuko smiles at him.

“I’m not, I’m not… it’s just that, what if? You know? I just want Yuuri to be happy, and so… But I promise I won’t say anything to them, I just want to maybe watch them a little and see if—ah, hello? Yuuri! I was just wondering if…”

“You girls make a lot of things happen, don’t you,” Nishigori says thoughtfully to his girls, and they beam up at him with identical smiles of pure innocence.

“If you say so, papa!”

— — —

Yuuko leans into her husband to subtly whisper in his ear, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “I think that this was a bad idea.”

“You think?” Nishigori hisses out of the corner of his mouth. “Girls! Put your phones away, no pictures!”

“Yuuri,” coos Viktor, leaning into Yuuri’s space for the hundredth time, “do you want anymore sauce?”

“Ah, no,” Yuuri replies, smiling as if he didn’t notice that Viktor was basically falling into his lap. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Mm.” Viktor beams gently at him, tossing an arm around his shoulders. “So? How is everything? I suppose we hardly see you outside of Ice Castle Hasetsu, so it’s very nice to be able to get to know Yuuri’s friends better outside of the work environment!”

Yuuko is so transfixed by the arm around Yuuri’s shoulders that she almost forgets to answer his question. “Oh, well, we’re fine! We just had a wonderful date night, as you know, and I wanted to thank you for letting our girls stay over! I hope they didn’t bother you… too much…” The picture pops up in her mind, and Yuuko blushes lightly.

“That is, we were going to take you out to dinner as thanks, but we were really craving Yuuri’s mom’s food,” Nishigori says, picking up the thread of the conversation. “But next time, for sure.”

“That sounds fun,” Yuuri says sincerely, smiling at them both. “But it really was no problem. I know my parents enjoyed having them around too.”

Yuuko smiles even as her eyes stay glued to Viktor because—really. How was Yuuri not noticing Viktor’s blatant staring? All the words coming out of the Russian man’s mouth all might as well have been directed at Yuuri, with how little he’d been turning to face their guests.

And yet, Yuuko didn’t feel slighted. In fact, it almost felt as if she was the one intruding, and she had to fight against the urge to bashfully cover her face with her hands.

Yuuri’s mother bustles in at that point, much to Yuuko’s relief, and all eyes swing around to take in her cheerful smile. “How is everything? I’m so sorry we weren’t able to join you for dinner, but I’m sure Vicchan and Yuuri are being gracious hosts! Ah, Vicchan, do you want another pork cutlet bowl?”

“Of course!” Viktor cheers. “Thank you! Mama Katsuki is much too kind.”

“Oh, please,” Yuuri’s mother demurs, beaming delightedly. “Oh, Nishigori, what about you? You and Yuuko should have some more, don’t hold back!”

Yuuko smiles up at Yuuri’s kindly mother even as Nishigori politely declines her offer, when something catches her attention out of the corner of her eye. It’s the stillness—her triplets have never been that still before, and they all stare across the table with stars in their eyes. Yuuko’s eyes lift up just in time to catch the tail end of the chaste kiss Viktor presses against Yuuri’s cheek, and the latter leans away from Viktor, blushing furiously.

Yuuko flinches when both their eyes begin to move away from each other, and she dutifully locks them back onto her blissfully unaware husband and Yuuri’s mother, both still chatting aimlessly.

“Can we tempt you with dessert?” Viktor asks after Yuuri’s mother has ambled away. “Or drinks? I have some imported stuff that I think you’d definitely like!”

Nishigori laughs good-naturedly. “Oh, man, I hardly think I’d be able to handle some of that stuff!”

“You never know—“ Viktor breaks off to look down at his hand under the table, then up at Yuuri, who looks more nervous than usual.

“Yuuri?” Yuuko says concernedly, over her earlier bout of shyness.

“There’s… something I wanted to tell you both,” Yuuri says quietly, looking up at his friends with no little amount of bashfulness. “It might be a little surprising, but…”

“Yes?” Yuuko says, lighting up immediately. The table creaks a little as she and her daughters lean forward excitedly, pressing up against the low table in their eagerness. Viktor hides a grin behind his hand, glancing knowingly at Nishigori, who looks faintly embarrassed.

“Well, the thing is…” Yuuri hedges, finger coming up to scratch at his chin. “It isn’t a secret or anything, but I was just trying to find the right time to tell you guys tonight. Viktor and I…”

“Uh huh?” prompts Axel, lifting her phone like a recorder.

“We are… we…”

“Hmmm?” Lutz leans forward even more, until her tiny legs are almost lifted clear off the ground as she leans right across the table with big eyes.

“We just found out, just yesterday really, but Viktor and I are… we are…” Yuuri covers his mouth with his hand, looking terribly embarrassed.

“‘We are pregnant’?” mutters Loop, looking ready to tackle Yuuri for a straight answer.

“We’re soulmates!” Yuuri finally blurts out, and Yuuko and her girls bounce straight up into the air.

“Yes!” Yuuko shrieks, darting around the table to envelope both of them into a tight hug. Viktor looks absolutely delighted, even as Yuuri stutters, overwhelmed. “Congratulations, you two!”

“Congratulations!” booms Nishigori, looking both happy and relieved that Yuuri had finally gotten the news out. “This is amazing!”

Yuuri opens his mouth to say something else, only to startle when Yuuko begins to sniffle. “A-are you crying?”

“Yes!” Yuuko wails, feeling both overjoyed and ridiculously sentimental. “I’m so happy for you!”

The triplets have scrambled under the table to add themselves into the makeshift dog pile, and Viktor begins to laugh when one of them climbs up his back to wrap tiny arms around his neck like a monkey.

“Welcome to the family!” “Welcome! Welcome!” “Can I be the flower girl at your wedding?”

“Speaking of which,” Yuuko says over the subsequent protests of the other two girls, wiping at her eyes. “Have you told your parents?”

“Ah, yes,” Yuuri says, looking a little misty eyed himself. “They were happy. They didn’t seem very surprised, though.” He laughs a little wetly, and Viktor looks at him, starry-eyed.

