Chapter Text
Yuuri begins the morning with a new accomplishment.
He talks to Yamaji - yes, the fisherman - whom up till eight that morning, he had only been on a nod-and-smile basis with.
It is entirely awkward. He had planned to ask about his fishing activities (Excited? It's the tuna season right?), but the plan derailed once he tried explaining why he knew the old man's name.
Yamaji seems to take pity on him. After Yuuri tries to salvage the conversation by means of arm flapping and stuttered words, he shows Yuuri his container of fish bait.
...Yes, awkward. But Yuuri still feels quite accomplished when he finally parts from Yamaji and continues on his way.
When he gets to Ice Castle Yuri and Victor are already on the ice, well into their warmups. Everything is normal - Yuri grunts at him by way of greeting, and Victor voices his as is proper.
He does not comment when he notices Victor pulling his smile a little too tight at the corners.
...
By afternoon, Yuuri still does not comment. But he wants to. By the looks of it, Yuri wants to too - probably rudely. Still - they are all professionals on the ice, and so they remain silent under Victor's unusually strict instruction. Victor's coaching has always been strict - as both of them have come to realise. But today he is on edge, moving as if he is impatient in his own skin.
"Again," Victor says for the nth time. This time's again is edged with something restless and impatient. They take turns entering the spin again, and just when it looks like they have got it right Victor claps his hands sharply. They skate over to where he stands at the rink's edge to receive their lecture.
Later when they have both been run ragged to the bone, Victor finally calls for a break. He takes to the ice and launches into a choreographic sequence. It looks vaguely like the programs Yuri had said Victor had prepared for his next season at first. It soon begins to spiral into a complex, muddled series of jumps, spins and steps. Every move is executed flawlessly but there is an underlying feeling of chaos. It makes Yuuri nervous. Nothing about Victor Nikiforov has ever been chaotic.
Yuuri tries to exchange a meaningful glance with Yuri but the teen only continues watching Victor, a growing displeasure showing in his expression.
Later when Victor finally releases them from the practice session he asks what he had been trying to do.
"Oh, just trying out some things," Victor says carelessly. "I had to answer the call of inspiration. I am thinking of creating a program based on the Sakura. A story about a warrior perhaps, to capture that lovely metaphor you told me about. What do you think?"
Yuuri would think it was genius and amazing if only Victor did not look so agitated as he said this. Victor is an artist, but he is an artist that takes pride in himself as a work of art, not one that struggles with the weight of frustrated genius. So he says a hesitant, "Good. Sounds...good."
"It sounds stupid, that's what," Yuri says, adding his two cents. "You're supposed to be focusing on us, not you."
Victor stops abruptly. He looks surprised. "I am."
Yuri snorts, shoving past him to walk ahead. "No you're not."
The conversation only serves to bewilder Yuuri even more. But he keeps a tight rein on his questions.
The next day is not any more enlightening. Victor calls for an early break and takes their spot on the ice. This time, he spins out an entirely different choreography from the previous day. The only similarity is that same chaotic feel.
"I was talking to Yamaji this morning," he says, flushed and panting. "And it hit me. We're surrounded by the sea. What greater inspiration than that vast blue that stretches and stretches and never ends -"
"Oi," Yuri snarls. If you're gonna be a poet get off the ice. There's no room for aimless retirees here."
Yuuri flinches. Victor stares. But he lets them back onto the ice and they push through a few more gruelling hours.
Later, Yuri corners him over cold sandwiches. They stay rink side while Victor wanders off to speak to Yuuko.
"He did this beginning last season. Churned out programs like a damn factory. None were any good though. Full of restless angsty crap, Yakov said. He was so pissed."
Yuuri doubts those were Yakov Feltsman's exact words but he gets the picture. He bites into his sandwich half-heartedly. "Why?"
"Hell if I know. He's Victor."
Yuuri supposes that's a fair answer.
After lunch Victor's strictness increases twofold and he pushes them harder than ever. Half an hour after they were supposed to call it a day he still has Yuuri on the ice, drilling him in quads.
"Don't overthink it," Victor says for what must be the fiftieth time. He has been running through the jumps alongside Yuuri and looks worse for it. On his pale cheeks, the flush of exhaustion is a stark contrast.
"Right," Yuuri says. He is really tired but he is desperate to get this right, desperate to do something to chase away that tiny frustrated crease between Victor's brows. Yuri groans loudly from the side of the rink.
