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Chapter Text

Yakov Feltsman—Missed Messages (10)

2:03PM So are you alive or what?

2:03PM I would appreciate if you would text me back and let me know.

2:08PM This is Yakov by the way.

2:08PM You remember me right? The man who followed you to the airport and begged you not to do exactly what you’re doing but you’re still doing it anyway?

2:33PM Well????

2:38PM Vitya, it’s been close to three weeks since you last made contact with me. Your Instagram hasn’t been updated in days. At the very least I need to know if you’re alive or dead.

2:40PM How am I supposed to know if you’re alive if you don’t call or write? I’m blind here.

2:40PM Does Katsuki even have my contact information if something happened to you? Would he know who to contact?

2:40PM Did it ever occur to you that I might like to have HIS contact information???

4:23PM I don’t appreciate being ignored. If I don’t hear from you soon, I’m calling the Russian Embassy in Tokyo. You’ve got one hour.

Yuuri was having an exceptionally good practice that day. From the sidelines of the rink, Victor whistled under his breath as he watched his protégé dance, sensuous and free.

The Cup of China was fast approaching, and Yuuri’s Short Program had never looked better. At last, it seemed he had latched onto a bit of confidence—or at least, he’d grown so comfortable with the choreography that he could fake it. His movements hinted strongly at the female character he’d created for this performance, from the toss of his hair in the breeze to the distracting pout of his lower lip. The corners of his mouth were drawn into a coquettish smile. Whatever he was thinking about—whether it be a steaming hot bowl of katsudon or a seductress showing off for a prospective lover—it was working well for him.

All the same. . .

Yuuri really should have known better than to smile like that during practice. If the routine had become that easy for him, then it wasn’t difficult enough.

“Stop,” Victor called out and aimed the remote at the sound system to pause the music.

At the far end of the rink, Yuuri kept skating, even though the slight hesitation in his dance made it clear he’d heard his coach’s instruction. (Yuuri not listening to him? Goodness, what a surprise.) When the lingering echoes of the music faded away, he finally whipped around to face Victor, momentum slowing, gloved hands lowering to his sides.

Victor was coaching off the ice today, his skates left in his bag along with the rest of his things, and he beckoned Yuuri over to where he was standing to make it easier to talk.

As he skated closer, Yuuri’s displeasure became more apparent. He wasn’t glaring at Victor exactly, but Yuuri’s stare was rather . . . penetrating. His chin was down, dark brows arching upward and lips set in a subtle purse. The message was clear: he knew he was skating well and hadn’t appreciated being interrupted.

Victor struggled not to smile. Well, well. It seemed Yuuri’s inner-seductress wasn’t content to just make an appearance during her performance today. He was still in character, pretending to be the woman, and she was getting impatient to show off.

“Is there a problem?” Yuuri asked, braking abruptly in front of Victor, the barrier of the rink between them.

“Not at all. I’m loving the energy and confidence.”

Yuuri’s brow arched ever higher. “Then why stop me?”

It was hard to believe this was the same person whom, just a few short months ago, Victor had caught crying after a rough day of practice. The same person who had trembled so sweetly in Victor’s arms not two weeks ago, too overwhelmed to let himself be kissed for the first time.

Yuuri certainly wasn’t trembling now. He (she?) looked like he was about to snatch the sound remote away from Victor and take it back out onto the rink with him so that he couldn’t be disturbed again.

Indulging in a quiet laugh, Victor slipped the remote into the pocket of his hoodie, placed both hands on the barrier, and leaned over it. “Because as good as you look, that kind of confidence means I’ve let you get too comfortable. I think it’s high time we pushed you to the next level of your performance, don’t you?”

It took a second or two for understanding to register in Yuuri’s expression, but when it did, approval glinted in his eyes. Good. He wanted to be challenged, then. “Tell me what to do.”

“Um,” Victor said, his voice cracking, because hearing Yuuri talk like that was, um. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Well, you started this journey out by pretending to be the sexiest little bowl of katsudon around, and now you’ve successfully progressed to assuming the character of this beautiful woman. It’s working for you, Yuuri, but there’s still something missing. In my opinion, what your performance is suffering from most is the lack of your own personal charm. I’d like you to bring more of yourself to the forefront.”

“W-wait,” Yuuri said. “What?”

And just like that, the seductress vanished. Gone. Poof. In her place, a very anxious young man gaped at Victor like he’d just thrown a bucket of ice water in his face.

“Which part was confusing to you?” Victor asked patiently.

“The part where you want to see me instead of her. Victor. . .” Lowering his gaze, Yuuri began to fidget as he stared off into some vast void that only he could see. His fingers twisted together into something that almost looked painful. “I need her.”

Victor reached across the barrier to cover Yuuri’s hands and make him stop. “I’m not saying she can’t be your inspiration. I like her attitude, but I seem to recall receiving a little attitude from you once or twice.” He gave Yuuri’s fingers a squeeze. “I think you’re more capable of commanding your audience than you realize.”

“But I’m not. . .” Yuuri swallowed, fingers still clenched and rigid beneath Victor’s.

“Not what? Sexy?”

Though Yuuri didn’t respond, the blush that flared to life on his cheeks was answer enough.

“You do realize,” Victor said, “the only reason this seductress of yours knows how to seduce at all is because you know how. You did create her, after all. The real issue here is the same one you’ve had since the beginning. A lack of confidence.” He offered a bright, reassuring smile. “But my job here is to make you feel confident, right?”

Yuuri went still, eyes flickering back to Victor’s face.

There was a strange lull in the conversation, and as Victor’s smile slowly faded away, he was left wondering if he’d said something wrong. This was supposed to be a pep talk. So why did Yuuri look like he’d just swallowed something bitter and unpleasant?

Yuuri slid his hands free from Victor’s grasp and looked away again. “Right,” he said softly.

Something was definitely wrong, and it wasn’t just Yuuri’s usual lack of self-esteem that had sent his mood plummeting. Though Victor wasn’t sure how his words could have been misunderstood, he wondered if perhaps the language barrier was to blame. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to work out a miscommunication.

Hoping to clarify what he’d meant, Victor said, “Look, somewhere along the way, you’ve gotten the impression that you’re not good enough. But I need you to understand that my job here as your coach is not to wave a magic wand and transform you into a different person. You don’t gain real confidence by pretending to be someone you aren’t; trust me on that. What I’ve been trying to make you realize is that you already have everything you need. Right now. Today. You’ve had it from the beginning. The problem is helping you see it.”

It was Yuuri’s turn to look confused. “But that doesn’t. . .” And then he stopped talking, seeming to reconsider what he was going to say. Shaking his head, he said, “Never mind. I think I understand what you’re getting at. I’ll do my best.”

Reaching out again, Victor caught Yuuri’s arm before he could turn and leave. “No, what were you going to say?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Yuuri, we both know it isn’t nothing. Tell me.”

Yuuri let out an exasperated huff and brushed Victor’s hand off his arm. “It’s just . . . how can I believe anything you’re saying? You’ve told me more than once that it’s your job to make me feel confident. Am I supposed to forget I heard that part?”

Victor blinked at him, absolutely bewildered. He didn’t understand where Yuuri was going with his argument, but he had a feeling it wasn’t anywhere good. “I don’t. . .” He blinked again, several times in quick succession, but nothing got any clearer. “I’m sorry, what?”

Annoyance and embarrassment had conspired together to turn Yuuri’s face bright red. He seemed to regret speaking up at all. “All I’m saying is that you don’t have to fill me full of hot air or . . . or f-flirt with me to try to build up my self-esteem. You know I don’t like it when you coddle me. I know you think it’s your job, but you’re not helping me by not being honest about how I’m really doing.”

Realization dawned on Victor in stages, his mouth dropping open a little more with each passing second.

No, no, no. That couldn’t be right. Surely he’d misunderstood. Surely Yuuri didn’t think Victor offered praise and encouragement for the sole purpose of boosting his confidence and not because he honestly meant it. And he couldn’t possibly think Victor would only flirt with him to psych him out and help his skating.

He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Not after all the hours they’d spent together since last spring, getting to know one another so deeply that it felt like they would be forever tangled up with each other. Victor couldn’t even fathom being separated from Yuuri anymore. How would his heart keep beating if part of it went missing?

One thing was for certain: he had greatly underestimated how little Yuuri thought of himself.

“I asked you from the beginning to just be yourself.” Yuuri sounded incredibly tired as he spoke, like he hated every word he was saying but was convinced they were true. It was the voice of resignation. “That’s all I want. Just tell it like it is.”

“Okay,” Victor said simply, still staring in astonishment. “Come here.”

There was another pause wherein Yuuri hesitated a few seconds too long. He started to say, “What do you—?”

But Victor cut him off. “Yuuri.” They stared at each other, the tension thicker than it had been in the entire history of their knowing each other. “Come here.”

Leaning his lower body against the barrier, Victor spread his arms wide for a hug, and Yuuri’s wariness evaporated. He didn’t hesitate to move forward into the embrace, seeming to need a hug just as much as Victor needed to give him one. However, two seconds later, Yuuri was gasping and crying out Victor’s name as his entire body was hauled off the ice and over the waist-high barrier.

It was awkward and a bit of a struggle, especially when it came to getting Yuuri’s skates on the other side of the wall, but Victor was insistent. With one arm like a vice around Yuuri’s middle, Victor scooped his other arm around Yuuri’s legs and ended any resistance right then and there. At that moment, having Yuuri right in front of him—in his arms, face to face, where there was no escaping the truth—was absolutely necessary.

Yuuri’s body was damp with sweat beneath his t-shirt. “What are you doing?” he said, panting wildly as he clung to Victor’s shoulders.

“Exactly what you asked me to,” Victor said. “Telling it like it is.”

Yuuri’s breathing slowed. He gripped Victor harder and closed his eyes.

They almost fell to the ground in an ungraceful heap, but Yuuri grabbed hold of the barrier at the last second and saved them. Victor was able to lower them both to the floor, mindful that the blades of Yuuri’s skates had no business touching the concrete without any guards to protect them. When he could manage it, Victor got up on his knees beside Yuuri and wrapped his arms even tighter around him.

God, he was pissed.

Victor’s fingers gripped Yuuri’s t-shirt near the back of his neck and held it, prompting Yuuri to go as still as a puppy held by the scruff of his neck. Didn’t want to be coddled, did he? He was lucky Victor was so overprotective of him. Otherwise, Yuuri would be pinned on the ground beneath Victor with his pants undone and his coach’s tongue sliding into his mouth. Sometimes a little coddling was a good thing.

“Now you listen to me,” Victor said, his thumb stroking Yuuri’s neck to assure him he was safe. “You are not a job. I have never in my life felt like I could be more like myself in front of anyone. And don’t you dare purposefully misunderstand me because you’re scared of what I’m saying. Because we both know that’s what’s happening here. You know very well none of this is faked for your benefit.”

He’d never spoken to Yuuri so bluntly before but couldn’t bring himself to regret a word of it. While Victor might have sympathy for Yuuri’s struggle with low self-esteem, he was not going to put up with this. He refused to let Yuuri hurt himself in such a way.

There was a hint of resistance in Yuuri’s body at first, but as he listened, he seemed to deflate and give up. He dropped his head onto Victor’s shoulder and let himself be held.

It was true, then. Yuuri really did know his argument was ridiculous. What was he so scared of?

“This is me, Yuuri,” Victor said, gentler than before. “You asked me a long time ago to just be myself, and that’s exactly what I’ve been doing this entire time. Is it really so hard for you to believe I . . . I care about you?”

He almost fumbled his words and said something else, but the L-word would not have gone over well at that moment. If Yuuri was having trouble letting himself believe Victor would want to flirt with him on his own volition, he was certainly going to block out any attempt to convince him there was a much, much deeper emotion simmering inside of him.

God, he wanted to just kiss him already.

That would clear everything up. The whole mess. Then they could live happily ever after and forget it ever happened. But Yuuri still wasn’t ready. If today had shown Victor anything, it was how much that was still true.

“I know you care,” Yuuri mumbled. “I’m sorry. I’m just being stupid.”

“Tell me what’s really bothering you. You were doing so well today until I pushed you.”

No response. Yuuri turned his face into Victor’s shoulder and stayed there, hiding.

A swell of protectiveness made Victor’s heart ache. Oh, sweetheart. I can’t stand it when you’re sad. His fingertips came to stroke Yuuri’s hair. “I meant every word I said before, you know. You really are enough, just as you are.”

They were quiet for a moment, but eventually, Yuuri found his voice. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I just can’t see it.”

“Then I guess you’re going to have to trust what I see.” Victor drew back from the embrace and placed both hands on Yuuri’s cheeks. With a little smile, Victor’s eyes flickered over Yuuri’s face, taking everything in, from the curl of his eyelashes to the rosy tip of his nose and down to the sweet pink of his lips. His skin burned hot beneath the spread of Victor’s fingers. “Let me be your mirror, Yuuri. Have you ever seen me look at anyone the way I look at you?”

Like a startled cat, Yuuri couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the intensity of Victor’s gaze, but bit by bit, his own expression began to change. His near-panic softened into something quieter. Amazement. It was like Yuuri was letting himself accept for the very first time that yes, Victor really did see something beautiful in him. Potential hidden by doubt. An unassuming little piglet unaware that he was already holding the crown of a prince. All he needed to do was take ownership of it and place it on his own head.

But that wasn’t all Victor was seeing or thinking about. Very deliberately, he dragged the pad of his thumb along the underside of Yuuri’s full lower lip, eyes flickering down to watch it move.

“This is me,” Victor said again. “This is real. Take whatever time you need to wrap your mind around that. You can even reject it if it’s something you decide you don’t want, but no more denying it’s there.”

Have you figured it out yet, Yuuri? That I’ve fallen in love with you.

Look closer. It’s there for the viewing if you’re brave enough to see it.

A strange light came over Yuuri’s face.

His eyes widened, and the tension that had been wrinkling his forehead relaxed into perfect smoothness. And just for a second—so brief a time that Victor didn’t even have a chance to exhale—a bright, shining jewel seemed to glitter at the center of Yuuri’s forehead, a circlet of gold holding it in place. The prince’s crown, in its rightful place.

And then Yuuri was blinking and looking away and gently brushing Victor’s hands aside so that he could sit up straighter.

Victor’s smile widened, even as the vision of the crown faded.  Oh, good, he thought, a little dazed but very, very pleased. You figured it out.

Knowing he’d have to allow Yuuri time to process what happened, Victor gave him an easy escape. Getting to his feet, he said, “Stay there. I’ll grab your skate guards. Now that we’ve cleared all that up, do you think you have another run-through or two left in you?”

Yuuri was still too stunned to respond, so Victor just chuckled softly and went to fetch his guards without expecting an answer. When he returned, Yuuri slid the guards onto his skates, took a deep breath, and accepted Victor’s help getting to his feet. His shoulders were tense under Victor’s arm as he walked him to the rink’s entrance.

“Go on, then,” Victor said, nodding toward the place he expected to see Yuuri on the ice. “Practice isn’t over yet. Opening position.”

Shoulders hunched, Yuuri did as he was told and took to the ice, skating out to the center of the rink so that they could get started. But then he just stopped there and didn’t turn around again. As he stared at the back wall, his shoulders moved up and down with every breath.

Victor could practically see the thoughts swirling around Yuuri’s head. He probably didn’t even realize that he’d frozen up and that Victor was waiting for him. In time, Yuuri finally turned around, his expression open and vulnerable, that strange light still shining upon his face. His eyes sparkled like he was searching for something.

He wasn’t even in the opening pose for Eros, and yet with that one naked expression, Victor felt like Yuuri had just sent Cupid’s arrow sailing across the rink and straight into his heart. It almost forced him back a step.

As Victor drew in a shaky breath to steady himself, he could feel himself getting excited. Wearing the beginnings of a new smile, he called out, “Mind your posture. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re in the Senior Division now. You look like you’re longing for your Junior days.”

Yuuri visibly panicked and scrambled to adjust his posture. Then, seeming to realize he wasn’t even standing in the right spot on the ice, he almost slipped and fell in his haste to get into place. Blushing furiously, Yuuri dropped his head down into the opening Eros pose, his posture hopelessly worse than before.

And he was so, so sweet. So beautifully flawed. So endearingly Yuuri, in every way.

Another arrow from Cupid. This one hit Victor’s heart right beside the first arrow.

Thud.

Victor covered his mouth with one hand, truly unable to keep himself from smiling now. How on earth was he supposed to coach this man when every imperfection was the most perfect thing he’d ever laid eyes on? Once he’d somewhat composed himself, he dropped his hand and asked, “Are you quite done being adorable so that we can get started?”

Out on the ice, Yuuri looked up again, sending another pair of arrows just with the warmth of his cinnamon brown eyes.

Then came the kill shot. The tiniest smile surfaced in Yuuri’s eyes before softening his entire face. By the time it reached his mouth, Victor was lost, lost, oh God, he was bleeding out from the volley of arrows that rained down on him in that moment.

Because he had finally seen it: Yuuri’s confidence and personal charm flaring to life like a match dragged against the side of a box.

That bright jewel was again visible on his forehead, the circlet of gold glittering in his black hair. There wasn’t a seductress on the planet that could rival his royal magnetism in that moment. Victor couldn’t tear his eyes away, humbled all the while by the knowledge that the only difference between the Yuuri of five minutes ago and the Yuuri of right now was that he had finally gotten a good look at himself in the mirror of Victor’s love for him.