Yuuko gives Yuuri another hug right before they leave, and leans back to look at Yuuri happily. “I’m glad that Viktor is your special someone. Don’t forget that the rest of your support system is right here at anytime though, alright?”

“Of course,” Yuuri replies, looking happier and more relaxed than Yuuko has seen him in a while. “I’ll be counting on you guys throughout the road to the Grand Prix.”

He and Viktor wave the Nishigori family goodbye from the entrance, and Yuuko bashfully averts her eyes again the minute she sees Viktor’s head ducking down to level with Yuuri’s.

“I’m so happy for them,” she tells Nishigori as they make their way through the crisp night air, looping her arm through her husband’s. He smiles down at her as he lifts her hand up to gently kiss the back of it.

“It definitely is pretty amazing,” Nishigori muses, watching his daughters dart around them eagerly as they compare photos. “Hey—what are you doing?”

“Just one second,” Yuuko tells him, opening up a new text message.

Yurio! she types, I just wanted to let you know… but I just found out that Viktor and the Yuuri here are soulmates! Isn’t that amazing?

Yuuko’s just about to tuck her phone back into her jacket pocket when it vibrates almost immediately. Yurio’s reply consists merely of several of the disgruntled looking cat emoji, with a I knew already tacked on right after them. Yuuko smiles again, though, when her phone buzzes half a second later with another notification.

Good for them though.

Buzz.

btw. Don’t forget to tell the Japanese Yuuri he’s going to lose. Bye.

— — —

Viktor leans forward, tapping a finger to his chin contemplatively. “Makkachin, do you think Yuuri would like a single rose? Or a bouquet with a variety of flowers?”

Makkachin yawns at Viktor’s feet before pausing to nose at something interesting on the ground.

“Maybe you’re right,” Viktor continues, “a single rose might be a little too cheesy… but would an entire bouquet be too flamboyant?”

He leans back on his heels and crosses his arms, breaking out of his reverie to shoot a small smile at the stunned looking flower vendor. People around Viktor have already begun to stop and stare, too, and Viktor knows it isn’t long before fan contemplations begin running wild on the internet.

But Viktor doesn’t mind—he doesn’t have anything to hide.

Beaming, Viktor leans down and picks up a bouquet he’d been eyeing for a while now, digging into his pocket to pay. Several high school girls gasp in the background, camera shutters quickly going off in an effort to catch the perfect picture of Viktor suavely holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Come, Makkachin,” Viktor calls cheerfully, relishing the sound of crinkling plastic as he gently gathers the flowers into his arms. “It’s almost time to meet with Yuuri!”

It had taken a very surprisingly small amount of effort to convince Yuuri to go on a date with him on one of their rest days.

“Sure,” Yuuri had said shyly when Viktor broached the subject. “I’d like that.”

“Okay! Your rest day has been changed to tomorrow, so we’re going on a date then!” Viktor replied eagerly, quick to gather Yuuri into his arms. Yuuri had merely laughed, snuggling in close…

Viktor presses a hand against his mouth to smother his smile at the memory. It wouldn’t do for a fan to catch a picture of him so off guard, would it?

Viktor glances at his watch before tugging out a small pen from his pocket. Viktor quickly jots down I’m on my way! on the back of his hand, making sure to end it with a perfectly drawn heart. Seconds later, his phone rings.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says immediately after he picks up, eyes softening. “Why didn’t you just reply through writing?”

“Texting is faster. Calling is fastest,” Yuuri replies, sounding slightly amused. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m at the park already.”

“You know how much I love seeing your handwriting,” Viktor whines halfheartedly.

“Well… I do too, like seeing your handwriting I mean,” Yuuri amends. “But sometimes, I kind of just want to… hear your voice…”

Viktor has to pause mid step to gather himself, pressing a hand against his widening smile once more. “Yuuri! So sweet!”

Yuuri sighs exasperatedly. “Viktor… I’m already embarrassed enough as it is!”

“You shouldn’t be!” Viktor replies, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “It makes me happy. I’m almost to the park, should we stay on the phone together?”

“No, no,” Yuuri says, voice suddenly sounding a little distant. Viktor frowns a little, wondering if the volume on his phone wasn’t working. “Ah, I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Viktor echoes, already feeling excited again. He tucks his phone in his pocket, beaming down at Makkachin. “First date with the soulmate! You’ll be our security for the day, won’t you?”

Makkachin barks in response to the warmth in his owner’s tone, bounding around Viktor’s legs eagerly.

Viktor is mid laugh when black ink catches his eye, and he looks down eagerly, sure that Yuuri changed his mind about writing. It looked like a completed message, so Yuuri had probably been writing while they’d still been on the phone. Was there something else he needed to tell Viktor?

Viktor freezes mid-step again at the sight of an unfamiliar phone number scrawled onto the back of his hand, and he has to remind himself not to squeeze the flowers too hard lest they break.

He stares down at it for one, two seconds, before Viktor suddenly darts forward, plastic rustling loudly in his wake. Makkachin barks, before excitedly taking off behind him, happy for the exercise.

Viktor wheels around another corner, almost skidding, when he spots Yuuri standing by the park billboard, very much alone. Still, he doesn’t stop running, and Yuuri turns in alarm at the sound of thundering footsteps.

“Viktor!” Yuuri yelps, and a second later Viktor has him in his arms, mindless of the flowers in his hands. “What—“

“Whose number is that?” Viktor asks lowly, turning his head to allow his lips to brush against the shell of Yuuri’s ear. Judging from the sudden warmth, Yuuri is blushing, and Viktor carefully moves to press a long kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. “Also, hello.”

“H-hello,” Yuuri squeaks. “It’s a number for a dog breeder. Posted on the board here? We were on the phone so I couldn’t take a picture of it, so I thought I’d write it down instead… Viktor? Can you let me go now?”

Viktor buries his suddenly red face in the crook of Yuuri’s shoulder, suddenly adamant that Yuuri not see the embarrassed blush that had overtaken him. Honestly…

“Did you think it was someone else’s number?” Yuuri asks, sounding suddenly amused, and Viktor squeezes him tighter. “Hey. That’s insulting.”

“Sorry,” mutters Viktor, moving again to press another kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. It moves upwards in a smile, one that Viktor finds is mirrored on his own face. “I guess I jumped to conclusions.”