They prepare for the next jump. Yuuri can sense where Victor is now without looking. He follows his lead for the timing - three, two, one-
He pushes off and he knows that it's clean. As he comes down from the spin he anticipates the slick, sharp sound of a perfect landing.
It doesn't come. Or rather, it does, but a heavier sound is layered over it.
Thump.
Victor had fallen. The sound is louder than it should be, punctuated by a pained grunt. He skates over quickly, where the man is struggling to drag himself upright.
He is clutching his knee. Blood pounds in Yuuri's ears as he brushes Victor's hands away and presses searching fingers to the spot. He hisses, more surprised than pained and Yuuri breathes again. It's only a bruise.
"Oi." Yuuri's voice cuts sharp and dangerously low across the ice. He begins to skate - no, slice across the surface towards them.
"You knew you were too tired," he snarls accusingly at Victor. "You should have known you wouldn't make the jump."
Victor's mouth is a taut line. "I thought -"
"You thought!" Yuri barks out a harsh laugh. "Thought what? That your stamina isn't as shit as it really is, that your age isn't either? What the hell were you doing jumping over and over again like a damn jackal? Trying to reach the moon? Huh?!"
There is nothing Victor has to say to that, so he does not. Yuri turns on him instead.
"And you! Couldn't you have complained half an hour ago like a normal student?"
They stagger in a ragged line back to the inn later, Yuri several paces ahead to express his immense disgust with both of them. No one says a word.
Victor only says two words to him later, before they part for bed, "I'm sorry."
...
Yuri puts his foot down the next morning. No, really. As Victor and Yuuri move to walk around the dining table to leave, he plants a deliberate limb in their path.
"I'm taking the day off. Gonna help Mari run some errands for the inn."
This statement is even more surprising because it includes the word help. Victor and Yuuri can only stare.
Yuri points a toe at Victor's knee. "No point anyway. And I'm not gonna be coached by someone who's just going to jump themselves into an early grave."
"Fine, I'll just take Yuuri then," Victor says tersely. Yuri aims the toe at Yuuri next. "No you won't. He's with me."
"You are?"
"I am?"
Yuri aims a condescending look at Yuuri. "Man of the household, are you not gonna help your sis?"
"I -" Yuuri begins but stops abruptly when Yuri turns his iciest glare on him. It's not like he knew what he was going to say anyway. He glances down at Victor's knee.
"Alright."
Victor fumes but he agrees to go along. At least, that's what Yuuri takes his silence for. They sit in the back while Yuri takes shotgun beside Mari. This arrangement would normally send his heart flip-flopping, but today it is putting him on edge. He is hyper aware of Victor's every movement - an exhale that might have been a sigh, a leg crossing over the other, the corner of his lip pulled down into a sulky pout -
Yuuri forces himself to focus on what his sister is saying.
"- first stop is the morning market. You remember that one Yuuri? Around Yobuko...no, the daily one. Yeah, got to have a word with old man Taki."
"Taki...Taki jii-san? The one who sold shellfish?"
"Sells," Mari corrects. Then she adds in a lower voice, "Unfortunately."
"Mari-nee!"
She shrugs. "He's growing old. Keeps messing up the orders. We asked for crab, he gave us crayfish and charged double. Mom and dad are too nice so it's on me to rail into him."
The Yobuko morning market is the only one of its kind in Hasetsu - a collection of stalls down the street selling everything the town is famed for: seafood. The market is Yutopia's main supply source and Yuuri remembers accompanying his parents on weekend trips to top up their stocks. Now that he is reminded of its existence, he thinks he can nearly recall the smells, the sounds, the faces of regular sellers.
He secures a face mask over his face before alighting the car.
"Cold," he says when Yuri raises an eyebrow.
The market is as he remembered, if more crowded. Amidst local shoppers he sees the occasional red or blonde head of a foreign visitor. He glances at his own companions, silver and blonde, then back to his feet. He is starting to feel like a tourist himself.
Mari leads the charge, taking quick steps with a single-minded purpose. The three of them try to keep up, but there is so much to see. From all sides old, young, men and women beckon them with bird-like cries, calling out discounts and season specials. Seafood so fresh you could smell the salt of the sea off them lie neatly over ice in styrofoam boxes, while hot grills hiss and spit oil as they turn fresh catches into golden brown delicacies. Yuuri finds himself looking around him with as much wonder as the Russians. Like them, he feels like he is learning - but this is a lesson he has taken before.