There you are, Victor thought, breathless with amazement, and lifted the remote to start the music.

After practice, Victor had to walk it off.

Excusing himself while Yuuri was finishing his cool-down stretches, Victor went to the bathroom to freshen up before the journey back home. There, he washed his hands and splashed some cool water onto his flushed cheeks. Though he took his time drying up and smoothing his hair and clothing into perfect order, not once did he focus on his own reflection in the mirror. He was too distracted by the visions of Yuuri skating around the edges of his mind.

Still metaphorically bleeding from all the arrows sticking out of his chest, shoulders, and back, Victor leaned both hands against the sink, closed his eyes, and took a moment to pull himself together.

Then, finally looking up at the mirror, he told his reflection in no uncertain terms, “I’m going to marry that man.”

Behind him, a toilet flushed in one of the stalls.

The door opened, and out came Takeshi, wearing a distinct smirk as he came up beside Victor and started washing his hands at the sink. After drying them, Takeshi gave Victor a trio of approving slaps on the shoulder and left the room, humming a merry little tune under his breath.

When he came out of the bathroom, Victor bid an awkward farewell to Yuuko and Takeshi, who were huddled together by the front desk and snickering over some private conversation. Pretending he didn’t know what they were giggling about, Victor hurried outside, where Yuuri was waiting for him near the Ice Castle doors.

Yuuri was frowning down at his phone, so distracted by whatever he was reading that he seemed unaware that his backpack had slid down to the crook of his arm.

“Something wrong?” Victor asked as they fell into step together.

“Looks like Mari’s been trying to call me,” Yuuri said. “She texted, too. Something about the Russian Embassy calling the onsen, looking for you?”

They exchanged a glance, both equally puzzled by the message.

While Yuuri called his sister back, Victor took his own phone out, having left it in his bag during practice. He felt a jolt of panic when he saw he had a number of missed calls and texts. Some from Mari. One voicemail from an unknown number based in Tokyo. And then there were all the missed text messages from one very pissed off Yakov Feltsman.

YAKOV!! How long had it been since they’d spoken? Victor’s heart did a little somersault of hope, thrilled to hear from his coach for the first time in months.

“Look at this,” he said, nudging Yuuri’s arm to get his attention. “Yakov texted me during practice. I guess he got nervous because he hasn’t heard from me in a while. He, uh . . . he might have been the one that contacted the Embassy.”

Phone still held to his ear, Yuuri scanned the messages on Victor’s phone and said, “Yeah, about that. Mari says you need to call the Embassy in Tokyo back today and let them know you’re all right.”

“Are you serious? What, do they think you kidnapped me or something?”

“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Mari has the phone number if you want to call them back now.”

In his hand, Victor’s phone started buzzing with an inbound call. “Actually. . . I think they’re trying to call me right now,” he said. Bewildered, he hit the button to accept the call and lifted the phone to his ear.

Victor Nikiforov

YAKOV WOWWW HI!!!! ♥ ♥  it’s so good to hear from you!!! ♥ ♥ ♥ 6:34PM

Sorry!! I was at practice and didn’t see your texts but I can call now if you want to talk.  6:34PM

OUTBOUND CALLS (2)

I guess you’re not by your phone  6:36PM

I just talked to someone at the russian embassy and straightened everything out  6:36PM

So no worries there!! But next time give me a little more time to respond hahaha!! ♥ ♥ ♥  6:37PM

To answer your question, I’m doing great! Just really busy.   6:37PM

Sorry I haven’t called. I guess I stopped because I thought you wanted me to.  6:37PM

But I’m really sorry I worried you. I promise I’ll check in more.  6:37PM

Do you have time to talk now?  7:01PM

OUTBOUND CALLS (6)

 Yakov?  11:18PM

Victor didn’t feel much like talking that night.

He was unusually quiet throughout dinner and couldn’t even finish the lovely plate of curry and rice Hiroko-san made for him. Mari brought him an extra soft-boiled egg as a garnish, as well as some of the homemade fukujinzuke he loved so much, and even Toshiya made a rare appearance to show him a new Japanese beer they’d started serving guests in the dining hall. Victor sipped at the beverage out of politeness but barely tasted it.

Meanwhile, Yuuri sat at the other side of the table, slowly chewing his own dinner in silence. Victor could feel his eyes on him.

Every single member of the immediate Katsuki family seemed to sense that Victor wasn’t doing well, even when he faked smile after smile and assured them that everything was fine. (Since when did people not believe his smiles?) More than once, he felt compelled to assure them that he’d called the Embassy back, and everything was sorted out now. Yakov would no doubt call back soon, and Victor couldn’t wait to tell him about everything he and Yuuri had been working on!

(Who was he kidding? Yakov wasn’t going to call him back.)

(Why, oh why, had Victor let himself hope that he might?)

Throughout all this, Yuuri said very little unless asked to translate something into English or Japanese to help his family converse with Victor. But even though he was quiet, Yuuri did make sure to offer Victor a sweet, reassuring smile for every fake smile Victor gave him. It made him feel guilty for receiving something that beautiful in exchange for something so empty.

“At least we can say one good thing came out of this mess,” Yuuri said as he watched his mother set a special dessert in front of Victor: a pair of colorful daifuku filled with ice cream. His favorite. She’d even put a little pink flower on the plate for him.

To thank her for her thoughtfulness, Victor gave Hiroko-san the most adoring, worshipful smile before turning his attention back to Yuuri. “What do you mean?” he asked, his mood descending into melancholy again the moment Hiroko slipped out of the room. It was too exhausting to maintain the façade in front of Yuuri.

“Well. . .” Yuuri cleared his throat discretely. “After listening to you lie through your teeth all night about being fine, at least I know now that you were telling me the truth before. You know . . . earlier today at the Ice Castle when we had our, um . . . little misunderstanding. I guess you really do like me after all.”

In spite of his gloom, Victor cracked a smile. A real one. Oh, you little brat, he thought. How dare you try to cheer me up by being cute.

“You’re a really bad liar, Victor,” Yuuri said. “Like.” He pressed his lips together for a brief moment, brow knitting in the middle. “Really, really bad.”

“Hush,” Victor muttered. He popped a daifuku into his mouth and batted Yuuri’s hand away when he tried to steal the second one. Truly fighting a smile now, Victor pushed the plate toward Yuuri a moment later and let him claim his prize.

There were times when Yuuri was too caught up in his own thoughts, fears, and ambitions to pay much attention to anyone else around him. He could be incredibly thoughtless and emotionally clumsy without meaning to be. Aloof, distant. The type of person who couldn’t see past his own nose. But that night at Yu-Topia, after Victor’s eighth call to Yakov went unanswered, was not one of those times.

Half an hour before midnight, Yuuri came into Victor’s room and sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. At their feet, Makkachin was stretched out with his chin resting on the ground, whining with concern for his master, but his tail started wagging when Yuuri appeared.

Victor had been reading the texts from Yakov for the millionth time to see if he had imagined that his coach might have been a little worried about him. The battery on Victor’s phone was at 3% and fading fast. Gently, without being too abrupt or imposing, Yuuri took the phone away and leaned over to plug it in by the nightstand.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Victor told him, already having to fight the urge to reach for his phone again.

He really was fine. It wasn’t like a punch to the gut was going to kill him.

Victor had survived hurts much, much worse than this.

With a slight nod, Yuuri pushed his glasses up higher on his nose and said, “Okay. Then we won’t talk about it. Do you think you’d like to try to sleep?”

Victor hummed under his breath, dismissing the idea. “Maybe I’ll take Makkachin for a walk. I’ve been neglecting him all night, and anyway . . . it might do me some good to clear my head.”

When he heard his name, Makkachin lifted his chin off the floor, and Yuuri reached out to let the dog lick the tips of his fingers. “Would you like some company?” he asked as Makkachin nosed into the palm of his hand, asking to be pet.

Victor blinked and glanced over at Yuuri as if realizing for the first time that he was actually sitting there. In the flesh. Not avoiding Victor or making excuses to hole up alone in his room.

There was a peculiar symmetry to that moment. Earlier that day at the Ice Castle, Victor had tried his hardest to help Yuuri understand and acknowledge his true worth. Now, Yuuri seemed to know without being told that Victor’s own confidence had just taken a serious blow. Yakov’s cold rejection of him hurt. It made Victor feel unlovable on a level that he couldn’t even bring himself to think about, much less attempt to put into words. He wanted to shove that hurt far from himself and pretend it didn’t exist.

But having Yuuri’s calm, steady presence there beside him was a much-needed reminder that Victor wasn’t alone. His best friend was here, and maybe that meant there was something worth loving in Victor after all.

He nodded, hoping and praying that he’d heard correctly. “Always.”

Smiling softly, Yuuri bumped shoulders with him. “Meet you downstairs, then. I’ll grab our coats.”

They walked to the beach with their arms linked and only the occasional streetlamp to light their way. Neither the moon nor stars were out that night, hidden by clouds that hung low overhead.

The streets of Hasetsu were all but abandoned at that hour. Everyone was at home, warm and cozy in their beds and not foolish enough to wander around in the cold darkness. The temperature had plummeted at dusk, stealing over the horizon with the disappearance of the sun, and the midnight air seemed sharp somehow, like it had frozen and crystalized.

When Victor caught the familiar scent of snow in the breeze, he felt a little pang of sadness. Where had the summer gone? His time here with Yuuri was going much, much too fast.

Makkachin led them down the path he was most familiar with, and by habit, they stopped on the Hasetsu bridge where the fisherman always stood, waiting to reel in his daily catch. The fisherman’s place was empty tonight, and Victor and Yuuri took up residence there instead, standing shoulder against shoulder and leaning forward against the metal railing. Makkachin had his nose to the ground and was chasing the scent of fish around their feet.

“Okay,” Victor said, gazing out at the water ahead. “Maybe I do want to talk about it.”

Yuuri looked up at him and leaned with a bit more pressure against Victor’s shoulder, silently letting him know he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Of all people,” Victor began, “Yakov should know better. He knows what my mother did to me. How she left me on that bus when I was a kid. He knows I have abandonment issues.”

He’d changed his mind.

This punch to the gut might kill him after all.

“Victor,” Yuuri said in his soft, gentle voice that reminded Victor of summer rain. “I’m not sure if my opinion matters much. I don’t know what Yakov is thinking, and you know him better than I do. But it seems to me like those text messages he sent prove how much he cares about you. He’s been watching your social media accounts to make sure you’re okay. But . . . you’re not a little kid anymore, you know? You’re twenty-seven years old, and you were the one who made the decision to leave home. Yakov might be angry, but he didn’t abandon you.”

Victor hung his head. “You’re right. I was the one that abandoned him.”

“That’s . . . not what I’m trying to get at.” Yuuri sighed, seemingly exasperated by his own inability to explain himself. “I think he’s just giving you the cold shoulder while you’re off doing your own thing. You said yourself that he told you to call him when you’re ready to beg for your place back. Yakov . . . well, if he has any heart at all, knowing what he knows about your mom, I can’t imagine anyone hurting you like that on purpose. It’s more like he’s refusing to have anything to do with your ‘disobedience.’” Yuuri said the final word with air quotes before folding his hands in front of him again, forearms resting against the bridge’s railing.

Victor was quiet for a long time. Then, leaning just a little bit more against Yuuri’s warmth, he said, “You really think he’s just trying to teach me a lesson?”

“I do. I mean, isn’t that the kind of thing some parents do when their kids go against them? They let them fail, then wait for them to come crawling back with their tail between their legs before taking them back in again.”

“I guess. I wouldn’t really know what parents do.”

There was an awkward pause, after which Yuuri let out a groan, his eyes squeezing shut behind his glasses. “Oh, wow. I just stuck my foot in my mouth, didn’t I?”

Victor let out a quiet laugh. “Relax. I’ve had twenty years to get used to being an orphan. It’s really not that dramatic.”

Yuuri fell silent again, probably at a loss for how to respond to that.

And it honestly wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t talk to Victor in that moment. He had told Yuuri so little about what had happened with his mother. He probably didn’t even realize how much healing Victor had undergone during his time in Hasetsu. The abandonment wasn’t a raw, festering wound anymore. Victor had already drawn the infection out of his heart, processed the trauma, and forgiven her. It was only when the matter of Yakov’s enduring silence came up that he felt the old wound being prodded and bruised.

“Can I tell you about her?” Victor said.

Yuuri glanced up at him again, his breath freezing in the air between them.

“About my mother,” Victor clarified. “I want you to know what happened. But you have to promise something first. Promise me you won’t think badly of her. That’s the only reason I haven’t already told you yet. It’s not that I don’t trust you or want you to know. I’m just scared of making you hate her.”

Yuuri’s eyes were huge in the darkness. “I won’t hate her, Victor. I promise. How could I when you seem to love her so much?”

Drawing in a deep breath, Victor wet his lips and began to talk.

Victor’s memories of his mother were hazy and sometimes skewed.

He knew very few specifics because of his family’s attempts to shield him from the twin scandals—the first being the disreputable circumstances that led to his birth and the second, the events that resulted in his coming to live with his aunt and uncle. Namely, his mother’s abandonment of him at the age of seven.

As a child, Victor had adored his mother without question, but now that he’d grown into a man, he wasn’t always sure he trusted his own recollections. She’d hidden things from him.

Smiling. Always smiling, with her sapphire blue eyes twinkling and her face as tranquil as a morning reverie. Sometimes, when he recalled the smile she always wore—so disarming that it made men and women alike stop in the street and stare—he wondered if he’d been too young at the time to realize her happiness was cracked along the edges.

The only thing about her that he knew with absolute certainty was that her name was Sashenka. But to Victor, she was just Mama, and he loved her very much.

As a child, Victor had imagined his mother was a famous dancer with countless patrons awaiting her return to the stage, and that his absentee father was an officer in the army who was due home from war any day now. Mama had never told Victor those things exactly but had instead tried to distract him with stories and make-believe whenever he asked difficult questions.

Though she never had a job that he could remember, they always had food and enough money to scrape by in their lonely little house on the outskirts of town. When Victor asked who his grandparents were and why he’d never met them, Mama would give him a book to read or game to play, then go off to her room to cry. He eventually learned to stop asking.

As an adult, Victor was old enough to realize that any dreams his young mother had about being a dancer were just that. Dreams. He knew now that his father was never going to be in his life and probably didn’t even know he’d sired a child at all. Though it was true he’d been in the army, whether or not he was actually an officer was unknown, and there had never been any “war” for him to come home from. Most likely, he was just an ordinary fellow who had taken a fancy to Mama at a party and had left her life almost as soon as he’d entered it.

Upon meeting his well-to-do grandparents at the age of seventeen at his first Olympic games, Victor had by then figured out that they had all but disowned their daughter when she got pregnant out of wedlock—by a veritable stranger, no less. They were the owners of the house little Victor grew up in and presumably sent Mama enough money each month to survive on her own. They just wanted her scandalous offspring far away from them where he wouldn’t have an impact on their reputation, and their attitude hadn’t changed much since then.

Victor didn’t talk to his grandparents much anymore.

In spite of everything, Mama did her best to be a good mother to Victor, and in many ways, she excelled. Still quite young herself, she encouraged Victor’s imagination and talents, played with him for hours and hours, and cuddled him and sang him to sleep after supper. He was an immensely happy child with little idea that his mother might be less so.

It was her that had taught him to smile whenever he felt like doing otherwise—like when he wanted something sweet they couldn’t afford from the bakery or when he wasn’t invited to play with the other children in their neighborhood.

“Your mama will always love you, no matter what,” she’d told him, “but other people take some convincing. A smile will get you much farther in life than a scowl. Be pleasant and learn what makes others happy. They’ll want to make you happy in return.”

Armed with this knowledge, young Victor learned how to charm people, led by the example his mother provided.

He knew he was a pretty child, but strangely, this hadn’t made anyone in their neighborhood like him any better. People didn’t want much to do with him or Mama. Mothers yanked their children away if Victor attempted to make friends with them. They didn’t get invited to dinner at the neighbors’ houses the way other people did, and even the owners of stores sometimes spoke coldly to them.

Much later in life, Victor figured out that their isolation was most likely due to the fact that Mama was an unwed mother. She’d raised Victor on her own, with no man in sight, and the neighbors had judged her accordingly.

Then there was the added complication of Mama’s lack of employment, which became an even greater source of gossip. People wondered where she got her money, and more than once, Victor heard others speculate that she was a “kept woman.” He didn’t learn what that meant until years later, and it angered him now to think of how she’d been treated.

But slowly, throughout his childhood, Victor watched his mother bewitch them all into changing their minds about her. Mama never got angry with anyone, even when they were sometimes unkind to her, and she smiled even when she was the recipient of an insult or slight. She thanked the store owners, even though they didn’t always thank her for their business, and she brought the neighbors freshly baked cookies, even when they closed the door a little too firmly after she left.

As time went on, her magic weaved its way into them all. People became much friendlier, and after a lonely childhood spent with his mother as his only playmate, Victor didn’t need any more convincing that Mama was right about the smiling thing. Being pleasant really did seem like the only way to make others like you when they were determined to do the opposite.