Yuuri sighs. When Viktor leans back to look at his face, the younger man looks away. “I would never take someone’s number while we’re together!”

“Sorry,” Viktor repeats sheepishly. “It’s just that this is all so new, so I’m a little… I just want to keep you close, is all.”

“Okay, I can understand that,” Yuuri concedes, wrapping his own arms around Viktor’s torso. “I mean, I feel the same way…”

Viktor blushes, eyes moving adoringly over Yuuri’s face. “Oh! I got you flowers!”

Thankfully, they weren’t as crumpled as Viktor had feared, and Yuuri beams in delight. “But I didn’t get you anything! Will you let me pay for the lunch?”

“We can split on that, if you don’t want me paying,” Viktor says, pressing a chaste kiss to Yuuri’s lips. “You can treat me to dessert if you want, but you don’t have to. The flowers are no problem—I wanted to get them for you. But next time, I’m buying the meal for us both.”

“Mm. You can try,” Yuuri shoots back shyly, blushing profusely at the grin Viktor gives him.

Viktor hums contemplatively, admiring the way Yuuri’s cheeks tint pink. “You know, maybe we should just have an at-home date? Privacy? Hey, what do you think…?” Viktor is dying to cover Yuuri in kisses, but he’s already counted three or four people skirting around the edges of his peripherals, phones out.

Besides, the look on Yuuri’s face is enough to shake him out of his reverie, and Viktor leans back worriedly. “Yuuri?”

The frozen look on Yuuri’s face melts off, replaced with his usual flustered smile. “Ah—but, well, I was looking forward to our date,” Yuuri says. He glances downward shyly before stepping to Viktor’s left side and linking their arms together. Just like that, Viktor is on Cloud 9, and he eagerly tugs Yuuri closer.

“That makes me happy too!” Viktor says easily, and Yuuri blinks up at him.

“Lean down please,” Yuuri requests, and Viktor tilts his head before doing so.

Yuuri’s fingers are soft against Viktor’s face as the younger man leans up the rest of the way to initiate a kiss. Viktor’s eyes fall shut almost against his will, and he sighs against Yuuri’s lips.

There’s the sound of a camera shutter, and Yuuri breaks away in alarm (much to the dismay of a now-disgruntled Viktor) to stare surprisedly at a group of teenage girls. They squeak in alarm before darting away, their voices raising to chastise the one person who hadn’t had the sense to put their phone on vibrate.

“Why do people keep forgetting to silence their phones for a secret picture?” Viktor muses, feeling an odd bout of deja vu. Yuuri groans and pinches his nose.

“At least they didn’t leave the flash on. I think. Viktor, you know these pictures are going to be all over the internet starting now, right?” Yuuri looks worried, and Viktor smoothes a thumb on the furrow of his soulmate’s brow.

“I don’t mind,” Viktor says gently. “But does it bother you?”

“No… actually, it doesn’t really bother me,” Yuuri admits. “It’s ridiculous, but at least now people will definitely know that you’re mine.”

Viktor laughs in delight. “Now, a walk on the beach? Then lunch? Then dessert and coffee, yes?”

“Yes!” Yuuri replies, and his arm slides away from Viktor’s in order to reach down and link their hands instead. “I’d like that.”

Viktor is so, so in love.

“Anyway…” Viktor begins coyly as they walk in step, Makkachin trailing close beside them. “You want a puppy? You’ll make Makkachin jealous, you know. He really likes you. But if that’s what you want, I’m more than happy to get you a puppy. Two puppies? Five? Ten?”

Yuuri laughs. “It was only a thought! I don’t think I’m ready yet for another dog. I love Makkachin a lot, though… I had one almost exactly like him, only Vi—my poodle was a little smaller.” Yuuri’s blushing for some reason, and Viktor tilts his head to the side curiously. Vi…?

“Oh? I see… could you tell me about him?”

Yuuri perks up immediately, and the smile that Viktor adores is back in place.

“Okay, yeah! Well, V—I mean, my poodle was an absolute sweetheart. You and Makkachin would have loved him. There was this one time…”

Viktor listens closely as they walk slowly together, relishing in the sound of Yuuri’s voice, punctuated by the waves of the ocean in the nearing distance.

(Later, Viktor laughs when Yuuri receives a call from an irate sounding Minako, yelling about how she had to find out about their connection through the media of all things. Viktor secretly looks up the articles and saves each and every photo of him and Yuuri that he sees.)

— — —

The past few days have only been the beginning of the honeymoon stage of their relationship, and Yuuri was over the moon with happiness.

Years ago, a teenage Yuuri would have died just to get the chance to be in the same vicinity as Viktor. Heck, the Yuuri of the previous Grand Prix had been floored just by being addressed by Viktor for less than a minute. The thought of the encounter still sends Yuuri into a small bout of embarrassment, thinking about how he’d walked away in shame after Viktor had asked him if he’d wanted a photo.

And now that Viktor had situated himself as a constant in Yuuri’s life, Yuuri could barely remember the days prior to having Viktor as a coach, then a lover.

’Lover…’ Yuuri feels his ears burn red, and he glances up at Viktor from where he’s laid out on the floor. He’d been cuddling on the floor with Makkachin and browsing through Instagram, when Yuuri had stumbled on a photo of Viktor in the search page. It had caught his eye mainly because it was Viktor, and a throwback photo, too. Yuuri delightedly takes in the sight of a younger Viktor waving to a crowd, dressed in the exact outfit Yuuri had chosen from Viktor’s arsenal of clothing to wear for Eros.

Wow… this brings back memories of when I first saw him perform this program, Yuuri thinks dazedly, absentmindedly rubbing his face against Makkachin’s soft fur. Viktor looked so beautiful here, too… I wonder if I’m carrying off the outfit just as well as he is.

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri tears his eyes away from his phone to look up at Viktor again. Yuuri’s soulmate lounges on his ridiculously expensive sofa, an opened magazine resting against his leg. It seems largely ignored, too—Viktor looks as if he’d been staring at Yuuri for a while now. “Don’t you want to come up here?”