Taki's stall lies somewhere in the middle. Behind the table Yuuri spots a tiny man with browned, leathery skin. His breath catches. The man is so familiar, with his toothy, lopsided scowl and the constant bobbing motion he makes with his head - but so unfamiliar at once too.
He feels nervous, all of a sudden.
"Taki jii-san!" Mari hollers as she draws close - partly to be heard over the din, partly to express her growing annoyance with his unsatisfactory service. Mari knows how to nurse a grudge. Yuuri hovers behind hesitantly.
"Mari-chan," Taki says, wrinkling the brows on his already wrinkly face. "Is it the tenth yet?"
"Nope. I'm here to complain. This month's order was -"
"Oh, who's this?" Taki peers over her shoulder at Yuuri. He squints. "Your boyfriend?"
Mari is horrified. "No. No, no. This is Yuuri, my brother. Remember him? Yuu-chan? He's come back."
"Yuu-chan?" He rolls the name in his mouth like he's tasted something strange. He hobbles out from behind to the front where he can gaze up at Yuuri properly. Yuuri fidgets terribly under the scrutiny. "It's been awhile, Taki jii-san," he says softly.
Taki's arms come up to poke his sides, making Yuuri squeak. The old man looks to Mari, "Yuu-chan was fatter. And smaller."
From behind them Yuuri thinks he hears Yuri laugh. Mari reaches out to pull down Yuuri's mask for him. "Lost some, grew some."
Taki makes a sound of recognition. He prods Yuuri in the stomach for good measure anyway. "Ah...yes," head bobbing furiously, he says, "Yuu-chan who danced, I remember."
"I...skate actually," Yuuri amends shyly. "Well, I danced last time too."
"Mm, yes...I saw the posters...very nice, very nice," Taki's eyes widen and his tone is almost wistful. "So big now."
"I'm twenty-three now," Yuuri says softly. It feels like an admission.
Taki does not say anything, he just continues to look up at Yuuri with big, searching eyes. With a start, Yuuri realises that he is the one looking down. Mari pulls his shoulder gently.
"Why don't you bring them around, I'll talk to him then go around the stalls and place orders." She tells him.
"Right," Yuuri says automatically. He gives Taki a tiny wave. "It was good to see you, Taki jii-san. I'm very happy you remember me."
"Come back again, Yuu-chan. Come again."
As Yuuri leads the Russians away he feels their questioning stares prickling at the back of his neck. When Yuri asks, "What was that about?", Yuuri presses his lips into a tight line and pulls his mask back into place. "Oh, just greeting an old acquaintance."
Acquaintance?
They pass a large sign for Hasetsu's famed fried squid and its stall owner who is luring customers in with the promise of freshly caught, freshly cooked squid. Yuuri directs their attention there.
"It's a specialty," he says fondly, looking over the massive piles of squid kebab stacked over the grill. "They use a special sauce, and only the softest parts of the squid."
Yuri edges closer, eyes wide and wanting. He reaches for his back pocket.
"Yurio," Victor warns.
Yuri hesitates a moment, then with renewed determination pulls a handful of change out, "High metabolism, remember? A little won't hurt." He gives Yuuri a sideways glance. "Can't say the same for piggy here."
Yuuri gives a mirthless laugh. He shrugs. "Wasn't planning to."
He really wants to though. He hasn't had one of those in forever.
He watches expectantly as Yuri takes a bite. The teen frowns a little at first, chewing thoughtfully and thoroughly. Then he takes a second bigger bite, bobbing his head in appreciation. "S'good," he says through a mouthful. As much as he likes to criticise, Yuri has had nothing but good things to say about the local fare so far. Yuuri considers this a victory.
He is about to lead them on when Victor reappears at his side. He didn't even notice he was gone. Victor holds up a squid kebab to his lips.
"Have some," he says. The instruction makes Yuuri blink. Wasn't he angry?
"I...can't," He pulls away but Victor chases his lips with the stick. "You know I put on weight easily."
Victor considers this. He moves his hand away and takes a bite of the squid himself. Yuuri watches with satisfaction (and a little envy) as his eyes light up with absolute delight. Victor gives a thumb up and pushes the half-eaten kebab back towards him.
"We'll split the calories," he says with a small smile. "You have your coach's permission."
This coming from the man who had promptly overhauled Yuuri's diet the day he arrived in Hasetsu. Victor had gone as far as to write up recipes for his mother, and emphasised very clearly to his family that Katsudon was off limits.