It worked for Victor, just as well as it worked for her. Soon, his charming smiles and friendly demeanor earned him regular free sweets from the bakery, and he made friends easily once he was old enough to attend school. One of his new friends from the neighborhood even invited him to go ice skating one day, which Victor loved and took an immediate interest to. He begged and begged his mother until she saved up enough money to buy him a pair of used ice skates for his birthday.

That’s when things began to change with Mama—when he started spending less time at home. School, his new friends, and the siren’s call of the ice rink kept him away for greater and greater lengths of time.

He’d come home sometimes and realize that his mother hadn’t gotten out of bed for the entirety of the day. Still too young to understand what might be wrong, Victor assumed she was just very sleepy and thought little of it.

The crying was more difficult to ignore. Though she never did it in front of him, he would hear her sometimes at night and sneak out of bed to see what was the matter. If she spotted him, she would dry her face immediately, don that smile that no longer seemed so bright, and pretend she didn’t have a care in the world. But sometimes Mama didn’t see Victor. Sometimes he would stand on the other side of her closed bedroom door and listen to her weep without end.

And little Victor had no idea what to do.

It frightened him. Made him feel like his limbs didn’t work right. The helplessness that filled him made him want to run around in circles until the feeling stopped chasing him and went away.

His mother always smiled. Always. If she was now crying, something truly awful must be about to happen. A monster waiting to eat them, a plague about to strike, or maybe a great fire sweeping across the whole world, coming to consume them all.

As an adult, Victor could now pinpoint untreated depression as the likely culprit, but as a child, he’d had no idea what was wrong or what to do about it. No matter how much Victor had smiled and smiled and tried to charm his mother back to life, it did little good.

But it wasn’t just depression that plagued Mama. The comorbidity of another illness crept up on them slowly, revealing itself over the span of several years.

As far back as he could recall, little Victor remembered Mama talking to herself, which he never thought much of. After all, he talked to his toys all the time—and to the flowers outside, and the trees, and the neighbor’s smelly cat that wandered onto their porch whenever it rained—but Victor wasn’t afraid of his imaginary playmates the way Mama was scared of the voices that talked to her. She hissed at them to go away and leave her alone. The voices weren’t very nice to her, and neither was the dark shadow person that started following her around the summer after Victor turned six.

He only knew it was a shadow because Mama sometimes asked him if he could see it, too. When he told her nothing was there, Mama got very pale and quiet.

At first, she seemed to sense that her own mind was playing tricks on her, but as time passed and the illness went untreated, it was like she forgot the difference between make-believe and real life. This made little Victor nervous and eager to play along with whatever strange game Mama seemed to be playing with greater and greater frequency. That decision turned out to be a mistake.

“Oh, there’s the shadow man over there!” Victor said once, laughing and pointing at the empty corner of the kitchen. “I see it now, Mama. Should I run away and make it chase me?”

But Mama didn’t like Victor’s suggestion at all. “No,” she’d snapped at him. “You stay away from that thing; do you hear me? Are . . . are you the one who’s been telling it things?”

At first, Victor had thought Mama was yelling at the invisible shadow person, but then she’d slapped Victor across the face and said, “How dare you.”

It was the first time she’d ever struck him in his entire life. The blow was more emotionally painful than physical, but Victor had been too startled to cry. He’d known then that Mama wasn’t playing make-believe. Something was very, very wrong.

His confusion didn’t end there. Mama had dragged him into her bedroom, locked the door, and shut off all the lights. She made Victor hide in the closet and proceeded to yell at the shadow person to get out of their house and leave them alone. She had paced and cried for hours, with Victor just a few feet away, paralyzed and helpless.

Eventually she quieted, and he was able to fall asleep on the closet floor, nestled between pairs of shoes. He awoke the next morning in Mama’s bed, bundled up in a blanket with his head cradled on her lap. She was still awake, her face haunted, streaked with tears. All the same, Victor could tell she was feeling better than she had the night before. The shadow person was gone.

“My sweet baby,” Mama whispered when she saw that Victor was awake. She kissed the top of his head and hugged him close. “I’m so sorry. Mama didn’t mean it.”

“Mama, what’s happening?” Victor had asked. “I’m scared.”

“I don’t know, angel . . . but I promise I’ll never put you through that again.”

Things got a little better after that.

Days and sometimes weeks passed without Mama having a bad spell. She started coming ice skating with Victor and showed him how he could make it more like a dance than just a way to fly away from his troubles for a while. He loved showing off for her and demonstrating all the tricks he’d learned, all on his own without any teacher showing him what to do. He’d taught himself by attempting to mimic what he’d seen the Russian Olympians do at the last Winter Games, which he’d recorded on VHS and watched over and over again until the tape was almost worn out.

It was around this time that Mama arranged for Victor to have ice skating lessons with a real teacher. She became fixated on making sure Victor had a solid foundation and path set for his life. He remembered her spending a lot of time on the phone with Victor’s uncle and even his grandparents, talking about schools for him. He and Mama often discussed what he wanted to be when he grew up. (That was a no-brainer: a world-famous Olympian.) She seemed to make it her mission to give Victor a shot at realizing his dreams, even though her dreams for herself had long since been lost.

She really had tried to be a good mother. The more Victor thought about how hard she’d fought for him, the more he realized the odds she’d been up against.

The distraction of planning Victor’s future seemed to help Mama. For a while, at least.

But one day, not long after Victor turned seven, it happened again. One minute, she was fine, and the next, something she’d seen in the kitchen had her screaming and throwing a cast-iron skillet through the window, shattering the pane to pieces. Then she spent the next few hours chasing invisible spiders out of the house with a broom, breaking just about every plate, glass, and valuable they owned in the process.

Victor remembered sitting outside on the back porch and crying. What he really wanted to do was call for an ambulance or at the very least, fetch the neighbors to help, but Mama had already made him promise that he would never involve other people in one of her bad spells. She was scared someone would try to take Victor away from her if they deemed her unfit to care for him, and since he didn’t want to be taken away either, he did as she asked. His instructions were to go somewhere safe and stay there until it was over.

So he’d sat there by himself, his stomach growling with hunger because Mama had thrown his breakfast through a window, and waited while she destroyed their home.

It took her almost the whole day to snap out of it, but seeing Victor sitting outside in the cold with an empty belly and tears drying on his cheeks seemed to do the trick. When Mama realized how badly she’d frightened him—and worse, how she’d actually put her little boy in real danger of getting hurt this time—she went strangely calm.

Victor remembered thinking that she was still very much in the middle of a bad spell because she still wasn’t acting like herself, but she must have been fighting to cling to reality for his sake alone.

She’d gone into the bedroom to make a phone call, and the next thing Victor knew, they were packing up suitcases to go on a trip. When he begged Mama to tell him where they were going, she said, “To stay with your aunt and uncle for a while. They’re going to . . . to help.”

The relief Victor felt at that moment was enormous.

He’d never met his aunt before, but his uncle came to see them a few times each year, usually around Christmas or Easter. He was Mama’s older brother. Surely he’d know what to do to help her.

Early the next morning, they got on a bus. Victor remembered Mama writing his uncle’s full name, address, and phone number on a piece of paper and putting it in his coat pocket. “Just in case you get lost,” she’d told him.

That paper confused Victor for a long time afterward. Had she known then that she was going to leave him alone on that bus, or was it unplanned? He wasn’t sure which was worse.

Whatever the case was, Mama was extremely agitated during that long bus ride. Victor tried to cuddle up to her and put his head on her shoulder, the way he always did when they talked or read bedtime stories together, but she was far too restless. Eventually, he had to sit up straight and leave her alone. It was at that point that she got out of her seat and started pacing the aisle.

He would never forget that bus ride, as long as he lived.

Likewise, he would never forget the fear of knowing his mother was unwell . . . that she was talking to herself and someone was going to take Victor away from her at any second because she’d revealed their secret. Nor could he forget the shame he felt over not being smart or capable or old enough to take better care of her, of not knowing what was wrong, not knowing what mental illness was, what to do, how to ask for help.

Rendered mute by these feelings, Victor just smiled at the woman sitting across the aisle from him, silently begging her all the while to help him.

But other than that, he did nothing. That was what he was supposed to do during one of Mama’s bad spells, after all. Stay safe and out of the way and say nothing to anyone else until it was over.

Mama eventually became so disruptive that the bus driver pulled over on the side of the road in some tiny, nondescript town Victor didn’t know the name of. There was a big commotion involving some of the other passengers, who got out of their seats and crowded around Mama in an attempt to subdue her. Victor didn’t try to stop them because he could tell they were just trying to help her—even the two big men who guided her off the bus and sat her down on the ground outside in the hopes of calming her.

And it seemed to work. For half an hour or so, several of the other passengers sat with Mama, talking with her and giving her sips of water. Victor let himself breathe a sigh of relief, thinking her bad spell was finally ending and she was regaining her senses. Any minute now, she’d get back on the bus, and they could go.

Eventually, the crowd of people outside did file back onto the bus, and Victor was beyond thankful when the driver restarted the engine. The nightmare was over. As the bus pulled away from the no-name town and started down the road again, Victor sat up straighter in his seat and squinted toward the front, trying to see Mama amongst the people still standing and talking to the driver.

It never occurred to him that she might not be there, even after twenty minutes of driving, when the final passengers finished their conversation with the driver and returned to their seats.

When he still couldn’t see Mama, Victor rationalized it in his mind, thinking perhaps she was sitting next to some nice person who was taking good care of her. In his wildest dreams, he could not have imagined a world where his mother would have left him on that bus alone, so he continued to sit there and watch the scenery pass by, counting the minutes until they’d reach his uncle’s house and this awful, horrible, no-good day would come to an end.

But as the bus rattled on, Victor began to realize something wasn’t right. Mama had never gone so long without checking on him. Suddenly filled with doubt, he shot out of his seat and stumbled down the aisle toward the front of the bus. He looked hard at each person he passed, searching for Mama’s face in theirs, and felt himself panicking more and more by the second when he didn’t find her.

Victor’s path eventually led him back to his own seat, which was empty save for Mama’s purse. Even then, he couldn’t wrap his mind around her absence. It didn’t make any sense.

The woman who was sitting in the seat across from him took notice of Victor’s distress. “Honey, are you okay?” she asked.

Victor nodded and tried his hardest to smile. Then he said in a small, shaky voice, “I don’t know where my Mama is.”

“You mean . . . that woman they took off the bus earlier? That was your mother?”

Another nod, which prompted the woman to get out of her seat, take Victor by the hand, and guide him to the front of the bus to speak with the driver.

Victor was starting to cry now, so scared and confused that he could no longer speak, even when people began asking him questions that should have been very simple to answer—like what his name was, where he was going, and if that woman they’d left behind on the road miles back was really his mother. Little Victor struggled with every word.

In fact, it would be twenty long years before he talked willingly about it again.

“They never found her?” Yuuri asked.

He and Victor were no longer standing on the Hasetsu bridge. The wind had picked up, and they’d wandered down to the beach instead, walking slowly and without aim while Victor shared his story. When Makkachin started to show signs of getting tired, Victor and Yuuri sat down together on the sand to talk while the puppy rested up for the journey home. Makkachin was warm and happy, snuggled up on Victor’s lap, half wrapped in his coat.

Yuuri sat at Victor’s side, pressed up against him to share as much warmth as possible. Victor had one arm around Makkachin . . . but the other belonged to Yuuri, who had Victor’s ungloved hand held between both of his. The glove was in Yuuri’s pocket.

“No, they never did,” Victor replied. “Apparently, Mama had wandered off when I wasn’t paying attention, and when no one could convince her to come back to the bus, they just let her go off on her own. Somehow, my seven-year-old self didn’t notice that part.”

“Well, you were a little kid. Who expects something like that to happen?”

Victor sighed. “Anyway, they drove me to the next town and called the police. It was a good thing I had my uncle’s phone number in my pocket. He was able to come pick me up after a few hours. He tried to work with the police to track Mama down but . . . well, I like to think she just didn’t want to be found. It’s not a very pleasant thought because it means she really did leave me there by myself on purpose. But trust me, imagining that she wanted to be found but something or someone prevented her from finding help is much, much worse. You can probably see now why the whole thing has me a little stuck.”

“There’s never been any resolution,” Yuuri said, squeezing Victor’s hand.

Victor nodded once, and a long moment of silence fell over them, filled only with the crash of the waves up ahead. The wind was so strong now that it blew frothy mist off the choppy ocean. He could taste salt in the air. It really did feel like it was going to start sleeting or snowing at any minute, but neither one of them made any indication that they were ready to go back home. The harder the wind blew, the closer they sat.

It was funny to think that just a few months ago, when they’d sat together on this very same beach, Yuuri wouldn’t come anywhere near him. Now he had Victor’s hand cradled in his lap and was caressing it gently, exploring the lines on his palm with the tips of his fingers.

“What are you thinking?” Victor asked eventually.

Don’t hate her, he thought. Please don’t hate her. It wasn’t her fault.

Yuuri shrugged, his attention aimed downward at Victor’s hand. “I don’t know. I guess I wish the story had ended differently, for your sake. And for hers. I wish someone had recognized what was going on and gotten her help. And I mean an adult. Not a little kid who’s never been taught about mental illness. You know none of that was your fault, right?”

“I do. Or at least, I know it in my head. My heart’s taken some additional convincing, but it’s coming around.”

“And it wasn’t hers either.”

Victor smiled, relief pouring through him. He should have known from the beginning that Yuuri would understand. “I know that, too, but it’s nice to hear someone else say it. Let’s just say the rest of my family doesn’t share that opinion.”

“Your aunt and uncle?”

“Mm-hmm. And my grandparents and first cousins and second cousins and fourteenth cousins thrice removed. The list just goes on and on. I have a very large family, Yuuri. Some of them are nicer than others, but in general, I just don’t like what they have to say very much. They only really started showing any interest in me after I became famous. It’s a testament to just how much they hate scandal that none of this has ever gotten into the press.”

“You went to live with your aunt and uncle after all of it happened, right?”

“Yes, but just for a year or so until I moved in with Yakov. They’re nice enough people, but they’re not what you would call emotionally available. They’re kind of like my grandparents in that way. But they opened up their home to me and gave me the kind of structure I so desperately needed at that point. I was never hungry or without a roof over my head. I have a lot to be thankful for, especially considering they already had children of their own. They even supported my ice skating, I guess because it kept me distracted while they were searching for Mama. My uncle was the one who hired Yakov and got me enrolled in a special school that allowed me to spend more time at the rink. And I loved it. I threw myself completely into my skating because I didn’t want to think about Mama anymore.”

Victor trailed off and indulged in a bitter laugh. “Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?” he continued. “It felt good to lose myself in skating. I ran away from everything that hurt me, shut people out from getting too close to me so that they couldn’t leave me, and set my goal on pleasing my audience instead. The better I skated, the more affection and approval I got from other people. In a way, I guess my audience replaced my need to receive love from anyone else—like a parental figure or close friend or even a serious boyfriend—and that’s pretty much been my life for the last twenty years. And I don’t know . . . now that I’m getting closer to the age when I’m expected to retire, it’s like I’ve suddenly realized how fleeting it all is. The audience only cares about you when you keep surprising them, but who’s left to love you when your inspiration runs dry? I guess that’s no one’s fault but my own, though. Yakov tried to tell me. For years, he lectured me about how I wasn’t investing in my life outside of skating, and I didn’t listen to him. And then it’s like I finally woke up and realized I wasn’t seven-years-old anymore. It was such a strange feeling, like I didn’t know where my life had gone. Sometimes I feel like I’m still sitting on that bus. Just . . . stuck.”

When he was done speaking, Victor was a bit stunned by how long he’d rambled on without end.

Never in his life had he shared such thoughts with another person. Not even Yakov. It was one thing to tell Yuuri about what had happened with Mama, but those were just facts. Events, people, places. But what had just come out of Victor’s mouth was far more personal—the kind of unflattering inner thoughts that might make others think less of him. He felt like he’d just taken a knife and flayed himself open in front of Yuuri, who had in no way asked Victor to do any such thing.

It made him feel guilty for oversharing . . . and a little afraid Yuuri would be turned off when he realized his figure skating idol was an ungrateful, friendless nobody who’d gone cold on his own family and cared more about his ice skates than actual people.

“You probably didn’t want to know all of that, huh?” Victor said with a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all that on y—”

“Victor,” Yuuri said, cutting him off gently. “Don’t ever apologize for being yourself around me. You don’t have to fake a smile or put on a performance to get me to care about you. The real Victor is plenty loveable, all on his own.”

Victor’s throat started to ache, even as a smile came to soften the set of his lips.

Had Yuuri really just said that? The words felt like a sweet little kiss on the cheek.

He’d called Victor loveable—not just likeable—and he’d said it immediately after Victor had confessed some of the darkest thoughts and fears he’d ever had.

God, Victor was happy. So, so happy and in love.

That’s it, he thought. I’m calling it. You’re my boyfriend. Maybe you’re not ready to hear me say that word out loud yet, but we are so past the ‘just friends’ stage, it’s not even funny.

“You can tell me anything,” Yuuri added. He had Victor’s hand hugged to his chest now, and it was so warm there inside the folds of his coat. “I mean that. But . . . well, I might not always know what to say or do to fix the situation or make you feel better. I’m sorry. I’m not really any good when it comes to—”

“Yuuri,” Victor said, cutting off the apology the same way Yuuri had done to him. Their fingers laced together beneath Yuuri’s coat. “Don’t ever apologize for being yourself around me.”