Yuuri’s face burns even as he locks his phone—after making sure to quickly screenshot the photo, of course. Yuuri is extra careful when he moves to step over Makkachin (the dog had looked so betrayed that one time Yuuri had accidentally stepped on his tail), and quickly settles himself down in place right next to Viktor.

“I meant here,” Viktor says, pouting as he pats his lap. The magazine quickly sails from Viktor’s hand to fall ungracefully to the floor, and Yuuri follows its path almost apprehensively.

To say that Yuuri was still shy around Viktor was an understatement. Sure, all the time spent with Viktor during and training and free time had helped ease his feelings of idolization. But it seemed like finding out that his soulmate was indeed Viktor Nikiforov was enough to send Yuuri’s heart back into overdrive, especially when they were alone.

Viktor was Yuuri’s first serious… anything. Yuuri had known of Viktor’s existence since he was young. Those kisses at the reveal had been Yuuri’s first.

Was it the same for Viktor?

Yuuri eyes Viktor’s outstretched arms for half a second before he scrambles in, carefully situating himself on Viktor’s lap. It still feels embarrassing, but Yuuri adores being in Viktor’s arms, and Viktor always seems so happy whenever Yuuri was affectionate right back…

One example being that exact moment. Yuuri can’t help but laugh when Viktor sighs contentedly as he wraps one arm around Yuuri, the other coming up to gently run through Yuuri’s hair. In turn, Yuuri relaxes fully against Viktor, turning to rest his cheek against Viktor’s shoulder, nose brushing the side of his neck.

Yuuri liked Viktor. A lot. Probably even love, as early as it might have been to say… but still.

But that didn’t mean he still didn’t have a few of his worries leftover. For one thing, Yuuri was most definitely inexperienced in the more intimate aspects of a relationship, and just the thought of it left him wracked with nerves.

Not to mention the fact that it pulled up a plethora of questions concerning his soulmate. Viktor was twenty-seven. If he was counting right, Yuuri hadn’t made contact until Viktor was around the age of… seventeen? Yuuri tenses a little, and Viktor murmurs a tiny questioning sound as he moves to nuzzle at Yuuri.

Rather than answer, Yuuri tilts his head to brush his lips against Viktor’s jawline and feels his soulmate’s hand tighten against his side.

“Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs, and his low voice sends chills up Yuuri’s spine. Or—oh. It was Viktor’s other hand, having detangled from Yuuri’s hair to trail slowly up and down his back, catching along the thin fabric of Yuuri’s shirt. “What’s wrong? Do you want a kiss?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Yuuri lies, turning his eyes away. “But, well… I guess I wouldn’t mind a kiss.”

Viktor eagerly nips at Yuuri’s ear once, eliciting a surprised shudder from the younger man, before moving to trail kisses from the corner of Yuuri’s eye. He tilts Yuuri’s head upward, pressing his lips against Yuuri’s skin until he finally brushes against Yuuri’s mouth. It’s soft at first, hardly even a kiss.

Rather than wait, Yuuri’s hand snakes up to lightly press against the back of Viktor’s head, and the latter chuckles even as he allows Yuuri to press them closer together.

Viktor was so good at this kind of thing, and Yuuri feels another twinge of worry even as his lips move against Viktor’s. Had his soulmate had any partners before Yuuri? Not that Yuuri would ever love Viktor less if he had—Yuuri lets his lips part, almost desperately tilting his head to deepen the kiss. He would never even consider thinking less of Viktor if that was the case. But Yuuri was only human… of course he’d be jealous. But still, he wanted to know… but should he?

Viktor leans back suddenly, and their lips part with a wet pop. Yuuri lets out a small sound of confusion, and Viktor smiles as he thumbs at Yuuri’s lips.

“You seem a little distracted. Or… are you just tired from today’s training?”

“Yes, I’m just tired,” Yuuri says quickly, grateful for the excuse.

“Then shall we sleep?” Viktor asks, already moving to lift Yuuri up. Yuuri laughs, squirming out of Viktor’s hold to stand and grasp at his soulmate’s hand instead.

“You’re not princess-carrying me to bed! That’s just embarrassing!”

“But it’s only us! And Makkachin!” Viktor whines, even as he allows Yuuri to tug him towards the bed. “And Makkachin wouldn’t tell anyone, I promise.”

Yuuri snorts as he flops down into Viktor’s bed, burying his face in the pillow to hide his oncoming blush. Ever since that first reveal, Yuuri had finally agreed to sleep with his soulmate (in the same bed as Viktor, that was all!), which had overjoyed Viktor immensely.

And Yuuri had almost expected something more to happen, especially in the following few nights after that. But other than a few sleepy kisses, Viktor had been more than content to curl up around Yuuri, sandwiching Yuuri between himself and a very warm and fluffy Makkachin.

The click of the lamp resounds in the room at the same time the sound of cloth hitting the floor meets Yuuri’s ears, and Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut. This part was always when it was hardest for Yuuri to stay calm because—

There’s a rustle of sheets as Viktor slides into bed next to him, and then Yuuri’s being turned and pressed into a soft expanse of warm skin. “Good night, Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs, snaking his hands up Yuuri’s shirt to press against his back, and Yuuri all but melts into Viktor, face burning.

“G-good night,” Yuuri replies softly, lips brushing Viktor’s bare chest. Viktor tilts his face up again for one last kiss before going quiet, his soft breathing making Yuuri’s bangs flutter lightly.

Yuuri sighs. Viktor was so natural at this. The ease with which he moved into intimacy with Yuuri was startling, but then again, Viktor was just a naturally touchy feely person. But still, did it mean he’d had at least some experience with partners when he was younger?

And if he did, why didn’t he at least attempt to go any further with Yuuri? Was Yuuri even ready to do anything like that with Viktor?

Did he have previous partners? Was he seriously, really happy when he found out I was his soulmate? If he was, then why did he wait so long to tell me? Because I seem so inexperienced?

Yuuri grumbles frustratedly, turning anxiously against Viktor’s side, furiously cursing his brain. It was just ‘that time of the night’ where all his worries came rushing at him from all sides. Sleeping next to Viktor had kept them at bay though. Viktor absently moves to rub at Yuuri’s shoulder as he murmurs unintelligible words of comfort before drifting back to sleep.