So Yuuri is more than wary of this gesture. He does not trust Victor to not add another two kilometres to his daily run or a hundred extra lunges to his workout programme for this one bite. But it smells so good and Victor is practically forcing it past his lips at this point so Yuuri gives in. He chews quietly, pointedly ignoring Victor's expectant stare as he relishes the taste.
When he finally nods Victor happily takes another bite before extending it back to him. Yuuri does not hesitate this time. Fried squid had never been a particularly favoured food of his but he thinks it might be now - if only for nostalgia's sake.
Victor gives Yuuri the last bit and Yuuri tries not to think too hard about the fact that Victor had just fed him and shared food with him. It's strangely intimate for two people who have not quite overcome the boundaries of unfamiliarity. Still, it fills his chest with something warm and Victor is beckoning him eagerly down the rows of stalls - and it is all so pleasant and new - so he decides not to think too hard on it today.
...
Things go downhill when Yuri spots the dancing squid and drags them over.
It is a delicacy yes, and is as much a part of Hasetsu as the sea that embraces her on all sides. But squid served up on a plate wriggling with as much life as it did in the sea is something Yuuri thinks he could never get used to, let alone try.
Phichit had once accused him of having delicate sensibilities, which made him roll his eyes. Yes, he is delicate, but right now he would prefer delicate as a daisy over gung-ho enough to swallow something that moves.
Westerners supposedly carry this same delicacy, but perhaps it is different for Russians.
Or maybe it is just these two.
"It's...so," Victor trails off. The stall owner is showing off for them, seizing a squid that has definitely not been dead for very long and arranging it on a plate already waiting with the appropriate accoutrements. As she pours the bowl of soy sauce over it, its tentacles begin to squirm in a very alive fashion. Victor and Yuri watch with equal parts mortification and fascination.
Yuuri can see the fascination winning out.
"And it's actually dead? I mean...it's so..." Words fail Victor once again and the stall owner explains in heavily accented but sufficient English exactly how this magical phenomenon occurs. She punctuates the rather graphic explanation by pushing the plate towards them.
Yuri is snapping away on his phone like some wildlife photographer - making rapid, awed clicks. He stops to meet Yuuri's stare. "What?"
"Just..." Yuuri swallows. "Are you really going to...?"
Yuri looks back at the squid - it is no less wriggly than it was two minutes ago. When he speaks he sounds almost childlike, "I...don't know. Victor?"
Victor still looks fairly mortified, but there is a spark in his eyes that Yuuri is beginning to learn to fear.
He decides an intervention is in order.
"I really think you shouldn't. Even I have never tried it." He sort of did, once. He was ten and Mari was insistent he embrace every facet of Hasetsu's charm. He managed to spit it out, but he would never quite forget the sensation of tasting something so deceptively alive on his tongue.
"Besides," he tries a different angle. "If you really want to taste it a restaurant would be better. Just to be safe." Yuuri has nothing but faith in the hygiene levels of the Yobuko market but he really needs to get them away from the squid. He glances at the stall owner.
"Sorry," he says in Japanese, pulling down his mask as he does so. "It's too unusual for them. Foreigners, you know?"
He gives her his best 'silly tourists, eh?' smile but it falters when she begins to squint suspiciously at him.
He is about to usher them all away when the stall owner gasps and points at him. "Katsuki Yuuri! Skater Katsuki Yuuri."
Yuuri freezes with his lips locked in a stiff smile. "Y-yes. That's me."
The stall owner wipes a hand roughly on her apron and all but forces him to take it in a handshake. It is still clammy and damp from handling the squid. He suppresses a shudder.
"Your posters - one is at the minimart near my place. See everyday," she says conversationally and Yuuri just wants to hide because she is still speaking English for some reason and he really does not want Victor or Yuri to understand this conversation.
"So you come back," she carries on, oblivious to his discomfort. "British was it?"
"America..." he answers softly.
"American, yes, yes," then she pauses to consider, "You skate yeah? Went big contest. Won gold, yeah?"
Yuuri all but shrinks into himself. He is vaguely aware of the stares they are catching, the ears that have stopped to listen. Everyone is waiting, but he has no answers to give.
"Oh, yes," a voice cuts in smoothly.
Victor slides an arm around his shoulder and tucks him into his side. "Yuuri will win gold this year. At a big contest."