Yuuri looked up at him, surprise touching his features.

And Victor liked that—the way Yuuri’s surprise made him feel. It was like a little spark of lightning and inspiration had passed between them, a thousand times more fulfilling and real than the surprise of any audience of strangers. It made Victor want to do it again and again, just to feel that electricity.

“I didn’t tell you all that because I expected you to do or say anything,” Victor said. “I’m good, Yuuri. I’m healed and happier than I’ve been in a very long time. I just wanted you to know me a little better. That’s all.”

They gazed at each other for a long moment—so long that Victor’s heart started beating a strong, accelerating tempo in his chest. He could feel himself trembling inside, partially because of the cold but also because he was thinking about how it would be such a simple thing to lean in and press his mouth to Yuuri’s. It would have felt so warm and quiet and nice. But then a frigid gust of wind inspired Yuuri to duck his head down until it relented, and Victor had to remind himself for the millionth time to be patient.

Yuuri was worth waiting for. So what if he wasn’t ready for the physical stuff? Victor had done a lot of things with other lovers before, but none of it had ever felt as intimate as this.

Victor pressed a kiss to the top of his boyfriend’s head and kept his mouth there, savoring his warmth and the smell of his shampoo. “Thanks for listening,” he said.

Yuuri nuzzled closer against the warm pressure of Victor’s mouth and said, “Thank you for asking me to.”

The next morning, Victor woke up already wearing a smile. Turning his head to the side on the pillow, he gazed adoringly at the reason why.

Yuuri had fallen asleep in Victor’s bed last night.

They’d come home from their late-night walk to the beach and lingered for a while longer on Yu-Topia’s porch, watching the first snowfall of the year drift down from the overcast sky. It was long past midnight and absolutely freezing—much too cold to spend another minute outdoors—but still, they’d hesitated.

That is . . . until Victor said, “We don’t have to say goodnight just yet. You could come to my room for a little while.”

“Okay,” Yuuri said and turned to go inside like it was no big deal at all.

But it was a big deal. Victor had lost count of the times he’d invited Yuuri into his room late at night, only to have a door closed in his face.

It was amazing how much could change in a single day.

Their conversation at the Ice Castle yesterday seemed to have unlocked something in Yuuri’s confidence and willingness to let himself trust Victor. Or perhaps it was because Victor had poured his heart out to Yuuri at the beach last night and let himself truly be seen and known for the first time. Whatever the case was, Yuuri had willingly joined Victor in his bedroom, and it was wonderful. They’d talked for a long time, sitting together on the bed with Makkachin snoring between them. The conversation was light and carefree, the heaviness of their earlier discussion nowhere to be found.

But then Victor’s eyelids had started to droop, and the next thing he knew, he was asleep. He’d woken up in the middle of the night to find a little miracle sleeping in the bed beside him.

Yuuri was gorgeous when he slumbered, with his lips parted and kissably soft, his features free of any hint of tension. Victor remembered staring at him for several minutes, wondering if he was dreaming.

It was such a fragile thing—this trust Yuuri had gifted to Victor. Something to nurture and protect so that it could continue to blossom. The last thing Victor wanted was to scare Yuuri off when they were finally in the beginning stages of a romantic relationship. Because that’s exactly what this was. It couldn’t be ignored any longer—not when Victor had made his feelings so clear yesterday at the Ice Castle, given Yuuri a way out if he wanted one, only to have Yuuri do the opposite and move closer to him instead.

Before falling back asleep last night, Victor had carefully removed Yuuri’s glasses and set them on the nightstand. When he leaned over to switch off the lamp, Yuuri had stirred and opened his eyes. “Gomen,” he whispered in the dark. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Stay here with me,” Victor whispered back. “I like having you close.”

“Okay. . .”

Oh, yes. They were definitely boyfriends now.

Yuuri had turned his face into the pillow and closed his eyes as Victor pulled a blanket over them. He didn’t touch Yuuri, wary of overwhelming his new bedmate. This was enough. Victor really did just want him close.

Now, waking up the following morning with his sweetheart breathing softly beside him, Victor discovered Yuuri had snuggled closer to him during the night, all on his own. Perhaps it was because of the chill in the air from last night’s snowfall, or maybe Yuuri had just wanted to. Either way, the moment was perfectly innocent. Victor couldn’t remember the last time he felt such happiness radiating out of him.

He didn’t want to get up, even after his alarm went off. They had stayed up much, much too late last night, especially considering they had an early practice that morning.

After hitting the snooze button twice, Victor couldn’t ignore the time any longer and still call himself a proper coach. Reluctantly, he got out from beneath the warm covers, stretched his arms high over his head, and indulged in a yawn. Then, smiling down at the sleeping beauty in his bed, he leaned over to brush Yuuri’s hair away from his eyes. Getting to see him like that was amazing.

Intending to visit the restroom, Victor quietly slipped from his room—but then he stopped short in the doorway. Hiroko was standing in the hallway in front of Yuuri’s open bedroom door, brow furrowed and mouth curved downward in concern. No doubt, she was wondering why her son’s bed was empty. Yuuri wasn’t exactly the kind of person to be awake at this hour.

When Hiroko spotted Victor, her frown transformed at once into a smile, though it wasn’t as carefree as it normally was. Concern for her son’s whereabouts was still evident in her expression, even as she said, “Vicchan, ohayō!”

“Oh, Hiroko-san,” Victor said, eyes growing wide. “Ohayō. . .”

Oh no, he thought, realizing that he and Yuuri were seconds away from getting caught sharing a bed together. And by Yuuri’s mother, of all people.

“Eto . . . Yuuri?” she said, pointing to her son’s empty bedroom. She was asking if Victor knew where he was.

“Oh . . . um. Well . . . he’s, uh. . .”

In the end, Victor didn’t have to explain. Hiroko’s gaze focused past his shoulder and into his bedroom, where Yuuri’s messy black hair could be seen peeking out from beneath the covers. Victor flushed and pressed his lips together, at a complete loss for what to do or say. Thank goodness he and Yuuri were both fully dressed, still wearing the same clothes they’d worn to the beach last night.

Surprise registered on Hiroko’s face, but she contained it soon thereafter and averted her gaze. With a polite bow, she smiled at Victor and excused herself.

Victor gaped at her retreating figure, not knowing whether to feel panic or relief. Yuuri’s mother didn’t look particularly dismayed that she’d just found her son in another man’s bed. A man who was his coach, no less. Someone who had been welcomed into the family without hesitation and trusted to guide Yuuri along the right path.

Did Yuuri’s family even know he was gay? Did Yuuri want them to know? Did they approve of such things, or was Victor about to complicate Yuuri’s home life? Not only that, but had Victor just damaged his own relationship with Hiroko?

He had no idea, but it worried him. Victor had come to love Hiroko-san like family. It would break his heart to disappoint her.

But . . . well, she really didn’t seem all that upset.

If Victor didn’t know any better, he could swear he heard a little giggle of amusement from her as she padded quietly down the stairs.

“Vicchan,” Hiroko said to him the next day while she was pouring his morning tea in the dining room. “May I ask what your intentions are with Yuuri?”

Victor blinked up at her, puzzled by her perfect English.

He’d had a feeling a lecture was coming or at least some acknowledgement of what had happened the prior day, but he hadn’t anticipated having that conversation in a language Hiroko didn’t speak.

She knew bits of English, but just enough to guide foreigners to the right place at the onsen when the need presented itself. When Victor came to live at Yu-Topia, she’d learned a few new phrases and words for his sake, but she was still only at a level where they could have the simplest conversations. This was a suspicious jump in talent, making Victor wonder if she’d memorized the question from the internet or gotten someone to translate it for her. The words were carefully pronounced using katakana syllabary, which was how Japanese people sounded out foreign words.

“Um,” Victor said, uncertain how to respond. He wasn’t shy about his feelings but didn’t know how to phrase his answer in a way she’d understand. His Japanese was getting better by the day, but it wasn’t that good.

Hiroko poured herself a cup of tea and settled down across from Victor at the table. Beside the kettle, she placed a little piece of paper, which had katakana script written on it. She referenced it before asking, “Do you have feelings for my son?”

That was an easier question to answer. Victor nodded and said, “Hai. I’m in love with him.”

Sensing Hiroko didn’t understand, Victor followed up with the Japanese word. “Ai.” He touched his heart and pointed in the direction of Yuuri’s room so that she’d understand what he meant, even without a complete sentence.

A slow smile spread across Hiroko’s face. With her round cheeks pink with pleasure, she picked up her tea with both hands and blew steam off the surface before taking a sip. For a while, they sat quietly and drank their tea together.

And yes, it was awkward.

In spite of Hiroko’s smile, her reaction to Victor’s confession of love was difficult to decipher. There seemed to be a hint of worry in her countenance, and it made him uneasy. More than anything, Victor wished he could speak fluent Japanese at that moment. He wanted to tell Hiroko just how much his friendship with Yuuri meant to him, as well as assure her that he would never take advantage of any authority he held as Yuuri’s coach and use it to put pressure on him.

(It wasn’t like Yuuri treated Victor like he had any authority over him anyway. Yuuri was not the kind of person who would give in to someone twisting his arm.)

Victor also wanted to tell Hiroko how much she meant to him. He stared at her, silently begging her not to turn her back on him the way every other parental figure had done.

“Vicchan,” Hiroko said when the tea was half gone. “Be patient.”

Victor nodded with wide-eyed vigor, feeling very much like a little kid who’d narrowly avoided a fierce scolding from his mother. That was a much gentler rebuke than he’d anticipated.

“Yuuri is . . .” Hiroko trailed off and seemed to search her memory for the right words. Eventually, she became frustrated with her limited knowledge of English and started talking to herself in Japanese instead.

“Gomen nasai,” Victor said. “I don’t understand. Wakarimasen.”

Hiroko again referenced the paper with the katakana script, making it obvious to Victor that she’d already planned much of what she wanted to say to him before this conversation even began. “Yuuri feels deeply,” she explained. “It scares him. He hides.”

“Don’t worry, Hiroko-san,” Victor said. “Shinpai nai yo. I won’t push him.”

She might not have understood every word, but Victor’s meaning seemed to translate. Hiroko smiled again and sipped at her tea, prompting Victor to do the same. The mood felt much lighter now, the fresh morning air and sunshine making everything seem hopeful and relaxed. This was a feather-light slap on the hand compared to the lecture Victor had thought he was going to get. While it was true that he did feel a bit scolded, it was a relief to know Hiroko had enough respect for him to speak to him directly about her reservations instead of just going cold.

Or at least . . . Victor thought Hiroko had reservations about his relationship with Yuuri.

But then, out of the blue, she glanced at her piece of paper again and said, “You should kiss him.”

Victor choked on his tea. Setting it down, he cleared his throat and said, “Uh . . . k-kiss Yuuri?”

“Yes, yes,” Hiroko said with a bright smile. “I want grandchildren.” Then she held up four fingers to show him how many she expected.

Victor was so confused.

Hadn’t Hiroko literally just told him to be patient in his pursuit of a relationship with Yuuri? Why was she now teasing Victor about grandkids and nudging him to hurry it up and seal the deal with a kiss?

But then it occurred to him that he might have misinterpreted what she’d been trying to say from the beginning. Hiroko wasn’t asking Victor to be patient and give Yuuri more time. She was telling him to be patient with Yuuri. With his reluctance. With his fear of jumping into a relationship. Hiroko was trying to explain that the reason Yuuri was pushing Victor away was because the intensity of what he felt scared him.

And his adorable, polite, soft-spoken mother was suggesting that the right course of action might be to kiss her son anyway. Wow.

“Four grandchildren, huh?” Victor chuckled and adjusted his cup where it sat on the table. “That’s, um . . . that’s a lot of kids to have running around. What about two?” To help her understand, he held up two fingers to see what she thought of his compromise.

Dear, God. If Yuuri ever found out about this conversation, Victor and Hiroko were both going to find themselves in a world of hurt.

She shook her head and persisted with four fingers, refusing to meet him in the middle with three, and Victor threw back his head and laughed.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Hey Yakov! I just wanted to check in with you so you know I’m okay. Hope you’re doing well too!! Can you believe the Grand Prix Series is already starting???

Anyway, I wanted to send you my flight details for the Cup of China. I know you’ll be there with Georgi, so let’s get together and have dinner or something! I’m really excited about catching up and hearing how everything’s going with you. How about the night before the Short Program? You can finally meet Yuri! (My Yuri. Not yours.)

My flight schedule is attached below. See you in Beijing!!!!!!!

♥ Victor ♥

PS – I caught a preview of Georgi’s Short Program online. Is his makeup supposed to look like that? Maybe a touch of blush might help? Just a thought. . .

As much as Victor adored living in Japan, he was thrilled at the prospect of going on a trip abroad with Yuuri. Hasetsu was a small town, and it was getting increasingly more difficult to show Yuuri affection out in the open without raising a few eyebrows. It would be nice to have some time alone with him.

(How else was he supposed to get a jumpstart on Hiroko’s request for four grandchildren? That was a tall order. The adoption paperwork alone could take years.)

They shared a blanket on the plane to China, and Yuuri even let Victor cuddle up against him while they napped, which made an otherwise miserable flight so much more enjoyable. Victor couldn’t remember the last time he flew coach, and if sitting in the aisle seat and letting Yuuri have the window didn’t say, “You are my special person, and I value your needs above my own,” he didn’t know what did.

When they touched down at the Beijing airport, Yuuri stirred from his nap and turned his head to blink at the window, his expression glazed over with the fog of sleep. Victor was already awake, but he still had his head resting on Yuuri’s shoulder, unwilling to move from such a comfortable spot. Together they watched snow drift past the window while the plane taxied to the gate. It seemed to take a long time with several stops along the way, the icy weather perhaps causing a delay.

Victor didn’t mind. Not when it gave the two of them such a perfect opportunity to cuddle and flirt.

All around them, the plane was noisy—with passengers already rustling around, eager to make their escape from the plane, and flight attendants imploring them to stay in their seats—but neither Victor nor Yuuri took notice of the commotion. Victor was touching the top of Yuuri’s hand, tracing lazy little figure-eights with the tips of his fingers. Yuuri swallowed and turned his hand over, palm facing upward, so that Victor could touch him there as well. When it finally came time to unbuckle their seatbelts and exit the plane, Victor had long-since forgotten where they were. The feel of Yuuri’s skin had hypnotized him.

Victor stepped back and let Yuuri go first down the aisle toward the front of the plane. This was another thing he hated about flying coach—the amount of time it took to exit. It was a traffic jam of people who had nowhere to go. But today, it wasn’t so bad . . . because Yuuri was standing directly in front of him. Victor moved closer while they waited, molding his front against Yuuri’s back and slipping an arm around his middle.

Last spring, Yuuri would have shoved Victor away in horror. Last month, he would have gone rigid at the very least. Today, Yuuri leaned back into Victor’s body and stifled a yawn while they waited for the traffic jam to move.

It wasn’t until Victor nuzzled his face into the side of his boyfriend’s neck that Yuuri seemed uncomfortable at all. “Victor. . .” he said, jerking away. The tips of his ears had gone pink. “Not here.”

Interesting. . .

Victor had already known Yuuri was going to tell him to back off. He’d pushed their otherwise comfortable little flirt session too far on purpose, just to judge Yuuri’s reaction to it.

It was Hiroko-san’s fault, really. She was the one who’d put the idea in Victor’s head that Yuuri might need a little nudge in the right direction when it came to the physical stuff. While Victor would always stop if Yuuri said no . . . well, he hadn’t exactly said no just now. He’d said: not here. Did that mean Yuuri wouldn’t have protested if Victor had come on to him somewhere else?

Very interesting.

“Wanna share a room with me at the hotel?” Victor asked when they were finally off the plane.

“No,” Yuuri said bluntly. “I have to sleep, Victor. We’re here for a competition, remember?”

Victor frowned. “Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting that part. . .”

It honestly wasn’t his fault that he was so distracted from his coaching duties. There was a lot going on at the arena the next day, as well as a slew of emotions Victor hadn’t anticipated having to deal with. Some were more difficult to get through than others.

The easiest by far was the fact that he wasn’t competing in the Grand Prix Series himself. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a sharp pang of longing in his heart when he smelled the ice. It was beyond strange to arrive at the arena without a pair of ice skates in his bag, but the moment he saw the press already doing pre-competition interviews, he remembered why he’d decided to go on hiatus in the first place.

It wasn’t that he disliked doing interviews. He’d always maintained a positive relationship with the reporters that frequented these events. They were nice people, many of them huge fans of the sport and of Victor himself, and they’d helped him gain a dedicated following of fans throughout the years.

But the questions they sometimes asked. . .

What are you going to do next, Victor? How will you top your own performance?

Do you think you can break your own world record again, or have you peaked in the sport? What do you think about the fresh, new talent coming up the ranks?

Have you thought about retiring while you’re still number one?

And really. How was he supposed to make up new answers to questions like that, year after year after year, and maintain a dazzling smile and positive attitude for the cameras at the same time? What a relief it was to know he wouldn’t have to deal with any of that at this year’s Grand Prix Series.

No, this weekend’s competition was about Yuuri.