This is ridiculous. I’ll just ask him about it tomorrow. We’ll talk about every single little thing I’m worried about, and it will be fine, Yuuri decides resolutely as he wraps an arm around Viktor’s torso. It will be fine.

— — —

It was not fine.

Yuuri stumbles a landing, nearly twisting his ankle in the process. Luckily, he saves himself by slapping a hand down on the rink barrier next to him, thoroughly bruising the palm of his hand but saving himself a hard landing on the ice.

Viktor tuts from across the rink, gently tapping his skate against the ice. “You need to be more careful, or you’ll really hurt yourself, Yuuri! You need to commit to the jump, because if you waver mid-air, you’re only going to botch the landing. Mentally focus!”

Yuuri groans, irritably wiping away at the sweat that had gathered at his brow. Grand Prix, Grand Prix, Grand Prix, Yuuri thinks almost viciously, straightening his back. Grand Prix, Viktor’s past, Grand Prix—wait. Yuuri slumps against the barrier as he rubs against his temple. Focus, Yuuri!

“Is something the matter?” Viktor’s voice sounds closer now, and Yuuri looks up into concerned eyes. “Did you hit your head on the barrier?”

“No,” Yuuri says, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Sorry—I’ll focus.”

Viktor hums contemplatively, looking over Yuuri with a critical eye as if affirming for himself that his soulmate really wasn’t injured. “Alright… Let’s try one more time, and with music again. Remember, you’re a seductive pork cutlet bowl who wants me to eat you, right?” Viktor leers jokingly, leaning forward and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Yuuri laughs and tugs at Viktor’s hand as he skates by to get back into position.

“Yes, yes,” Yuuri replies, inhaling deeply in an attempt to center himself. A quick glance at Viktor is all he allows himself before Yuuri kicks off, moving into the start of the program.

Everything goes well in the first half, but the the minute the second half begins, Yuuri realizes he just doesn’t have it in him to complete a jump.

The vibrant music continues on as Yuuri slows to a stop, and he raises his hand without looking at Viktor for fear of seeing disappointment in his coach’s face. “Sorry, I… can we stop? I can’t concentrate.”

The music clicks off almost immediately, and Viktor’s skates hiss against the ice as he makes his way over to Yuuri.

“I knew there was something wrong,” Viktor says, sounding lightly disapproving. “Didn’t I tell you? We need to work through each and every problem. Is it the program itself? Because I know you can do it—you’ve almost gotten it down perfectly. Are you stressed about finding the music for your free program?”

“That too, yes,” Yuuri admits, wincing a little at the reminder of yet another worry. “But it’s not just that…”

Viktor pauses, waiting, and sighs when Yuuri doesn’t continue. Viktor ducks down worriedly in an attempt to look at Yuuri’s downcast face. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri sees Viktor frown when he refuses to look up.

“Let’s head home, then,” Viktor says decisively, holding up a quelling hand when Yuuri looks up at him in alarm. “Don’t worry, I know you’re taking your training seriously. But even figure skating can be dangerous if you aren’t all here mentally.”

“I know,” Yuuri replies, skating behind Viktor to the rink’s entrance with a low flush on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to delay training…”

“Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs soothingly, smoothly dropping his coach persona in favor of cupping Yuuri’s chin softly with his hand. “Don’t you know? I’m here for you in support as your soulmate, and in guidance as your coach. If it helps, we could talk about it on our way home?”

Yuuri nods silently as his hand comes up to loosely grasp at Viktor’s wrist, gently trailing his fingers against the back of Viktor’s hand. Viktor’s eyes soften, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to Yuuri’s forehead.

Viktor stays close to Yuuri’s side as they make their way back to Yu-topia, choosing to walk his bike to the side rather than ride ahead. Makkachin, as if sensing how subdued Yuuri is, bumps against Yuuri’s legs every now and then, pressing his flank against Yuuri’s shin as if in an attempt to comfort.

“It’s embarrassing,” Yuuri says suddenly, squeezing the straps of his backpack. “It’s probably not even worth worrying about.”

“I don’t think so,” Viktor says contemplatively, rubbing at his chin. “Especially not if it bothers you that much.”

“It might bother you,” Yuuri admits, and Viktor’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

“Well? How would I know if that’s true if you don’t tell me?” Viktor says gently. Yuuri turns to look up at him. Viktor’s bangs hide one of his bright eyes, and Yuuri reaches up to push it away without thinking, relishing in the sight of both of Viktor’s eyes sparkling in the low light of the fading sun. They both pause mid-step (part of Yuuri gives thanks that the road is pretty much deserted), and Viktor’s hand catches Yuuri's before it can fall away, keeping it pressed to his cheek.

“Would it be easier for you to write it?” Viktor says softly, and Yuuri ducks his head in a shaky nod, his free hand already moving to reach into his pocket for the small pen he always keeps there.

Viktor kicks out the bike stand and moves to lounge against the small stone wall that lines the sidewalk, eyes gentle as Yuuri moves to follow him. He reaches out to tug Yuuri close until the younger man’s back is pressed to his front. “I’m not looking,” Viktor says softly, burying his face into Yuuri’s hair. “Go ahead and write.”

Yuuri’s eyes close for a tiny heartbeat, enjoying the feel of Viktor’s warmth around him, before he uncaps his pen and tugs a glove off with his teeth. He writes, and feels as if his heart is thundering in his ears when he finally moves to re-cover the pen, jostling Viktor’s arms slightly as he slides it back into his pocket. “Okay… I’m done.”

Viktor’s hand lifts from Yuuri’s waist to bring his hand closer to his eyes, and Yuuri clenches his hands around Viktor’s other arm, leaning his head back against Viktor’s shoulder. He bites his lip when Viktor tenses suddenly, and Yuuri feels hyperaware of Viktor’s arms around him, the cold bite of the slowly chilling air, and the feel of his glasses sliding down his nose as he tucks his chin to his chest.

“Yuuri,” Viktor breathes, sounding agonized, and Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t know that this was bothering you. I keep causing you pain, don’t I?”