The woman stares, her gaze drawing a triangle between Victor's face, Yuuri's face, then the non-existent gap between them. She goes back to Victor's face.
"You are?"
"His teacher," and he pauses to deliver the clincher. "I have five golds."
Then he unleashes Victor Nikiforov's trademark charm, with the wink, the smile, the hair that just swoops the right way - the works.
The effect is immediate and dizzying. Her mouth falls into a soft 'O' and she manages faintly, "Wow."
"And teachers know things," Victor says cheerfully. "And I know, Yuuri will win gold."
"...Wow," she says again.
Yuuri feels Victor's fingers curl into the flesh at his shoulder, non-threatening, but like intention, like a promise.
"Wow," Victor agrees.
...
Back in the car, Victor sits with a lap full of cartons containing dried somethings, and looking unusually cheerful despite the smell.
Mari had caught up with them at the dancing squid stall and wrangled them into carrying things. Yuuri was thankful for that on two accounts, one - it kept the Russians from trying the squid, two - he didn't know what he would have done if he had stayed there any longer.
Yuuri fiddles restlessly with the mask between his fingers and only stops when Victor places his own hand over them. He had not even realised he had been fidgeting.
"Was that why you wore the mask?" Victor asks. "So no one would recognise you."
Yuuri thinks that if he answers yes, he would have to admit to the fact that he has some fame. And Yuuri Katsuki does not deal well with fame. He has no other reason though so he remains silent instead.
Victor's hand tightens over his. The grip does not relent till Yuuri looks up again. Victor's expression is a curious thing - like he is trying to understand that which cannot be understood, and he knows it.
"What happened to you, Katsuki Yuuri? So little confidence..." he murmurs. He is drawing pensive circles over the back of Yuuri's hand and right now it's so hard not to pull away.
"Nothing happened," he manages to croak out. "I've just always been like this. Like...I'm-I'm just me."
"Isn't that enough?" is all Victor says, and he finally pulls his hand away. Neither of them say anything after.
On Victor's request, Mari drops them off at central - Hasetsu's mini shopping district. She looks at them suspiciously when Victor assures her they can find their own way back.
Victor is clearly in his element here. Armed with only a tourist map Mari gave him that is probably four years out of date - he leads them on a hurried jaunt down unfamiliar streets.
"So much to see," he says excitedly, nose buried in the map and legs eating up long strides along the ground. "Anywhere to recommend, Yuuri?"
Yuuri is focused on keeping up with Victor's stride. Beside him, Yuri makes small, rapid steps with as much nonchalance he can manage while doing it. "Uh...there should be a shopping complex around the corner."
"Really? Let's go!"
Yuuri regrets his suggestion as soon as they arrive. Victor immediately flocks to a bargain sale at a clothing store - likely drawn by the sheer numbers swarming towards it. He gets swept up into a throng of high schoolers and old ladies somewhere near the shoes section, later resurfacing fifteen metres ahead from where he disappeared.
He is the tallest, so it is not hard to spot him as he beams a dazzling smile at them over several heads and beckons them over.
"These prices," he says wonderingly when they finally manage to struggle to his side. "Is it legal?"
Yuuri checks the price tag of a jacket. 200 yen. Figures, Victor Nikiforov must have never walked into a bargain sale his whole life.
"There are nicer stores upstairs I think," he begins to say but Victor waves him off.
"Here, Yuuri!" A coat is thrown over his shoulders, followed by a scarf. Then Victor grabs him by the shoulders and twists him towards a mirror. They stare at their twin reflections. Victor is taller by only a little, Yuuri realises. If he just stood on his tiptoes, he would be just as tall. Tall enough to be eye to eye, nose to nose, and even their mouths -
"Hm," Victor hums contemplatively as he adjusts the clothes over Yuuri's frame. "This doesn't quite sit right," His hands skim down Yuuri's sides, beginning at the tops of his shoulders and tracing a line down to his hips. In the mirror, Yuuri stares at the spot where they rest just above his hip bones.
"Victor...what are we doing?" Yuuri asks tentatively as Victor peels the scarf off and buttons the jacket over his front.
"Finding you clothes, of course," Victor says distractedly. He removes the jacket too and puts it back on the rack. "This is not your colour."
"But why?"
Victor looks surprised. "Confidence begins with the body, Yuuri. Be happy with how you look, and you'll be happy with yourself." Then he shifts his body slightly, so slightly but it is an instantaneous change - he looks like power and beauty realised in just one man. His chin is tilted up slightly and he looks at Yuuri with a sparkle in his eye, as if to say - see?