Victor was actually looking forward to bragging about his protégé to any member of the press that would lend him a spare moment with a microphone. (Especially since Yuuri was so terrible at bragging about himself. Someone had to get his fans excited.)

Unfortunately, members of the foreign press weren’t as focused on talking about Yuuri as Victor would have liked. Back in Japan, it had been much easier to get the reporters focused on Yuuri alone, who was widely referred to as Japan’s Ace. Even after his loss last year at Nationals, his home country was well aware he was the number one male figure skater they had. But here in China, at the series of competitions Victor had dominated last year with two gold medals in the preliminaries and a third won at the Final, people wanted to talk about him. The reigning champion. Not the future one.

Have you left the ice for good, Victor? Are you planning to officially announce your retirement at tomorrow’s event, or is this truly just a hiatus?

What made you decide to become Yuuri Katsuki’s coach? Do you feel qualified as a first-year coach to lead him to victory after his poor performance last year?

Are you aware of the things your former coach, Yakov Feltsman, has been saying about your coaching skills to the press?

Oh, Victor was aware all right. Yuri Plisetsky had been more than happy to forward him links to various news articles that contained not-so-flattering quotes.

Victor would be the first to admit he’d jumped into the role of coach without being fully prepared for everything it entailed. He and Yuuri both had a lot to prove here in China, and it bothered him a little that he couldn’t do more to help carry that burden. Everything was riding on Yuuri’s shoulders alone now. It wasn’t like Victor could lace up and skate at his side.

(A shame, really. That would have been fun.)

On top of the stress this caused, there was the added emotional toll of having Yakov there at the competition. He still hadn’t returned any of Victor’s calls, texts, or emails. And as a result, Yakov’s presence was a major distraction, especially during practice at the arena the day before the Short Program was to take place.

Yakov was supposed to be there with Georgi, who would compete against Yuuri tomorrow, but either the Russian team was running late or weren’t coming. That didn’t stop Victor from constantly looking around for his old coach when he was supposed to be doing other things—like paying attention to what Yuuri was doing out on the ice.

Eventually, Yuuri got so fed up with his coach’s neglect that he skated right up to where Victor was standing by the rink barrier, crossed his arms over his chest, and cleared his throat. When Victor still didn’t look at him, Yuuri plucked a tissue out of the poodle-shaped box in Victor’s arms and waved it around in front of his face.

Startled, Victor blinked and finally focused his attention on Yuuri. “Oh . . . hi. Sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

“I noticed,” Yuuri said, his dark eyes simmering with irritation. “I don’t suppose you saw anything else I just did either? Like the half-routine I performed before I realized my coach wasn’t paying attention?”

Victor blanched. His eyes darted around the arena, taking note of the other coaches—seasoned, professional coaches that had business cards, tax IDs, and everything. Out of all of them, Victor was the only one not actively working with his student. “Um. . .”

It was at that moment that Yakov breezed through the door and into the arena, wearing his signature overcoat and hat, Georgi all but invisible at his side.

Victor brightened and stood up straighter. Instantly, his heart began to pound. He’d been anticipating this reunion from the moment Yuuri’s Grand Prix assignments had been announced in the summer.

When Yuuri followed Victor’s gaze to the left, his irritation softened into understanding. “Ah. That’s why you’ve been so distracted.”

It was nice not to have to explain because Yakov was headed their way. But the closer he got, the more it became apparent that he was keeping his eyes very purposefully aimed in any direction except Victor’s. Not even Georgi would look at him. It wasn’t as if he and Victor had ever been best friends or anything, but they’d been rink-mates for well over a decade. The fact that Georgi didn’t offer so much as a glance or a “hello” meant either that he was also angry with Victor, or more likely, that Yakov had instructed Georgi to ignore him.

Warning bells went off in Victor’s mind. He knew his heart was about to be broken yet again, even before it happened, but he couldn’t just stand there and say nothing. When Yakov came close enough to hear him, Victor felt unusually shy as he said, “Yakov, hi. It’s really good to see . . . you.”

His words faltered as Yakov stomped past him without so much as a glance of acknowledgement.

And oh, it hurt.

That was the man who had practically raised him from his pre-teen years all the way into his twenties. It was Yakov who had taught Victor about life, taken him into his home when it felt like no one else wanted to deal with him, helped him put what had happened with his mother into perspective, mentored him during his transition from a boy into a man, and stood alongside him during some of the most important moments of his career. Yakov had been the one constant in Victor’s life when he’d badly needed someone to not go anywhere.

Victor knew he’d been the one to hurt Yakov first. He understood that he needed to apologize, but how could he ask for forgiveness when Yakov wouldn’t even look at him? Victor’s gaze fell to the floor, his throat on fire with emotion.

A gentle hand came to rest on his forearm. “Victor,” Yuuri said, drawing his coach’s attention back to the present moment.

Victor stared at him, wondering if Yuuri had any idea how badly he was hurting at that moment.

He must have because he squeezed Victor’s forearm so firmly that he was impossible to ignore. “Keep your eyes on me,” Yuuri said, quietly commanding. “And no one else. They’re not even here, okay? It’s just you and me alone together.”

And just like that, Victor felt anchored to the ground again. He blew out a slow breath and nodded, more appreciative of Yuuri’s support than he could ever put into words.

But at the same time, it bothered him. He was supposed to be the one supporting Yuuri today—not the other way around—but so far, the only purpose Victor had served at this competition was as an overly-qualified tissue box holder.

Victor got drunk at dinner that night. The kind of drunk that resulted in impaired memory and missing items of clothing.

And it wasn’t just because Yakov had turned down his invitation to join them by telling Victor that it “made him sick” to see him pretending to be a coach. (Ah, family.)

No, Victor didn’t really start going in with the alcohol until two people he’d never met before joined them at a local Hot Pot restaurant. Yuuri’s best friend, Phichit Chulanont, as well as his former coach, Celestino Cialdini. Both men made Victor feel insecure in different ways.

First, there was Phichit, a young Thai man with a bright smile and infectious laugh. Victor was already familiar with the sound of his voice. He sometimes heard Phichit and Yuuri’s conversations through the walls back in Hasetsu, laughing and talking late into the night over Skype. Yuuri’s face lit up whenever Phichit’s name was mentioned in conversation, even in the context of having to compete against him. Clearly, they were close.

And yes, Victor was jealous, even though he knew he didn’t have a reason to be.

He’d already quizzed Yuuri on his relationship with Phichit several times and had been assured they were “just friends,” but the jealousy remained. Not that Victor was determined to dislike Phichit or anything. He just didn’t like the reminder that his best friend, Yuuri, already had a best friend before him. Victor wanted to be Yuuri’s number one.

So when Phichit arrived at the restaurant that night, Victor was already a little guarded and wondering if he would be made to feel like a third wheel while the two old friends caught up. But then Phichit and Yuuri didn’t even move to hug each other. They just smiled and exchanged a “good-to-see-you” wave, which came as a surprise to Victor, who couldn’t go more than an hour or two without demanding a Yuuri-hug. (Highly addictive, those hugs.)

Victor’s jealousy was tempered somewhat when Yuuri got up from his seat, offered it to Phichit, and moved to the opposite side of the table to sit down beside Victor instead. It was much easier to be friendly and welcoming to Phichit after that. While it still irked Victor a bit that Phichit was Yuuri’s best friend . . . at least Victor was Yuuri’s boyfriend.

All the same, a lingering insecurity remained. Victor didn’t like that someone else might know Yuuri better than he did.

Celestino Cialdini hadn’t arrived at the restaurant yet, but his presence could still be felt. From the moment Phichit announced his coach would be joining them for dinner, Yuuri’s anxiety went into overdrive. It was an understandable reaction, considering he had fired the man as his coach last season.

Victor also felt a small jolt of apprehension, which he hadn’t anticipated feeling around Yuuri’s former mentor. Though Celestino was a well-respected member of the figure skating community, Victor had been dismissive of the man’s coaching abilities from the beginning. Obviously, he hadn’t been cut out for the job of guiding Yuuri to success. Up until arriving in Beijing, Victor had felt confident he was the better man for the job.

But today’s practice at the arena had shaken Victor’s unflinching confidence in himself. He’d barely been able to focus on Yuuri, much less offer him any useful advice, and more than once, Victor had noticed Celestino watching him from across the rink. The disapproval could be felt from a distance.

The two of them had only spoken once before—just a quick phone call a few months ago to ask about Celestino’s reasoning behind his music choices for Yuuri. Though Celestino had been cooperative with the request and didn’t show any hint of holding a grudge against Yuuri, he hadn’t been as friendly toward Victor. He’d told him to stop playing at being a coach, which was a little too close to the kind of thing Victor was already hearing from Yakov.

Back then, Victor had laughed it off, but now, he couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t encountered a single person at this competition who thought he had any business being Yuuri’s coach. The prospect of having dinner with a real coach was a bit daunting.

“Did you have to invite him?” Yuuri asked, looking very much like he wanted to crawl beneath the table and hide until the restaurant closed.

“Kind of, yeah,” Phichit said. “He asked me earlier if I was planning to see you tonight and mentioned he wanted to come. I think he wanted to talk to Victor about something.”

“Victor?” Yuuri echoed. “About what?”

“Probably some coaching thing. Ciao Ciao just wants to make sure you’re doing okay.”

Yuuri groaned and put his face in his hands.

Victor smiled brightly at Phichit, but inside, his stomach was twisting into knots. Great. Yuuri’s old coach was on his way here on a mission to make Victor feel more inadequate than he already did. Victor signaled to the waitress to bring him another beer, knowing he was going to need something to take the edge off.

It was at that moment that Yuuri’s phone started buzzing and lighting up with rapid-fire text messages. After Yuuri read through them, he said, “Minako’s texting. Her taxi driver got them lost trying to find the hotel, and she’s asking for directions. Do you mind if I go outside to call her? It’s so loud in here.”

He looked at Victor, who said, “Of course.”

“Be right back,” Yuuri said as he got up from the table.

Left by themselves, Victor and Phichit smiled awkwardly at each other from across the table. Victor wasn’t sure what to say, so he used his chopsticks to grab a live shrimp from the tray in front of him. Holding it out, he said, “Sure you don’t want one?”

Phichit laughed and shook his head. “So . . . how’s our Yuuri doing anyway? Everything going okay with his programs this season?”

One of Victor’s eyebrows arched upward. (What did he mean, ~our~ Yuuri?) “We had a few hiccups at the beginning, but he’s doing great overall. Lots of progress from last year.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Phichit said. “I’ve been worried about him since he left Detroit. Well . . . I’m sure you know why.”

“Oh, yes,” Victor lied. And then he lied again. “Yuuri tells me everything.”

“I’m sure you know then that he needs a little extra support at these competitions. I don’t know why he goes into such a panic sometimes.”

“Well, it’s normal to get nervous, especially at the opening of the season. Don’t worry. We’ve been working on his confidence.”

Phichit stared at Victor for a long moment before parting his lips to speak again. “But . . . you’ve seen Yuuri in an actual panic before, right? I mean, when he gets one of his attacks.”

Since Victor had witnessed Yuuri practically writhing out of his skin with anxiety before, he felt confident in saying, “Of course. I’ve been living with him for the better part of a year. There’s not much I haven’t seen.”

Phichit looked a bit amused at Victor’s suggestive choice of words. (Which, yes, were meant to be suggestive.) With a mischievous smirk sparkling in his eyes, Phichit said, “So are you two officially dating or what? Yuuri won’t tell me.”

Oh, thank God, Victor thought. I’m not the only person Yuuri keeps in the dark.

“I have no idea,” Victor confessed. “Maybe. Yuuri won’t tell me either, so I’m going with ‘yes’ until I hear otherwise.”

Phichit’s smirk split into a grin. “He’s not an easy one to pin down. Congrats on being the first. I’ve seen several people before you try and fail.”

“Were you one of them?”

Laughing, Phichit said, “Where did you get that idea? No way. We’ve always just been friends. But you? Victor, Yuuri worships the ground you walk on. You’re all he’s been talking about since last spring.”

Victor was starting to like this Phichit person much better now. “Really? That’s funny, considering I could barely get him to talk to me back then.”

“Well, that’s just Yuuri. He has some serious intimacy issues, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. He’s one of my closest friends in the entire world, but there are times when he’s pushed me away so hard that I’ve wondered if he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Victor said. “His face lights up like it’s Christmas morning every time he hears your name.”

They exchanged another smile, this one much warmer and more genuine than the ones that had preceded it. The awkwardness between them was fading fast. Though the two of them might not know each other very well, they had a link formed by just how much they cared about Yuuri.

“Listen,” Phichit said, “I don’t want you to take this as a criticism . . . because I have to tell you, I really like what I’ve been seeing and hearing from Yuuri ever since you’ve been in his life. You’re a good influence on him, Victor. Trust me, I’m a fan.”

“But?” Victor prompted.

“But you’ve never seen Yuuri have a panic attack before,” Phichit said. “I can tell because of the way you dismissed the idea a few minutes ago.”

Victor frowned, puzzled by the remark.

Was Phichit referring to the jitters Yuuri often got before he skated in front of an audience? Sure, he was an anxious person by nature, but he also knew what he had to do to get focused before stepping onto the ice. Victor had seen Yuuri conquer his own nerves several times over, either going to stretch by himself before his performance or taking the time to walk it off. It wasn’t a huge hindrance.

“Look, I’m not trying to make you feel like I know him better than you,” Phichit continued. “I just want you to be prepared because I wasn’t prepared the first time. Yuuri has this bad habit of pushing people away when he gets upset. It’s like he doesn’t even realize what he’s saying. He gets these irrational ideas in his head and projects them onto other people. Like he’ll imagine that everyone thinks he’s worthless or like they hate being around him, when it’s actually Yuuri who thinks he’s worthless and doesn’t like being around himself. When he gets like that, you have to figure out what’s actually going on, and that’s not an easy thing to do when it’s so hard to get him to open up in the first place.”

There was a wariness in Phichit’s eyes that made Victor hesitant to dismiss his concerns a second time. “Is there anyone at this competition who thinks I’m capable of being a good coach to him?”

Phichit smiled, but there was something sympathetic about it, as though he was well-aware of all the things people were saying about Victor’s inexperience. “Well, I’m personally rooting for you. I meant what I said earlier. I really do like what I see in Yuuri when he’s around you—and that makes me like you, even without knowing you all that well.”

They quieted for a moment while the waiter delivered their drinks to the table. Victor sipped his beer and waited until the man was gone before speaking up again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it,” Phichit said.

“A while back, Yuuri told me a story about one of his old rink-mates. A girl. He pushed her away when she tried to hug him.”

“Oh, you mean Ashley. They were pretty good friends back in Detroit, but you know how Yuuri gets when people try to get too cozy with him. It probably didn’t help that Ashley was practically in love with him, and he was oblivious, as usual. Pretty sure she’s still nursing a broken heart over him going back to Japan.”

Victor frowned as he listened, all too familiar with Yuuri’s obliviousness himself. There was a part of him that still worried Yuuri was prepared to push him away if he got too close. “He really didn’t know she liked him?”

“He thought she just saw him as a friend, no matter how many signs were there. Don’t underestimate Yuuri’s low self-esteem, Victor. He probably can’t even wrap his mind around the fact that you might have feelings for him.”

“But . . . how is that even possible? We hold hands all the time. We cuddled the entire plane ride here. Yuuri knows exactly how I feel.”

Phichit shook his head sadly. “Just because he knows you like him doesn’t mean he thinks he’s good enough to keep your interest for long. Seriously, Victor—don’t underestimate Yuuri’s low self-esteem.”

With a sigh, Victor drained half the beer from his glass, already thinking about ordering another one.

Yuuri came back to the table and slid into the seat beside Victor. “Sorry about that. Minako finally made it to the hotel. What’d I miss?”

“Oh, we were just talking about Ashley,” Phichit said. “You know . . . our old rinkmate back in Detroit. The one who was completely head over heels in love with you.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Be serious. She was not.”

“Yuuri, you’re so funny,” Phichit said. “She literally told you she had feelings for you, remember?”

When Yuuri shrugged like that couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the truth of the matter, Victor’s mouth fell open. Phichit glanced at him, that pitying smirk of amusement still on his face. I told you he was beyond oblivious, he seemed to say with his eyes. Good luck with that.

Victor let out a quiet groan and drank the other half of his beer in a single swallow, disappointed when it barely loosened him up. He might need to order something a bit harder soon. . .

Shooting Victor a curious glance, Yuuri picked up his own glass and took a sip of water. “How is Ashley, anyway? Have you heard from her recently?”

“Yeah, I talk to her online all the time,” Phichit said. “She’s doing great. Has a new boyfriend and everything. Haven’t you kept in touch with her?”

Yuuri flushed and set his glass back down on the table. “Uh . . . no. I haven’t really kept in touch with anyone except you. I doubt she wants to hear from me anyway. But that’s great to hear . . . that she found someone.”

“Speaking of people you should’ve kept in touch with but didn’t, there’s Ciao Ciao.” Phichit raised a hand and waved at his coach, who had just walked through the front doors of the restaurant. “Over here!”

As anxious as Yuuri was to see his former coach, he relaxed and gave in to a reluctant smile when he saw him. Victor might have also relaxed had Celestino not sat down at the table and said, “So . . . how’s the rookie coach this evening? Ready to throw in the towel?”