“What?” Yuuri tugs himself free of Viktor’s hold to wheel around and regard his soulmate in shock. “That’s not—that’s not what I was going for! And besides, didn’t I cause you pain? You waited for so long, and it would only be natural to seek love if you didn’t think you had a soulmate! It’s me who’s being childish for letting something like this bother me!”

“That’s not true,” Viktor says sharply. “It would drive me crazy too, not knowing. And it does—but I’d only assumed that you’ve never…?”

“I was waiting for you,” Yuuri admits softly. “And even now, I don’t think I’m ready for anything too intense. Like, physically, I mean.” Yuuri blushes profusely. “But that doesn’t mean I’d ever… I would never be mad at you, if you’ve been with other people. I just want to know.”

“And I’ll tell you,” Viktor replies, reaching out for Yuuri. He’s quick to step back into Viktor’s arms, relief from already having admitted his worries reducing his limbs to jelly.

“There was a girl,” Viktor continues, voice low against Yuuri’s ear, “who didn’t believe in soulmates. She believed that we have the freedom of choice, and wanted me to choose her. I don’t think she had a soulmate at all.”

Yuuri tightens his hands in Viktor’s jacket, a twinge of jealousy making his stomach twist despite himself. “What… what happened to her?”

“Well, not having a soulmate isn’t completely uncommon, but I’m sure she was still lonely nevertheless,” Viktor replies, tilting his head back to regard the darkening sky. “I hate to say it, but I don’t know what happened to her. But this was when I was still pretty young, I believe, so her words stuck with me all throughout my teenage years.”

Viktor’s hand begins to play with the strands at the nape of Yuuri’s neck almost absently. “I… did have some partners. So I’m not completely inexperienced, Yuuri.”

Yuuri nods resolutely against the fabric of Viktor’s jacket. “I don’t blame you. I think you were right for doing so. It must have been lonely…”

“I know you were scared. I was too, even if I didn’t fully realize it. It’s a life changing thing, and she was right—what about the freedom of choice?” Viktor murmurs.

“Were you upset that your chance at choosing love had gone when you found out that your soulmate was me?” Yuuri asks sincerely, looking up to regard Viktor with clear eyes. “Is that why you waited? I don’t mean it in a bad way, I just… I’m just trying to understand.”

”Yuuri.” Viktor rubs his nose against Yuuri’s, looking almost agonized. “It was the best thing that had ever happened to me! The more time I spent with you, the more I realized that even if I did have a soulmate, I would still choose pork cutlet bowls over them anytime.”

They both laugh softly, and Yuuri noses back gratefully.

“I waited because I wanted you to feel the same way before you found out that your soulmate was me,” Viktor continues sheepishly. “I wanted you to think only of me, and not of some random idealized version of someone you hadn’t even met.”

“That ‘ideal’ version was already you,” Yuuri says somewhat exasperatedly. “I know I made you wait, but you were basically tormenting me! It was unfair!” His frown twitches into a half smile at the ashamed look Viktor gives him.

“Sorry,” Viktor sighs, “seeing your flustered face was also just too—ah, sorry,” Viktor breaks off at Yuuri’s admonishing look, smiling sheepishly again.

“Thank you,” Yuuri says instead, “for telling me all of this.”

“Well, thank you,” Viktor replies, doing his best to match Yuuri’s serious tone, “for listening.”

Yuuri smiles, already noticing the return of Viktor’s usual lightheartedness.

“I’m just glad we were able to clear it up,” Viktor says in response to Yuuri’s unasked question. “I’m happy that you aren’t worried anymore.”

“I do feel a lot better,” Yuuri murmurs, holding out a hand for Viktor’s. His soulmate smiles back, one hand grasping for Yuuri’s as the other reaches for his bike. Makkachin perks up from where he’d been napping, all too happy to follow his owners as they begin the walk back to the hot springs again.

Only now, Yuuri still doesn’t seem to be able to meet Viktor’s eyes—for a totally different reason. Every time Yuuri glances up to look at Viktor’s profile, he’s met with bright eyes staring right back, and Yuuri twists his head away, every single time.

His usual Viktor-induced blush seems plenty stronger than usual, and again, Yuuri is all too aware of his hand in Viktor’s as they make their way back home.

Even when they reach the entrance, they hardly say a word, and Viktor only moves to press a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek before leading Yuuri to dinner. The hot springs follows soon after, and the springs itself is deserted save for Viktor and Yuuri. Yet Viktor only sinks into the water an arms length away from Yuuri, finally speaking to start a lighthearted conversation that Yuuri is all too happy to reciprocate.

Still, the air around them feels more quieted somehow, and it lulls Yuuri into an almost a sluggish sense of comfort. It’s in the gentle look that Viktor keeps giving Yuuri, and in every time they brush against each other as they move to dress after their bath. Viktor is all softness, brushing back Yuuri’s damp hair even as he chats to Yuuri about a past skating experience, and Yuuri notes that his constant blush is mirrored on his soulmate’s high cheekbones.

Viktor is still chatting about something—about how Makkachin had helped to calm him down before a competition—even as he bundles Yuuri towards the bed, walking him backwards until Yuuri’s knees hit the mattress and he falls back into soft cushions.

Viktor stops talking then, and gently moves to lay beside Yuuri, stretching out next to him. Yuuri stretches out to grab Viktor’s hand, and brings it to his lips to kiss almost shyly. Viktor smiles, pleased, quick to mirror the motion.

“Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs, and the bedsheets rustle as Viktor repositions them both so that his back is to the headboard, Yuuri’s front pressing against his. Yuuri still feels terribly bashful, no matter how many times Viktor has brought him close, but leans in almost unconsciously to press his forehead to Viktor’s. Viktor looks almost dazed as Yuuri presses gentle kisses against Viktor’s face, moving from forehead, to nose, to cheek, until Yuuri’s lips are brushing against Viktor’s in a whisper of a kiss.

For a second, Yuuri is content to merely hover there, smiling at the impatiently furrowed brow Viktor gets when he realizes Yuuri isn’t going to move. Rather than wait any longer, Viktor meets him the rest of the way, lips already parted. Yuuri lets out a whimper at the contact, moving to straddle Viktor even more closely in a mirror image of their first few kisses.