Yuuri isn't so sure. But before he can argue Victor is already herding him out. At the exit, they spot Yuri making a purchase at the counter. He leaves with a bag full of clothes and a satisfied little grin.
"This eye knows a good deal," he says smugly. "No one will ever know the difference between this and the big brands."
As Victor drags them onwards, Yuuri wonders how two individuals with such matching skill and raw confidence could be so different in this one aspect. The teen did not blink twice at the price tags, he now recalls. It makes him wonder about Yuri Plisetsky.
On the higher levels, the shops are a little more expensive, and Yuuri is quite sure they were not there before. Victor makes a happy sigh when he spots them, and eagerly propels them towards the nearest boutique.
Victor shops like it is a sport and he is good at it- Yuuri quickly realises. He makes quick work of the shop, walks in a strategic circuit and flips through racks of clothing almost methodically. Occasionally he will hold up a shirt to Yuuri's frame, or himself, but the clothing is quickly dismissed and returned to its place. They burn through three shops like this and Victor looks intent on trying every shop down the row. It is endless.
Shop number five specialises in hats and Victor seems to think it worthy of a longer stay. Yuuri watches as Victor and Yuri try on several, grinning foolishly and making faces in the mirror. Victor experiments with all kinds - and because he is Victor Nikiforov, each looks like it is made for him. Yuri is pickier, and as far as Yuuri can tell, anything he chooses has to fulfil two criteria - suitably loud and brimming with insolence. He finally settles on a cap that looks just like that, and gives Yuuri a defiant stare when their eyes meet in the mirror.
"Yuuri!" Victor comes up to him looking unfairly good in a beanie. Yuuri has always thought that beanies made him look like a dumpling. Victor places something on his head, light, a little stiff, and with a brim poking into his vision.
"Look in the mirror," he says, and Yuuri does.
It is a fedora. Yuuri has never worn one. Phichit once mentioned they were too dandy for anyone's good. And Phichit would know all about dandy.
Victor adjusts the fedora on his head and makes a satisfied little sound. "What do you think, Yuuri?"
Yuuri is not sure what he thinks. In another dimension maybe he would look stylish, but in this one he is just plain old Yuuri. Nothing, least of all a hat can change that. Even if its a fedora.
"It don't think it suits me," he says. Beside him Yuri rolls a lollipop noisily between his teeth, making sharp, clicking sounds. He manages to look extremely unimpressed while doing so. "You're blind, duh."
"It's a compliment," Victor reassures him as Yuri wanders off. Yuuri remains unconvinced.
"See," Victor says, insistent. He raises a hand to push at the base of Yuuri's spine till it sits straight, while another comes up to raise his chin. "You're cute, Yuuri."
If the remark was not so unbelievable, Yuuri would probably be blushing down to his toes. Instead his face settles for pink and incredulous. "Cute?"
"Handsome, even." Victor winks. It looks like a little camera flash - dazzling and drawing the eye to it. Yuuri feels his own gaze pinned to Victor's face, unable to look away. Victor stares back at him. They stare at their reflected selves - side by side. They make an odd pair, framed by the mirror like a picture.
Yuuri looks away first.
This is what people will see from now on, Yuuri thinks. Yuuri and Victor. Victor and Yuuri.
He touches the hat brim, feels its velvety texture. It is nice. Soft. He remembers how Victor stood earlier in the first shop. How did he do it? Yuuri shifts his weight and tries to relax everything. He is not a naturally relaxed person, but if he pretends it is a dance, maybe -
Hip turned out, a knee bent gently. Spine tall, neck straight. Chin raised, eyes front.
He hears Victor inhale deeply, right next to his ear.
"That's right, Yuuri," Victor's words are a quiet, sure thing. Satisfied. Approving. An artist appraising his own creation. It makes Yuuri's skin tingle, gives him all the bravery he needs to meet Victor's eyes in the glass and hold it.
And when Victor says, "Beautiful," Yuuri believes it, even if it is only for that moment.
...
They did not buy the fedora.
By the time they board the train Victor is still pouting. Yuuri can tell, since he is sitting right next to him and the man is making no effort at discretion. Yuri sits two seats away from them, curled up fast asleep.
"It was nice," Victor says in a tone that is all too childish for a man his age. Yuuri rolls his eyes, and is surprised when he realises he did.
"I wouldn't wear it anywhere," he says.