Caught off guard by the remark, Victor resorted to his usual defense mechanism—a bright smile. His fingers tapped on the table beside his empty glass, impatient for a refill.

“Ciao Ciao,” Phichit said, laughing and scolding at the same time. “You can’t just say things like that to people!”

“Oh, relax,” Celestino said with a dismissive wave. “I’m just teasing the boy. Victor, I wish you all the luck in the world with Yuuri.”

Victor remained tense, still smiling, and waited for the rest.

“But please understand,” Celestino continued, “it’s difficult to watch my former star pupil in the hands of an amateur. Everyone knows how brilliant you are on the ice, but coaching is a different animal. It requires a certain maturity that takes years to refine. Have you even thought about what you’re doing to Yuuri’s career in the meantime?”

Oh, ouch. Victor was doing all right with Celestino’s criticism up until that final question. The reporters today had asked him similar things, and while Victor could defend his decision to leave the ice all day, it was more difficult to consider what his inexperience might be doing to Yuuri. If Victor’s overconfidence in himself ever hurt Yuuri, it would break his heart.

Before Victor could respond, Yuuri spoke up first. “Victor’s doing a great job. Don’t worry, Coach Celestino. I might not have come back at all this season if it wasn’t for him.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you didn’t give up,” Celestino said, his voice warmer as he turned his attention to his former student. “That would have been an incredible shame. You have so much talent and potential, Yuuri.” To Victor, Celestino said, “And I know how frustrating it is to watch it all go down the drain the moment he starts second guessing himself. Let me know if you want any advice from someone who’s been in your shoes.”

“Thank you,” Victor said earnestly. “I might take you up on that.”

“Lesson one,” Celestino said, taking Yuuri’s water glass off the table and giving it a sniff. “Never, ever let this boy near alcohol at a competition. Trust me, I learned that one the hard way.”

“It’s just water,” Yuuri said.

Across the table, Phichit dissolved into laughter and used his phone to snap a picture of his best friend shooting him a glare.

“Lesson two,” Celestino said. “Make sure you have plenty of alcohol with you at all times. And I mean, alcohol for yourself. Because you’re going to need it with this one.” He jerked his head twice in Yuuri’s direction. “Just make sure to keep it out of his reach.”

Yuuri’s cheeks had taken on a good bit of color. “I’m sitting right here, you know.”

“Shall we order a round of drinks now?” Celestino said. “Drinks for the coaches, I mean. None for you, Yuuri, so don’t get any ideas. I see you eyeing that lady’s cocktail over there.”

“Oh, my God,” Yuuri said, covering his face with both hands. “Stop.”

As Celestino’s boisterous laughter joined in with the sound of Phichit’s, even Yuuri was having trouble hiding his smile. Amusement danced in his cinnamon brown eyes when he peeked out from behind his fingers. Whatever anxiousness had plagued him before this reunion with his old coach and best friend was long since forgotten, and familiarity with one another had taken its place.

Victor watched the three of them, a little smile playing at his own lips, and tried not to feel insecure about his own place at that table.

The alcohol helped.

After a bottle or two of the strong stuff, Victor felt great.

So great, in fact, that Yuuri had to help him walk back to the hotel because Victor was having trouble remembering how things like traffic lights and feet worked. His entire body was flushed, covered with a thin sheen of sweat in spite of the blustery winter weather outside.

“Please put your coat on,” Yuuri begged him. “It’s freezing out here.”

“No, s’not,” Victor said, slurring his words together. “M’all sweaty.”

Stopping dead in his tracks in the middle of a busy crosswalk, Victor stripped off his shirt. The cold air felt amazing on his overheated skin. He tossed the shirt onto the hood of a car, which was idling at the crosswalk, waiting for the streetlight to switch to green. Leaning down to smile at the driver behind the wheel, Victor waved and said, “Hiiiii!”

Then he started signing his autograph with his finger in the layer of dust on the car’s hood.

“Victor.” Yuuri snatched the shirt off the hood and dragged Victor to the other side of the street. Once they reached the safety of the sidewalk, Yuuri made him put his shirt back on again.

“Wass wrong?” Victor asked. “You mad?”

“No,” Yuuri said as he threw Victor’s coat around his shoulders. “I just need to get you back to the hotel. Preferably without frostbite.”

This inspired Victor to go into full-blown pout-mode, crossing both arms over his chest and puffing up his cheeks. “But I thought we were going to an onsen.”

“Victor, how am I supposed to find a hot springs resort in the middle of Beijing?”

Throwing the coat off his shoulders, Victor said, “But I want a bath.”

“You can take one at the hotel. Please. You’re making a scene.”

Good. Victor liked making scenes. Especially scenes in the nude.

“What will you give me if I’m good?” Victor asked. “Because I gotta tell you, Yuuri . . . I do not want to be good right now. These pants are itchy.”

With a longsuffering sigh, Yuuri went up on his toes and pressed a quick kiss to Victor’s cheek. “I’ll give you another one if you keep your clothes on until we get you to your room. Actually, you have to promise me you’ll keep them on after that, too.”

Stunned and pleased by the kiss, Victor nodded and let himself be pulled along the sidewalk by his much-too-serious significant other. And he didn’t try to steer them in another direction or slingshot his bikini briefs at any passersby. (Even though that would have been fun.)

No, Victor wanted that second kiss, so he was on his best behavior from that moment on.

In time, they made it back to the hotel, and Yuuri guided him through the lobby in a hurry, anxious to avoid the attention of any reporters or fans that might be in the vicinity. Once Yuuri got them both in an elevator, he leaned against the closed doors and let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Yuuriiiii, now I’m cold,” Victor whined, hugging himself. “Where’s my coat?”

“You’re already wearing it. . .” Yuuri approached, put his arm around Victor’s shoulders, and rubbed him to warm him up. “I’ve got you.”

Victor snuggled closer into Yuuri’s warmth and closed his eyes. He suddenly wasn’t feeling too good, shivering and sweating at the same time.

Though Victor was certainly no stranger to alcohol, indulging in it a little too often for a professional athlete, he was surprised at just how hard those drinks at the restaurant had hit him. He hadn’t meant to get so drunk and had only wanted a distraction. But this was a little more than a mere distraction now. The hallway outside his hotel room had turned into a spinning tunnel ride at a carnival.

Without Yuuri there to help him, Victor might have simply sat down and given up trying to walk altogether. Just the idea of being alone and abandoned at that moment was enough to make him emotional. “Yuuri. . .” he whimpered.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” Yuuri said for the second time, his grip on Victor strong and sure. “Come on. We’re almost there.”

Once they made it to the room, Victor had a strange feeling of clarity wash over him. It was like his stomach had sent an urgent message to his brain, which moved his body forward in spite of his disorientation. He pushed the coat off his shoulders, stumbled out of his shoes, and marched himself silently into the bathroom. There, he knelt in front of the toilet and started taking deep, steadying breaths.

He waited for the worst, but nothing happened. He hated this part of being drunk—when the fun was all over and reality was waiting to crash down on him, far worse than it ever was before he took a sip.

Yuuri came into the bathroom and got down on the floor beside him. He offered Victor a bottle of water, which he had to help guide to his lips.

Victor took a sip but winced and turned his face away when the liquid hit his stomach. “Ugh. . .”

“Not good?” Yuuri said.

“I feel sick.” Victor put his head in his hands and willed the awful spinning sensation to cease its attack on his vision. “It’s all stuck in my throat.”

“Do you need to throw up? You might feel better if you do.”

“No,” Victor said. “It’s here.” He moved his hand to his chest, a few inches below the base of his throat.

“Your . . . heart hurts?”

Victor nodded miserably, trying his hardest not to break down and cry. He hadn’t even realized he needed to. “Yakov hates me,” he said.

There was a pause, and then Yuuri leaned in closer, putting a palm on the small of Victor’s back. “Oh, Victor. . .”

“I don’t understand what I did that was so wrong. I’m a good person, right? I try so hard to smile and make everyone happy. What is it about me that makes it so easy to walk away?”

These were private thoughts that Victor would never have willingly said out loud, but for some reason, they felt safe to give to Yuuri. He would know what to do with them.

“You’re a very good person,” Yuuri said. “And I’m not going anywhere, okay? No one is walking away.”

“Everyone’s waiting for me to fail as your coach. They’re all watching.”

“No. If I fail tomorrow, it’s my fault. Not yours.”

Victor shook his head. “No, it’s mine. And I just want to make Yakov proud. He used to be so proud of me . . . and now he just hates me.”

“No one hates you, Victor. How could they? If Yakov wants to pick someone to be angry with, he can aim it all at me because I’m the one that stole you away. And I don’t care if the whole world blames me for it. People are never going to be satisfied seeing me instead of you on the ice anyway, so let them go ahead and hate me. I’m okay with being the bad guy in this situation if it makes you feel more protected from the scrutiny.”

So disjointed were Victor’s thoughts that he could barely make sense of anything Yuuri was saying. But the feeling behind the words—a fearsome protectiveness unlike anything Victor had ever witnessed before from his boyfriend—was evident in the way he talked.

“You take such good care of me,” Victor said in a near-whisper. “But I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.” He swallowed hard and sat up a bit higher on his knees. “Yuuri . . . I don’t feel so good.”

Over the next ten minutes or so, Victor threw up several times. Yuuri stayed with him, on his knees on the hard tile floor with a cold washrag, which he used to wipe Victor’s face and mouth between bouts of sickness. It was a humbling experience, to say the least.

Afterward, Yuuri helped Victor peel off his sweaty clothing so that he could take a shower, and that made him feel much better. He turned the water all the way to cold, which quelled the sick feeling in his stomach and cleared his head somewhat. Though he was shivering by the time Yuuri helped him out of the shower, the bathroom towels were gloriously warm and huge. Victor’s boyfriend wrapped him up in one, helped him brush his teeth, combed the knots out of his hair, and then brought him a clean pair of pajamas and underwear.

It was almost worth being sick. Yuuri was taking such good care of him. The steadiness of his hands . . . the gentle way he guided Victor’s limbs into his clothing . . . the way Yuuri averted his eyes whenever Victor’s naked body was on display . . . all of it was just so sweet.

“Don’t go,” Victor whispered after Yuuri tucked him into bed.

“Shhh. . .” Yuuri placed a bottle of water on the nightstand and switched off the lights, casting the room into darkness. “I wouldn’t leave you alone when you’re sick.”

This cheered Victor considerably. He snuggled down into the warm, heavy blankets and watched as Yuuri walked across the dark room towards the couch, which was positioned on the far wall beneath a frost-covered window. Grabbing a pillow off the bed, he placed it on the couch.

When Victor realized Yuuri meant to sleep there, he said, “You can sleep here with me in the bed. I don’t mind.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. . .”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“Because you don’t want to take advantage of me when I’m drunk?”

Yuuri sighed and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck as he searched the room for a spare blanket. “Something like that.”

Propping himself up on one elbow, Victor asked, “Or is it the other way around, and you don’t want me taking advantage of you? I wouldn’t do that. . .”

“I know you wouldn’t. I’m just trying to be respectful.”

“You could come respectfully cuddle with me. I’m still cold.”

Yuuri had finally located a spare blanket in the closet, but instead of keeping it for himself, he brought it to the bed and unfurled it over Victor. “Is that better? I can find you another pair of socks if that would help.”

Victor was so touched by Yuuri’s thoughtfulness that his chin quivered. “Socks would be nice. . .”

Yuuri brought him socks.

“Bet you’re tired of taking care of me when I’m drunk, huh?” Victor said after his boyfriend finished tucking his feet beneath the covers again, two pairs of socks on each one.

Another sigh. Yuuri sat down on the couch and said, “No. I just get worried sometimes.”

“I know I drink too much. It just feels so much better to laugh and have fun instead of worrying about things I can’t control. That’s not such a bad thing to want, is it?”

“Oh, trust me,” Yuuri said. “I’ve been there. But listen, I don’t want you to worry about tomorrow. I’ll take care of everything. No one’s ever going to call you an amateur coach again if I have anything to do with it.”

Victor smiled and settled back down onto his pillow. “But I am an amateur. Yuuri, I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this before, but I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“Mmm . . . Yuuri, you’re really pretty. You have pretty eyes and nice skin. And I like your smile and your voice, and you smell good, too.”

Yuuri’s blush couldn’t be seen in the darkness, but Victor knew it was there. The temperature in the room had just gone up a good ten degrees, which was a dead giveaway. Or maybe it was just because of the extra socks he was wearing. . .

Victor frowned and toed the socks off beneath the covers. (He hated wearing socks to bed. Why had Yuuri thought he wanted these?)

“Uh . . . thanks,” Yuuri said. “Though I think that might be the alcohol talking.”

“Then the alcohol has good taste in men.” Now sockless, Victor turned on his side to gaze at Yuuri in the darkness. “Do you think I’m pretty, Yuuri?”

Even as the words came out of his mouth, Victor didn’t really think he was going to get an answer. He was just teasing his boyfriend. A little harmless flirtation before bed.

The last thing he expected was for Yuuri to flirt back.

“Yes,” Yuuri said in a quiet voice. “But I’m sure I’m not the first person to tell you that.”

Victor stopped breathing.

Then, parting his lips and drawing in a slow breath, he said, “It means more, coming from you. I never know what you’re thinking when you look at me.”

Yuuri let out a nervous laugh that could barely be heard over the sound of the heater kicking on overhead. “I’m sorry I keep you at such a distance sometimes. I’ve just never done this kind of thing with anyone before.”

“What kind of thing do you mean?”

“Let someone get this close. . .”

Victor’s heart was about to beat out of his chest. “Come here,” he said, patting the mattress in front of him. “Lie down with me.”

Yuuri looked at him, clearly hesitating.

“Yuuri, you can’t sleep on the couch with no blanket the night before a competition. You can’t afford a stiff neck tomorrow. I swear I won’t do anything. Besides, it’s nothing we haven’t already done when I’m sober. Listen to your coach for once, and come get some sleep.”

“My . . . coach?” Chuckling under his breath, Yuuri stood and unzipped his jeans. After kicking them off, he got into bed wearing a t-shirt and his boxer briefs. “You can’t pull the coach card when you’re this drunk. The slurring doesn’t really lend a lot to your voice of authority.”

“Can’t blame me for trying. It’s not like you listen to me when I’m sober either. . .”

“I listen to you, Victor. I hear more than you probably realize.”

Victor watched as Yuuri settled down on the pillow beside him, just out of reach. Black eyelashes blinked at Victor in the darkness. Still awake, watching.

Yuuri was just so damn beautiful.

“You still owe me a kiss, by the way,” Victor said. “You told me if I was good and kept my clothes on all the way to the hotel, I’d get another one.”

Again, he was only teasing—and maybe trying to make Yuuri laugh.

But Yuuri didn’t laugh. Instead, he moved closer in the bed and propped himself up on one elbow. Finding Victor in the dark, Yuuri cupped his face in his hand, leaned in, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His lips were searing hot as they lingered on Victor’s skin.

“Mmm,” Victor said, smiling up at Yuuri when he drew back. “That made my toes tingle. . .”

Yuuri smiled sweetly back at him. “Mine, too.”

Settling back down on the pillow, Yuuri pushed his bangs out of his face and stared straight up at the ceiling. Though Victor kept his word and didn’t try to touch him, they were both keenly aware of the sexual tension in the room.

“Victor. . .” Yuuri said after a long stretch of silence. “Can we please just make it through this competition? I need to focus if I’m going to win this thing.”

Victor turned his head on the pillow to look at him. “And after the competition is over? What happens then?”

Yuuri rolled onto his side and gazed back at Victor for a long moment before reaching out to him. His fingertips guided Victor’s bangs out of his eyes and tucked them behind his ear. Yuuri continued to pet his face—the pad of his thumb journeying up his cheekbone before massaging his temple, easing the headache already developing there—until Victor fell asleep.

Yuuri never did answer the question.

Something curious happened the next day.

Yuuri wasn’t acting like his normal, timid self. Not at all.

When Victor’s 6:30 AM alarm woke him up, he was surprised to discover Yuuri already awake and doing stretches on the floor in his hotel room. Victor groaned and brought a hand to cover his eyes, but that did nothing to quell the throbbing ache in his head. It felt like World War III had been declared behind his eyeballs.

“Why did I drink that much?” Victor lamented, his throat hoarse and scratchy. “Why? And after eating Hot Pot, of all things. I think I might hate my past self.”

“There’s aspirin and water on the nightstand,” Yuuri said, reaching his fingers past his toes until his belly rested flat against his thigh. He exhaled and closed his eyes as the stretch deepened.

Victor dropped his hands from his face and peered at his boyfriend, baffled by how alert he was at such an early hour. Since when did Yuuri get out of bed before him? Even hungover, Victor almost always made it to breakfast first. “Thank you. . .”

He sat up in bed, reached for the pair of pills Yuuri had set out for him, and popped them into his mouth. Unscrewing the bottle of water, Victor drained half of it in a single go, and as he wiped his mouth, he studied his boyfriend’s body language. Yuuri’s gaze was sharp and unclouded, the corners of his mouth pulling ever so slightly down. He didn’t look unhappy. Just intently focused on something.

“I thought we didn’t have to be at the arena until nine,” Victor said. “What got you out of bed so early?”

“I just needed to get up and move,” Yuuri said. “I was thinking about going for a run before practice. Is that okay, or did you have anything already planned for me to do this morning?”