The bed is soft against Yuuri’s knees, and he leans most of his weight there as he pushes further into Viktor’s embrace, shivering when Viktor’s hands find their way up the back of his shirt.

“I never went any further even after that first time we both knew we were soulmates,” Viktor murmurs into Yuuri’s ear before breaking off for another kiss, and the lowness of his voice has Yuuri attempting to duck away. Viktor holds him in place with a hand against the side of his head, mouthing at Yuuri’s ear in between every word. “I never went any further because I was waiting for you to make the first move, when you were ready.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, dumbstruck, still straining despite himself to put at least some distance between his ear and Viktor’s mouth. Yuuri was going to combust.

Viktor is relentless though, and moves away from Yuuri’s ear to claim his lips again, hands moving gently at the soft skin of Yuuri’s back.

“I don’t—I don’t think I’m ready, though—“ Yuuri says hastily, face pinking from something other than arousal, and Viktor pauses.

“I know, we’ll go slow,” Viktor replies, kissing along Yuuri’s jaw. “At your pace.” Viktor sits back a little to regard Yuuri with hooded eyes, arms spread open in invitation, and Yuuri can only sit and take him in for a moment.

“I… okay,” Yuuri whispers, and it takes all of his courage to press the edges of Viktor’s robe down until they pool at his wrists, baring a wide expanse of skin. Yuuri has seen his soulmate naked, many times before, but it was—it seemed like it was never something that Yuuri would ever grow to get used to.

“You can touch,” Viktor says almost coyly, looking up at Yuuri amusedly when the younger man presses his hands against his face. “There’s nothing to hold you back. I’m yours, after all.”

“That’s right,” Yuuri says, resolutely taking his hands away from his face. Again, Viktor is blushing too, and it makes Yuuri feel a hundred times better. “You’re mine.”

“Mhm.” Viktor closes his eyes when Yuuri presses his hands against Viktor’s skin, shyly moving to trail his fingers lightly over Viktor’s front. Both their breaths catch when Yuuri leans forward to press a kiss to Viktor’s collarbone.

All at once though, Yuuri leans back to cover his face with his hands again. “Wait, wait—pause!” he says almost hysterically, now moving to wave his hands in front of them both. “I need a break!”

“Well, I hope you’re not going anywhere,” Viktor interjects, sounding far too gleeful. “What progress!”

Yuuri makes a high pitched sound of distress, and Viktor laughs.

“Yuuri, stop,” his soulmate says softly, all seriousness once again. “At your pace, like I said. I’m just happy to have you with me at all.”

Yuuri sighs, slumping against Viktor’s chest and tangling both their hands together.

“You know, you’re so famous that I seriously thought I was dreaming when you appeared in my family’s hot springs.” Yuuri tilts his head to nuzzle into the crook of Viktor’s neck, and his soulmate sighs happily. “But when you said you were going to coach me, I would have done anything, paid anything, to get you to stay.”

“My, your dedication is so admirable,” Viktor replies, looking highly amused. “Well, since you admitted that to me, I can freely admit that I first thought you were the most adorable thing I’d ever seen.” He coos at Yuuri’s resulting blush, smiling when Yuuri looks away. Viktor pauses for a moment to reach under the pillows next to him to extract a pen they’d left there—there were pens everywhere around them now, in their pockets, in their bags, even scattered around each of their rooms. Yuuri takes it from him to shyly draw doodles on his own arm, glancing away from Viktor’s warm gaze.

“Hey, speaking of the coaching fee…” Yuuri pauses, glancing up absently to watch the ink spread slowly across Viktor’s arm, trailing down to his wrist. Viktor tilts his head questioningly, even as his eyes lazily follow the path of the ink on his skin.

“Mm?”

“How much is it going to be? I don’t want to cheat you out of an income just because…”

“Oh, Yuuri, you really think I’m going to charge my soulmate the price of a coaching fee?” Viktor laughs, carding his hands through Yuuri’s hair before sliding them to rest against the nape of Yuuri’s neck. “You’re so silly!”

“Oh,” Yuuri replies, burying his face in the crook of Viktor’s neck again. “I-I see, thank you—“

“I mean, not full price at least! Soulmates get a special discount of ten percent. By the way, interest has been building up ever since day one, so I hope you’ve got a sizable fund to back you up!”

Yuuri’s head flies back up, barely avoiding clipping Viktor on the chin, and his face is white from shock. “H-how much is it? If you’re willing, I-I could pay in segments, but I don’t think—“

Viktor laughs delightedly and bundles Yuuri close to his chest again, peppering his face with kisses. “Yuuri, Yuuri! I was kidding!”

Yuuri blushes violently and attempts to squirm away, smacking Viktor on his chest. “You—you did it again! At this rate, I’m going to end up not trusting anything you say—“

Viktor silences him with a kiss, pressing both hands against Yuuri’s face in an attempt to get him to pucker up. Yuuri resists for a grand total of one second, and applauds his own tenacity for another, before allowing himself to melt forward, wrapping his arms around Viktor’s neck.

“Mm,” Viktor murmurs when he finally pulls away to admire his handiwork. “I’m sorry. I just can’t get enough of your face whenever I do that!” At Yuuri’s scowl, Viktor flushes, a guilty smile on his face. “Ah… sorry. I won’t do it again.” Viktor buries his nose in Yuuri’s hair, nuzzling enthusiastically.

“At least, not too much,” Yuuri thinks he hears being mumbled into his hair, and he squirms roughly in in faux anger, even as he allows Viktor to keep his arms tight around his shoulders.

“I think I could take payment in segments though,” Viktor says once he finally gets Yuuri to settle down with gentle kisses in lieu of another apology. “The only way it would possibly cost you would be in terms of hours of sleep, but we can work that in with your training schedule.”

“What…” Yuuri stares blankly at Viktor, until it finally clicks in his mind, and Viktor laughs in delight again when Yuuri’s face turns bright red again.

“Just kidding. Like I said, whenever you’re ready. It’s your call,” Viktor says, gently bumping his forehead to Yuuri’s.