"But you looked good in it," this time Yuuri blushes hard. Victor gives him a little knowing smile. "And you felt good, yes?"
"Maybe. But I'm not sure I want to rely on a hat for that."
Victor chuckles. "Perhaps not."
Yuuri turns a little in his seat to watch the scenery sprawling by as they pass. Victor mirrors the action, but he turns towards Yuuri, so their knees are pressed together. They sit like that for several quiet minutes, just watching the moving city spread out before them.
"Hasetsu is a nice place," Victor says suddenly. Yuuri turns his face sleepily towards him. The train carriage is quiet and empty except for the three of them, and Yuuri feels secure and warm right where he is.
He presses a cheek to the sun-warmed glass. "It is."
"You must have missed this place while you were away."
Yuuri stays silent for a long time. But Victor wait patiently till he replies, "Not as much as I wish I did."
Victor raises a questioning eyebrow in response.
"Five years is a long time," Yuuri keeps his eyes on the outside. "You get used to it. Not being home. Even if it hurts a little at first, you get used to it."
Yuuri hears Victor's quiet breathing beneath the rattle and hum of the train. Behind him, Yuri's sneaker squeaks against the plastic seat as he turns in his sleep. He closes his eyes.
"But now I'm back. Some things remain the same. Some things never change. But both those things make me wished I missed this place a little more. Then maybe I would have come back more. Or sooner. Maybe then I wouldn't forget."
In his mind he sees Sochi, and hears the shrill of his phone that would herald Mari's news. He thinks of a sweet, sweet dog that he would never come home to again.
He gives Victor a sad, wry smile. "The things we do for the sport."
Victor returns the smile with the same feelings written into it, and it makes Yuuri sigh happily. As unknowable as Victor Nikiforov is, they are skaters, both of them. And he can always be at least sure of this one connection.
"Five years is a long time," Victor says, smiling when Yuuri picks up on his own words repeated back to him. "Five years, five golds. Some would say that is enough, in some ways, it is. But there is always more."
Victor gives him a cheeky grin. "I'm a vain man, Yuuri. Even if I'm past my prime as a skater, I don't want to bow out just yet."
"You're not," Yuuri says firmly. Victor's eyes soften at the sureness in his voice.
"The other day when you told me about the sakura, it was so beautiful, yet so sad. You called them fallen warriors right? I felt like one. It's not the first time. I've felt this thing, hanging over my head like a ticking bomb for over a year now, but never as strongly as that day."
"Oh. I'm sorry," Yuuri says, eyes wide with guilt.
"No," Victor shakes his head quickly. "Don't. It's not a new feeling. It's not entirely pleasant though. I get so restless thinking how should I move from here, what I have to do. My mind is running constantly like time is chasing it - new ideas, new choreographies, new ways to surprise people. And it makes me so tired. But still, I hunger."
Hunger implies that there is something missing, something incomplete in a person or being. Yuuri has never looked at Victor Nikiforov and thought that he was anything less than whole. So hearing this admission from Victor is a sobering thing. It shakes the drowsiness from his mind and startles him with the intensity with which Victor is admitting this. It feels so intimate. Like a secret he stumbled upon and has no idea how to return.
Victor must sense his uncertainty for he breaks the tension with a little chuckle and a pat to Yuuri's knee. "So forgive me if I'm a tough coach. I just never want to see you - either of you end up like me."
So he pushes. Victor pushes because he sees time bearing down on all their backs clearer than anyone else. Yuuri thought he knew all the woes about a competitive skater's temporary-ness but Victor has completely overhauled that understanding. It makes him yearn for his youth - and that is sad - he is still so young.
Victor still looks a little melancholic, much like the night of the hanami, when Yuuri found him beneath the flowers and stars. Carefully, he lifts his pinky, just enough so that it touches Victor's.
"There won't be another quite like you, so I don't think you have to worry." He says teasingly as he can despite the ache he feels in his own chest.
Victor's gaze flits over Yuuri's shoulder where Yuri is, then back to him. He turns his palm upwards and curls his own pinky around Yuuri's - an offer to comfort when neither are explicitly asking for it. But that is okay. Perhaps they have finally begun to learn how to read one another.
"I wouldn't bet on that just yet, Katsuki Yuuri." Victor says.
They turn their eyes to the window, and the scenery that rushes by in colours too fast to name. A rainbow storming pass. It is all at once lovely and fleeting.
Yet - they do not look away.