Was Victor supposed to have something planned? Oops.

“Uh . . . no, a run should be fine, as long as you stretch.” Victor’s frown deepened as he watched Yuuri switch legs and reach past his toes again, wrapping both hands around the bottom of his foot. “Which . . . I guess, you’re already doing.”

It was official. Victor really was the world’s most useless coach. Yuuri didn’t even need him here. Letting out a quiet groan as his head continued to pound, Victor squinted at the clock on the nightstand and tried to make sense of the blurred numbers.

“Why don’t you go back to sleep until your medicine kicks in?” Yuuri suggested. “I can call you when it’s time to get up.”

“Okay. . .” Victor laid back down on the bed again but turned his head so that he could watch his boyfriend lace up his running shoes. “Yuuri? Not that I mind or anything . . . but what are you doing here?”

Yuuri glanced up at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just surprised to see you in my room, I guess. I thought you wanted to sleep by yourself on this trip.”

“You . . . don’t remember last night?”

Victor searched his memories, but it hurt his head too much to dig deep. “I remember throwing up. Oh . . . you were there with me, weren’t you?”

Flashes of last night began to surface. Yuuri’s gentle but firm hands rubbing Victor’s back while he knelt in front of the toilet, helping him out of the shower, drying and combing his hair, getting him dressed in warm pajamas. Yuuri’s eyes had looked everywhere but at Victor, who honestly didn’t care if his boyfriend wanted to stare at him all night when he was naked. But knowing that he hadn’t—that Yuuri had treated Victor with care and respect when he was in such a vulnerable state—made Victor’s eyes go suddenly misty.

He really did have the sweetest boyfriend in the world. How did he get so lucky?

“Uh . . . gomen,” Yuuri said, cheeks blazing with color. “I was worried about you being alone when you were still so sick. Nothing happened, though. I mean, I-I helped you shower and get dressed for bed, but I didn’t . . . I would never. . .”

“Yuuri,” Victor said with a gentle laugh. “Do you really think I’m mad at you for taking such good care of me? You should know by now you’re always welcome in my bed.”

Yuuri was in the middle of double-knotting his shoe laces, but his movements faltered for a second as his eyes met Victor’s. “I don’t suppose you remember anything we talked about?”

“Hmm. I vaguely recall asking if you thought I was pretty.”

A smile tugged at the side of Yuuri’s mouth. “Do you remember what you said about Yakov?”

Victor’s own smile dimmed a degree. He nodded once, even though his memory of exactly what he’d said was fuzzy at best. There was no telling what he’d babbled on about.

“I just want you to know that I’m going to take care of it,” Yuuri said. “Don’t worry about me today. I’ve got this.”

Shhh . . . I’ve got you.

The memory of Yuuri’s voice, whispering reassurances to Victor when he was so drunk and lost and emotional last night, inspired a rosy blush to rise up and warm Victor’s face.

Yuuri got to his feet and shook out his legs in preparation for his morning jog. “Feel better, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

Puzzled and flattered all at once, Victor watched him go, wondering all the while exactly what he’d said last night to bring out such a protective side of Yuuri.

Hours later, Victor still didn’t fully understand what was going on inside his boyfriend’s head, but one thing was for certain. Something lit Yuuri on fire that day.

And it wasn’t an easy day for either of them. From the moment they entered the arena, the press was all over them, pestering them both with uncomfortable questions and not-so-subtle jabs.

Yuuri, how are you feeling before your first big competition after coming in eleventh place at All-Japan last year? You must be feeling an incredible amount of pressure to redeem yourself, not to mention having to impress all those unhappy Victor Nikiforov fans out there.

This kind of thing came at them from all angles—comments from the volunteers at the venue, pitying looks from the other coaches, outright glares of hostility from Yakov, awkward conversations with fellow skaters, and strained smiles from fans.

Really, the whole lot of them just wouldn’t shut up.

Victor, it’s just not the same without you. . .

What a shame you’re not skating tonight. Such a loss to the sport. . .

That Japanese boy better be ready to impress people. What’s his name again?

It’s you people came to see, Victor. I hope you prepared him for an angry crowd.

Just break things off with him already.

Don’t you feel sorry for him?

Victor smiled and laughed in response to the comments, not because he was trying to be polite but because these people were just all so funny. None of them had even the slightest inkling of what they were talking about.

Because in spite of the criticism, the bulk of which Yuuri no doubt overheard again and again, his laser-sharp focus remained soundly in place. If anything, the more people laughed behind his back and doubted him, the more determined he seemed to become. Victor had never seen Yuuri that way before. It was wholly unexpected from someone who so often struggled with confidence.

But even then, Victor didn’t fully grasp just how fired up Yuuri really was.

It wasn’t until the time came for his performance, when Yuuri laced fingers with Victor, pressed their foreheads together, and said in a commanding tone, “Don’t ever take your eyes off me,” that Victor’s eyes went wide.

Holy shit, he thought. What’s flipped your switch?

Yuuri was far too different that day.

Victor had always known his boyfriend was capable of commanding an audience, but what he hadn’t expected was for Yuuri to lick his lips in front of ten thousand people and proceed to annihilate each and every negative expectation anyone ever had about him.

It was amazing, really.

Everything came together at that moment. All their hard work. Hours spent toiling away at the Ice Castle, refining and nitpicking and nursing sore feet and muscles.

Yuuri nailed all four jumps, including his quad Salchow and the tricky combination at the end, but honestly, who even cared about the technical details when there was so much of his personal charm on display for all to see? His sweetness was there, mixed in with a healthy dose of sexuality and sass, and when Yuuri’s flawless performance reached its conclusion, Victor threw up his arms and cheered.

The joy he felt at that moment was unlike anything he’d ever experienced as a competitor. He was already in love with Yuuri, but at that moment, Victor fell in love with being a coach, too. He’d won many competitions throughout his skating career, but none of them matched the feeling of pride of being Yuuri’s coach. Victor felt inspired, his head swirling with inspiration and new ideas.

When Yuuri stepped off the ice and into Victor’s arms, he asked, “Did I do okay?”

Victor laughed and hugged him tighter. “Are you joking? Yuuri, that was amazing.”

Yuuri’s score was about a million points shy of what his coach thought he deserved, but it was still high enough to put him in first place. The competition wasn’t over yet, but Victor was no longer even the slightest bit concerned about tomorrow’s Free Skate. While it was true that Yuuri was still struggling to get through it during practices, all he had to do was flip that lovely switch inside him again and nail another performance.

And all Victor had to do was figure out what had flipped Yuuri’s switch in the first place.

“What exactly did I say to you last night when I was drunk?” Victor asked as they walked back to the hotel together, their shoes crunching in the freshly fallen snow. “I’ve never seen you so fired up before.”

Yuuri looked a bit dazed and had been that way ever since he’d realized he was now the person everyone wanted to beat tomorrow. All his focus had gone right out the window, but that was all right. He deserved a good night’s sleep and could get his focus back again in the morning.

“Oh . . . um.” Yuuri looked at the sidewalk and had to push his glasses up when they slipped down his nose. “It was nothing, really. You just said you wanted Yakov to be proud of you.” He pushed his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. “I tried my best.”

Victor’s pace slowed. “You did that . . . for me?”

“You kept saying last night that he hated you. I guess I thought I could make him hate me instead if I proved I wasn’t wasting your time.”

This was a eureka moment for Victor. For months, he’d agonized over the fact that he couldn’t seem to figure out what Yuuri needed from him as a coach. It never occurred to him that what Yuuri might need was more pressure. And not just any kind of pressure—because apparently Yuuri wasn’t as motivated when it came to winning for his own sake as he was when Victor was involved.

And come to think of it . . . tonight wasn’t the first time Yuuri had done something like this. Last spring, at the Onsen on Ice showdown against Yurio, Yuuri had tapped into the same kind of determination to win because . . . well, Victor was the prize. If Yuuri had lost, Victor would have gone back to Russia to coach Yurio instead.

So that was it, then. Yuuri was motivated by Victor.

He wanted to keep him there as his coach. That’s why he’d won against Yurio last spring.

And Yuuri also wanted to prove to the naysayers that he wasn’t wasting Victor’s time. That’s why he’d destroyed the competition tonight.

“Just when I think I have you figured out, you keep surprising me,” Victor said, slipping his arm around Yuuri’s waist. “Feel free to defend my honor again tomorrow. Show everyone exactly how I’ve been spending my time. . .”

The final words were spoken with enough suggestiveness that Yuuri blushed. His body tensed against Victor’s side. “That’s a lot of pressure. . .” he said in a small voice.

“Well, I’m the most famous face in the sport. You’ve got big shoes to fill. And besides, we wouldn’t want Yakov or anyone else thinking tonight’s performance was just a fluke, right? Especially when my reputation is on the line.”

Yuuri went rigid, his red cheeks draining to white.

Victor mentally patted himself on the back. Not that he meant anything he’d just said, but if piling on the pressure was how Yuuri found his perfect focus, then Victor could intimidate him all day, every day.

Really, this whole coaching thing was just getting easier and easier.

(As long as Yuuri kept giving him such helpful hints, anyway.)

Yuuri didn’t sleep in Victor’s room that night, retreating instead to his own after mumbling something about needing to call his family. That was all right. Even though Victor was a bit lonely without his boyfriend there to keep him company, he had the wonderful memories of tonight’s performance to distract himself with.

After indulging in a long shower, Victor sat down at the desk in his room and stirred some honey into a steaming mug of tea, which he’d ordered from room service. The bagged tea wasn’t nearly as good as the loose-leaf kind Hiroko served back home, but it would have to do.

He sipped his drink and smiled at the glittering skyline outside his window, thinking about Yuuri.

When Victor’s eyes fell to the desk, he noticed a pen and pad of paper there. Complimentary writing utensils left for hotel guests. Suddenly inspired, Victor placed his tea aside and took up the pen instead. He still hadn’t finished writing Yuuri the letter he wanted to include in his birthday book, and if Victor didn’t finalize it soon (like yesterday . . . or maybe last week . . . or possibly last month), the designer of the book was probably going to quit. What better time than now to write it, when Victor was feeling so incredibly proud of Yuuri’s amazing performance?

Taking up the pen, Victor poured out his feelings onto the page. He talked about how inspired he was by Yuuri’s skating, how much he valued their relationship both on and off the ice, and how honored he was to call himself Yuuri’s coach.

And it was a good letter. Heartfelt and true. But as Victor reread what he’d written, it still didn’t feel right to him. His love and respect for Yuuri was evident in every word, but something vital remained absent from the lines of handwriting.

Crumpling up the first draft into a ball, Victor tried again to write the letter. And again, he failed. More rejected drafts joined the first in the trash bin until eventually, Victor grew tired and gave up.

He sat back in the chair and took up his tea again. Taking a sip, he found it had long-since grown cold. Even so, he held it to his lips and wondered, What am I doing wrong?

This shouldn’t be that difficult of a task. Yuuri was his best friend, and talking to him face-to-face was practically effortless now. Victor felt like he could tell him anything. Like he could be 100% himself.

Come to think of it . . . maybe that was the problem.

Victor hadn’t been talking with his authentic voice in the letters, instead utilizing a cordial but professional tone. He’d made that choice on purpose. After all, this was supposed to be a letter written from a coach to his student—not from a boyfriend written to the man he loved.

But it wasn’t romance that was missing from the letter. No, the more Victor thought about it, the more he realized it was him that the letters were lacking. Victor wasn’t being honest about who he really was. Not once, in all his failed drafts, had he told Yuuri how scared he’d been this entire year of failing him, and how it was Yuuri who was slowly teaching him through trial and error what to do.

But what kind of birthday letter was that?

Happy birthday, Yuuri! Hey, did I mention I have no idea what I’m doing as your coach? Yep, pretty much just playing it by ear at this point and looking to you for guidance. You’re doing a GREAT job, by the way . . . you know, teaching me how to do MY job. Keep up the good work, coach!

Heaving a sigh, Victor flicked the pen off the desk and pouted as he watched it clatter to the floor.

This was beyond hopeless.

In all seriousness, Victor didn’t think he was doing that badly.

Certainly, he was inexperienced and often felt more like Yuuri’s peer than his mentor. And yes, he got down on himself at times and succumbed to moments of insecurity. But overall, Yuuri’s performances spoke for themselves. He’d placed first at every individual competition so far. That was Victor’s choreography Yuuri was performing out there. It was Victor who’d helped him tap into his self-worth. It was Victor that inspired him to win.

That had to be worth something, right?

So no, Victor didn’t really think he was a bad coach. No, that particular revelation didn’t come until the very next day. The day of Yuuri’s Free Skate program. That was when Victor realized he probably needed to be fired.

The whole day was a disaster from the get-go.

Yuuri showed up for practice that morning looking like he’d just escaped the Hunger Games, and after Victor prodded him for the reason behind his disheveled appearance, he confessed he hadn’t been able to sleep. So Victor did what any good coach would do (or so he thought) and brought his student back to the hotel for some much-needed rest before that evening’s competition.

And he joined Yuuri in bed, of course. (How else was he supposed to make sure he slept?)

Unfortunately, Victor was so comfortable lying there with one leg hitched over his boyfriend that . . . well, he fell asleep, too. Without setting an alarm.

They were late arriving to the arena that evening. Not terribly so, but late enough to rattle Yuuri’s nerves and leave him feeling even more unsettled than he already was. Victor tried to get him to eat a little dinner before the competition, but Yuuri’s normally healthy appetite was nowhere to be found. His hands were shaking so hard that he could barely unscrew the cap from a bottle of water. And the more Victor tried to help him, the more Yuuri evaded every effort.

The confident Yuuri from yesterday was gone, and in his place was the jittery, insecure skater Victor had met when he’d first arrived in Japan. The one who hid inside his room and barred the door so that Victor wouldn’t see his shortcomings.

It was like having half a year of hard work and friendship erased in a single night, and Victor had no idea how to get it back.

He attempted to preserve any remaining confidence Yuuri might have by ordering him not to do any jumps during his six-minute warm up. (Yuuri didn’t listen to him. Did the jumps anyway.) Then Victor tried the optimism approach and told Yuuri not to worry himself one little bit about all the jumps he’d just screwed up in front of an arena full of people. Failed jumps during a warm up didn’t mean anything. (Yuuri didn’t listen to him. Launched himself into an outright panic anyway.) Then Victor attempted to bring his terrified boyfriend somewhere quiet where he could go through some relaxing stretches to steady his nerves, far away from the television screens that were broadcasting his competitors’ performances. (Yuuri didn’t listen to him. Went straight for the televisions anyway. Then freaked out even more and shut them all off, one by one.)

It was at that point that other people started to notice that Yuuri wasn’t doing so well.

And the looks on some of their faces . . .

It was obvious they’d seen Yuuri in the midst of a panic before.

Victor hadn’t. He’d seen Yuuri pacing the halls in the middle of the night back in Hasetsu, too anxious to sleep. He’d seen him cry after a rough day of practice and work himself into a near-frenzy when he was struggling to get something right on the ice. But Victor had never seen Yuuri like this before. Blank-faced. Unreachable. Hands shaking. Eyes flat, staring into the void like he was seconds away from becoming one with it.

A feeling of helplessness bloomed in Victor’s stomach and started creeping up his throat, making him feel somewhat panicked himself.

Why hadn’t he listened to Phichit the other night at dinner when he’d tried to warn Victor about this very thing? Why hadn’t Victor asked more questions about what to do and how to help Yuuri through it? Phichit was nowhere to be found now. He had his own performance to prepare for.

Victor brought Yuuri to what he thought was a quiet hallway so that he could get through a few stretches in peace, but when a team of reporters came around the corner and aimed a camera at Yuuri, Victor knew he had to find someplace more secluded.

They ended up downstairs in the parking garage.

The sounds from the arena could be heard through the ceiling, where it filled the echoing space around them. Upstairs, someone had just finished their performance—Christophe, Victor believed—and from the reaction of the audience, he’d done quite well. The noise meant it wasn’t exactly an ideal place for Yuuri to get his mind off his own performance, but at least there were no cameras on him now.

“Victor, what are the current standings?” Yuuri asked, so nervous that he could barely stand still.

Victor held up his hands. “O-okay, Yuuri. First, let’s take deep breaths.”

The deep breathing didn’t work. (Surprise, surprise.) But what did work—for a little while, at least—were the ear plugs Victor made Yuuri put in. That way, he couldn’t hear all the excited screams from the audience or the booming thunder caused by thousands of feet striking the floor whenever a skater landed a jump. But eventually, as Yuuri tried to focus and go through some of the movements of his Free Skate, the sounds from the arena overhead got so loud that the parking garage literally started vibrating beneath their feet.

Victor scowled at the ceiling. That was Phichit performing up there, if his guess was right.

Someone certainly had a lot of fans in China.

When Victor’s attention fell back to his boyfriend, he saw that Yuuri had taken his ear plugs out and was staring at the ceiling in abject horror, intimidated to the point of completely losing all composure. Gasping, Victor rushed forward and clamped his hands over Yuuri’s ears.

“Don’t listen,” Victor ordered, raising his voice with Yuuri for the first time.

The earplugs dropped silently to the concrete near their feet.