“Honestly!” Yuuri groans exasperatedly, flopping down and pressing a cheek against his soulmate’s skin. “I’m never going to get used to you.”

“I should hope not,” Viktor says, affronted. “I intend to keep this relationship as interesting as possible forever and ever.” Viktor goes quiet again, and Yuuri peeks up at him curiously. This time, the blush on Yuuri’s face is mirrored on Viktor’s, and Yuuri allows his soulmate to cradle his face in his hands. Viktor smoothes his thumbs on Yuuri’s cheeks and leans in to press a gentle kiss onto Yuuri’s nose.

“I really am sorry,” his coach begins, and Yuuri listens intently even as he enjoys the feel of Viktor’s touch. “I had never intended to cause you as much pain as I did… Yakov has always said I could be too selfish for my own good, but now that I have you… I know there are some things I need to be more aware of.”

Yuuri gathers up the pieces of his courage to stare Viktor straight in the eye with a steely gaze. “That’s right!” he admonishes, and feels a flurry of both remorse and delight when Viktor stares back with the saddest of puppy eyes. Honestly, they could even rival Makkachin’s. “What you did was really manipulative! I know you told me why, but still, I was so conflicted! Like I said before, you don’t even know how torn I was.”

“I know…” Viktor says, and his hands slide down Yuuri’s arms to grasp at his hands. “Or, at least, I understand now. I don’t know what to say…”

Yuuri’s eyes soften, and he leans up to give Viktor a gentle peck on the cheek. And then, when his soulmate is fully distracted, Yuuri slides one hand out of Viktor’s grasp and darts it down to Viktor’s side, where he delivers a swift and sturdy pinch.

Viktor yelps, loudly, and Yuuri relentlessly begins to tickle at Viktor’s sides.

“Mercy, mercy!” Viktor wails, and it’s Yuuri’s turn to laugh delightedly, even when he’s flipped over on his back by Viktor in attempt to put a stop to the tickling.

Viktor cages Yuuri, pressing both of the younger man’s hands into either side of the pillow, eyes narrowing in betrayal. “How mean!”

“That’s what you get!”

“Well, now I can get my revenge. Was that what you wanted?”

Yuuri snorts, squirming, and Viktor takes the opportunity to nuzzle right into the crook of Yuuri’s neck, nipping at the skin there. Yuuri laughs again, and, finding his hands free, wraps them around Viktor’s back again, clinging onto his soulmate for dear life.

“Ah, Yuuri, I love you!” Viktor coos, and Yuuri freezes. Viktor pauses and lifts his head, cocking his head and beginning to look worried. “Ah… well, I mean—I hope that wasn’t too rushed, but I—“

“I feel the same,” Yuuri blurts out. “Always, always, I’ve always admired you, and I’m so lucky I get to have the opportunity to love you!”

Viktor stares down at him, shocked, and it’s Yuuri’s turn to quiet nervously. His worries are assuaged when Viktor flops his full body weight onto him, pressing their lips together in a sound kiss.

“Mine,” Viktor murmurs. “Mine, mine, mine. Who cares about what connection? No matter what, I’m sure we were always meant to be.”

“How romantic,” Yuuri says, beginning to feel embarrassed. Viktor merely hums in agreement, and Yuuri follows Viktor’s hand with his eyes as the other reaches under the pillows to search for the pen that Yuuri had dropped into the sheets. He’s about to offer to help when Viktor finally finds it, and Viktor raises himself up above Yuuri on one elbow as he uncaps it.

“Still, I appreciate what the connection gives us. Lately, I’ve enjoyed seeing my handwriting on your skin.” Viktor smiles adoringly as Yuuri watches him draw a heart on his shoulder, and Yuuri’s eyes flick up to Viktor’s to see the same heart drawn in the exact same spot.

“Me too,” Yuuri agrees quietly, and closes his eyes at the slightly ticklish feel of the pen running across bare skin.

“With you and I working together, you’re going to win the Grand Prix.” It feels like Viktor is just drawing aimlessly across skin, and Yuuri stretches out a hand for the pen. At the cold feel of the plastic against his palm, Yuuri opens his eyes to lock eyes with Viktor, who leans down for another kiss. Yuuri’s eyes slide shut again to enjoy the glide of Viktor’s tongue and the soft feel of his lips, before he gently noses Viktor away.

“You’re so beautiful in and out of the rink,” Viktor says, and Yuuri replies, “beautiful? That’s you.”

Viktor laughs and presses down to rest his head beside Yuuri’s on the pillow, breath fanning across Yuuri’s face in a satisfied sigh at the feel of the pen on the back of his shoulder.

“What are you writing?”

“‘Viktor sucks’.”

“Ha,” Viktor says cheerfully. “You adore me! You’ve ‘always, always admired me, and you’re so lucky you get the opportunity to—‘“ Viktor yelps again when Yuuri chomps down on Viktor’s shoulder. “Ow!”

“Serves you right,” Yuuri says haughtily, and goes back to writing. Viktor chuckles, and his eyelashes tickle Yuuri’s cheek when they fall shut.

“Well, I’ll have you know…” Viktor yawns. “I thought you were the most inspiring thing when I first saw you skate my program… and I’m so lucky I came to Japan.” His voice trails off into a sleepy mumble, and Yuuri smiles. “I love you, Yuuri.”

Viktor is fast asleep before Yuuri can reply, and he caps the pen before carefully turning his head to press a gentle kiss to a sleeping Viktor’s lips. Yuuri is over the moon, and terribly, terribly happy. It had been a long road to get to where they were now, and with everything left unsaid and unwritten finally out in the open… Yuuri drops the pen over the edge of the bed and turns to wrap his arms around Viktor. Now with all of that out of the way, Yuuri can finally focus on giving one hundred percent on preparing for the road to the Grand Prix.
His hand comes up to trace at Viktor’s shoulder blade, where Yuuri knows the words he’d written in reply to Viktor’s declaration are mirrored exactly as they are on his own. Yuuri drifts off to sleep, lulled by Viktor’s steady breathing.

And I… Yuuri thinks drowsily, fingers tracing the characters that he can’t see, love you too.

I love you so much.