Victor had long since lost control of the situation, and he knew it. He panted and kept his hands over Yuuri’s ears, ice blue eyes locked with watery brown. Yuuri stared up at him, pleading silently for help, but the only thing Victor could think to do was move closer to him, hiding Yuuri in the protection of his shadow. His gloved hands readjusted themselves over Yuuri’s ears, making damn sure the sound was muted as Phichit’s scores were announced upstairs.

They stood there, eyes locked, for a long time. Yuuri was clearly uncomfortable, but for once, Victor had no intention of backing off.

He didn’t understand why Yuuri was so intimidated by the other skaters, especially considering his age and years of experience at competitions just like this one. Victor had already witnessed someone he loved being destroyed by their own mind, and was all too familiar with the powerless, out-of-control feeling that gripped him now. But he wasn’t a helpless child who knew nothing about mental illness this time. Victor understood that Yuuri’s fears were very real to him, even if they didn’t make much sense to Victor. Yuuri wouldn’t be panicking in such a way if they weren’t.

There was a world of difference between a panic attack and psychosis. They were two completely different things, but the common thread was that Yuuri’s mind was not letting him see the world as it actually was. There was no threat here except for what existed in his head.

Victor knew this. He was supposed to be Yuuri’s mentor. The person he looked up to, to guide him. Yet he had absolutely no idea what to do.

And it brought him back to a bad place, mentally. He felt like a little boy again, standing outside his mother’s bedroom door while she cried. More than once, Victor had imagined bursting into that room and hugging her around the waist or even yelling at her until she stopped. In his sweeter dreams, his actions had fixed everything. Her illness was cured, and they lived happily ever after as mother and son for the rest of his childhood.

But real life didn’t work that way, and Yuuri didn’t like being hugged when he was upset. He’d made that clear to Victor a long time ago when he’d told him the story about that girl he’d shoved away.

“V-Victor?” Yuuri put his hands on Victor’s wrists and guided them away from his ears. “It’s almost time. We need to get back.”

Exhaling hard through his nose, Victor watched Yuuri move toward the stairwell and knew he had to do something. “Yuuri,” he said.

Yuuri turned. “Huh?”

Victor didn’t want to do it. He put a hand to his forehead, as he often did when he was stressed or faced with a decision he disliked. But this had worked before, at the Onsen on Ice exhibition, and it had also worked at last night’s Short Program.

Yuuri was motivated by Victor—especially when he feared he might lose him as a coach altogether—which meant there was really only one thing to do to get him focused on his goal again.

Even if it was an outright lie.

“If you mess up this Free Skate and miss the podium,” Victor said, standing up straight to look at Yuuri, “I’ll take responsibility by resigning as your coach.”

His hand dropped to his neck as he waited for the response, not entirely sure what to expect next.

Silence answered him.

As Yuuri stared at him, all color drained from his face. He looked sick. Like he’d been punched in the gut and betrayed by his best friend. Then tears started to overflow from his unblinking eyes, and Victor let out a gasp as he realized the extent of the damage he’d caused.

“Why would you say something like that?” Yuuri said, voice trembling as tears poured down his face. “Like you’re trying to test me. . .”

He folded in on himself and started to weep openly. Ugly, naked tears. The kind of crying meant to be hidden behind closed bedroom doors that were locked from the inside.

Victor was horrified by what he’d done. Though he rushed forward to offer comfort, he did so with his palms raised in submission, afraid hugging Yuuri might make things even worse. “Uh, sorry, Yuuri. I wasn’t being serious—”

But Yuuri wasn’t having it. His demeanor shifted from hurt to angry in a split second, the volume of his voice increasing exponentially. “I’m used to being blamed for my own failures, but this time, I’m anxious because my mistakes would reflect on you, too. I’ve been wondering if you secretly want to quit.”

“Of course, I don’t,” Victor said, a little smile forming at the ridiculousness of the idea.

“I know,” Yuuri snapped. Then something inside him seemed to snap as well. He started crying even harder than before, holding himself rigid as he sobbed, all the pressure and anxiety pouring out of his body in the form of tears. His head was bowed, hands clenched into fists, obviously ashamed that he’d succumbed to emotion at all.

And it was Victor’s fault. Every tear. Every tremble of Yuuri’s lips and hands. All of it.

Victor was truly frozen now. Seeing Yuuri cry like that hit much too close to home, and those memories of Mama were not something he cared to relive. He put a hand to his forehead again, feeling the tension gathering there. “I’m not good with people crying in front of me. I don’t know what I should do. Should I just kiss you or something?”

He was half joking. Half not joking at all.

Mostly just desperate.

Kissing was a good way to make someone stop crying, right? Victor could get on board with slipping into his role as Yuuri’s boyfriend instead of a coach. It wasn’t like he was good at his job anyway.

But Yuuri was not in the mood for jokes. “No,” he said, actually yelling now. The word sounded like it hurt when it tore from his throat. But then his expression turned pleading again, his eyes earnest as he said, “Just have more faith than I do that I’ll win. You don’t have to say anything. Just stand by me!”

Victor was taken aback. “But . . . I always do that. I’ve been standing by you and barely doing anything helpful all night.”

“I know,” Yuuri said again, his frustration boiling over.

Still at a loss, Victor threw up his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m trying my hardest here, but I still don’t understand what you need me to be right now. How do I motivate you? Do I comfort you? Do I give you tough love and tell you to suck it up? Yuuri, I’m bad at this. I’m barely older than you. I’m not really a coach at all.”

“You think I don’t know you’re inexperienced?” Yuuri snapped back, angrier than ever. “I don’t care. It’s you I need. Not some coach with a thousand years of experience, who knows nothing about me and doesn’t really believe I can do anything but fail. I need you, Victor. I have never once wanted you to be anyone other than who you already are.”

Unable to stand there any longer while his boyfriend cried, Victor moved forward and gathered him up into his arms. Yuuri went rigid at first, but the anger soon drained out of him. He leaned against Victor and let himself be held, drawing in deep, gulping breaths in an effort to calm down.

After his tears slowed, Yuuri rubbed his face against Victor’s shoulder and said, “You’ve been motivating me for more than half my life by just being you. Don’t you understand what having you here, believing I’m worth anything at all, means to me?”

Victor was starting to.

He held Yuuri for a long time, stunned and humbled by what he’d just heard. There were many things Victor could have said in response, but he kept them to himself. Instead, he closed his eyes and squeezed Yuuri tight. Of course, I believe in you. Of course, I think you’re worth it.

But I still don’t understand. Is that really all you need from me?

Yuuri eventually pulled away from the embrace and wiped his face on his sleeve. “Come on. If we don’t go soon, they’re going to disqualify me.”

Neither of them uttered a word to each other as they walked to the rink. Yuuri was clearly still angry with Victor and wouldn’t so much as glance in his direction. Victor, on the other hand, felt mostly just worried and sad. If there was any anger in his heart, it was aimed at himself.

He kept his mouth shut as he led his boyfriend into the main hall of the arena, even after Yuuri shrugged Victor’s arm off his shoulders and chose to walk on his own, without support. Victor just drew in a deep, steadying breath, crossed his arms over his chest to keep them from feeling so empty, and followed Yuuri to the rink.

Victor had no idea what was about to happen, but there was a very good chance Yuuri was going to hit rock bottom tonight if he messed up this performance. No, stop it, Victor told himself. Don’t think like that. Yuuri needs you to believe in him.

Out on the ice, Georgi was in the final chorus of his Free Skate. The lyrics of the soaring ballad could be heard, ringing off the metal rafters above: I promised to save you. I’ll save you now.

Victor tried not to roll his eyes. Melodramatic much, Georgi?

That wasn’t how love worked.

Not the way Georgi meant that song, anyway. His history with past relationships was not something to aspire to. Love wasn’t about rescuing someone or forcing a solution on them. Sometimes it meant just standing there, saying and doing nothing at all, and watching while the other person waged war on their own demons.

Victor couldn’t save Yuuri tonight. He couldn’t put on those skates for him and take the ice. But what he could do was be himself—Victor Nikiforov, five-time world champion and former Grand Prix Final gold medalist—and send a message to the whole figure skating world that he believed in Katsuki Yuuri, just by standing on that sideline as his coach.

You can do this, Yuuri, Victor thought when the time came for his boyfriend to step out onto the ice. Now go out there and save yourself. I’ll be here if you need me.

They had a few moments to themselves before the announcer called Yuuri out to the center of the rink, and he took the opportunity to blow his nose one last time and compose himself. Victor stared at him, with little idea of what Yuuri was thinking or feeling, and offered his gloved hand out to take the tissue from him. It felt odd not to talk. Victor always tried to say something encouraging before a competition.

But then again, not all conversations required words, and Yuuri was a master at the unspoken.

He met Victor’s eyes and, very purposefully, dropped the tissue just outside of his reach. Victor had to lean forward to catch it before it hit the ice, then froze when he felt Yuuri poking him on the crown of his head.

Right where his hair was starting to thin.

And good God . . . Yuuri knew Victor hated that.

After grinding his index finger into the literal embodiment of Victor’s insecurity, Yuuri covered Victor’s head briefly with the palm of his hand. The gesture was almost protective.

Victor could almost hear his boyfriend’s voice in his head, saying, Yes, Victor. I’m still mad at you, just in case you were wondering. I am fully aware of all your faults and imperfections, but I still want you here anyway. I accept you for who you are . . . so you better still be standing there when I get back.

With a gloved hand held over his tingling scalp, Victor stood up straight and blinked at his boyfriend in bewilderment as he skated off. Had that really just happened?

In time, the music began, and Yuuri cupped his hands in front of him in the opening choreography. He already looked tired but more relaxed than before, like maybe crying down in the parking garage had taken the edge off his anxiety. Victor found himself frowning while he watched—not because Yuuri was struggling out there but because Victor couldn’t figure out what his boyfriend was thinking about. Why was he suddenly smiling? Talk about emotional whiplash.

The performance was . . . unexpectedly okay.

When Yuuri landed his first jump combination, even he looked surprise. It set the tone for the rest of the first half, which was as fluid and relaxed as if Yuuri was performing back home at the Ice Castle instead of before a panel of judges. For the second time at the Cup of China, Yuuri nailed his quad Salchow, a jump that he historically fumbled at competitions, and Victor lifted his arms in triumph. His worry had quickly shifted into excitement. Yuuri was doing well.

It wasn’t all perfect, though. After a solid first half, the second part of his Free Skate was shakier. He touched a hand to the ice after his triple axel and messed up several jumps after that. All the same, Victor couldn’t look away.

He could feel Yuuri gaining strength and determination out there. He seemed to draw it inside himself from seemingly nowhere . . . and Victor had the strangest feeling that it was coming from him. Yuuri was thinking about Victor as he skated.

You are the one who makes me skate like this, he seemed to say as the tempo of the music picked up speed. You are my inspiration. Knowing you’re there for me is what makes me stronger.

Victor’s eyes widened, hardly believing what he was witnessing.

And then Yuuri launched into the final jump of his Free Skate—but instead of performing a quadruple toe loop, he changed it into a surprise quadruple flip. Though he fell, the look of determination on his face never faltered. He got up and pushed through to the end of his performance.

Victor’s mouth fell open.

He’d never been more shocked in his life.

Who . . .  who did that? Who randomly threw in a jump they’d never landed at such an important competition? And a wickedly difficult jump, too. The quadruple flip was Victor’s signature move, one he’d tried to teach Yuuri more than once, only to be told later that Yuuri wanted to continue practicing it on his own.

Yuuri hadn’t slept. He was exhausted. More anxious and emotional than Victor had ever seen. Yet he’d done a jump that not even a well-rested, relaxed Victor Nikiforov at the height of his career would have attempted at the end of a demanding Free Skate. It was like a direct challenge to his legacy.

The audacity alone . . .

Victor wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. He put his hands over his face.

He was furious. Elated. Shocked. Amazed. Exhilarated. So many different emotions all at once that he didn’t know what to do with everything.

A good coach would have disciplined his student. Yakov would have screamed until he was purple in the face if Victor had pulled something like that, regardless of if he won a gold medal in the process or not. This was serious. Yuuri could have just thrown away his chance at a medal with that fall. . .

But Victor wasn’t a good coach.

Dropping his hands from his face, he turned and ran.

Out on the ice, Yuuri had just finished his performance. He bowed to the judges and gave the audience a wave before looking around for Victor, who was sprinting around the circle of the rink, intent on meeting Yuuri at the exit. When Victor made it to the opening in the barrier, he stopped and had to catch his breath before he could stand up straight again and meet Yuuri’s eyes.

Yuuri was skating towards him. “Victor,” he called out, smiling and breathless, arms extended. “I did great, right?”

Victor didn’t think much about what happened next. He just smiled and nodded, then launched himself forward, meeting Yuuri where he was at on the ice with a kiss.

You wanted the real me, didn’t you, Yuuri? Victor thought as their lips came together. Well, here I am.

And I want to kiss you like this every day for the rest of my life.

The aftermath of the competition was a blur.

Victor took about a million and a half pictures of Yuuri receiving his silver medal and posted every single one of them to his social media accounts. And no, he didn’t care if he was spamming his followers. Victor was a proud boyfriend and coach, and Yuuri deserved to have someone gush over him in front of millions of people, thank you very much.

(Besides, he was the most beautiful man on the face of the planet. Victor’s followers were probably weeping for joy over every new picture that popped up on their feeds. Really, the whole lot of them should be sending him flowers and thank you notes for providing such quality content.)

At Victor’s suggestion, they skipped giving interviews after the awards ceremony and went straight for the locker-rooms instead. Not only was Yuuri much too tired to deal with the press, but Victor sensed his boyfriend wasn’t yet aware that their first kiss had been captured on camera. Yuuri was not going to like people asking him questions about his relationship with Victor off the ice. After a good night’s sleep, they could decide together what details they were going to share with the rest of the world.

Yuuri was still a bit dazed by everything that had happened, but he also seemed quite happy about it, smiling shyly at Victor and blushing whenever their eyes met. Likewise, Victor was over the moon himself. Like a dutiful boyfriend, he waited patiently outside the locker-room doors while Yuuri showered and changed.

But in the pit of Victor’s stomach was a hollow ache. . .

He smiled at people who passed him by in the hallway and hummed a merry tune as he retweeted news articles about Yuuri on his phone. But inside, Victor was struggling. For the last twenty minutes or so, he’d been fighting back tears.

Yakov had ignored him again at the awards ceremony.

Just . . . walked off and left Victor standing there when he’d tried to say hello. Arms extended for a reconciliatory hug, smile melting off his face, a look of shock and hurt taking up residence there instead.

God, it had hurt.

Victor felt so stupid afterwards. Ashamed of his own eagerness and naïveté.

Why couldn’t the old man just be happy for him? Was it because Yuuri had stood on the podium instead of Yakov’s new darling, Georgi? Did Yakov think Victor was going to rub his success as a coach in and brag? That wasn’t it at all. He had just wanted to apologize and attempt to repair some of the damage he’d caused.

As if fate had decided to give him one more chance, Yakov appeared at the end of the long hallway, probably in search of the locker-rooms himself.

Surprised, Victor pushed himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against and straightened his posture. Their eyes locked, and Yakov drew up short, the soles of his shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. Pressing his lips together into an angry line, he turned to stalk off in the opposite direction.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Victor muttered under his breath.

Teeth clenched, he shoved his phone into the pocket of his overcoat and started after him, quickening his pace so that he could catch up. It wasn’t often that he got angry, but he just couldn’t stand this anymore.

“Yakov,” he called, much louder this time. “I want to talk to you.”

Yakov glanced back over his shoulder, seeming a bit surprised at his former student’s commanding tone, which he’d probably never heard before. Victor had always maintained such a cheerful attitude with everyone, even when he was upset. But he was too tired to hide behind a fake smile at that moment. He was sick to death of being ignored and wanted things fixed already.

Grasping the handle of a nearby door, Yakov attempted to escape into a stairwell. Victor caught the door before it could slam shut and snagged the back of Yakov’s overcoat with two fingers.

“Excuse you,” Yakov barked coldly at him, yanking his coat free. “Just who do you think you are?”

It was the kind of thing the old man might have said to a perfect stranger who’d been rude to him in the hallway. Victor drew back as if he’d been slapped. Then, lower lip quivering, he rushed forward and wrapped his coach up in a hug, pinning his arms down to his side.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me. . .” Yakov muttered.

“I need help,” Victor wailed as he squeezed.

Giving up, Yakov rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and let out a dramatic sigh. “Help with what, exactly?”

“I don’t know . . . I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Another sigh, though this one was more longsuffering than irritated. Yakov finally managed to push Victor off of him, and the two of them stared at each other in the cold, harsh light of the stairwell. It was a barren place that echoed and amplified their every word a dozen times, making the confrontation feel raw and exposed.

“That was an interesting performance tonight,” Yakov said gruffly. “Yours, I mean. Not his.”

The comment rubbed Victor the wrong way, as it was probably meant to. That hadn’t been a performance. Kissing Yuuri was the most authentic thing he’d ever done. All the same, Victor kept his tone calm as he said, “I’m in love with him.”

“Well, I certainly hope so. You just kissed him on live television.”

“I told him about my mother. I told him everything.”

Yakov’s eyes widened. If nothing else, that got his attention.

Victor offered him a tight, rueful smile. Do you get it now, Yakov? Do you understand what he means to me?

“I told him about you, too,” Victor said, “and how you helped me through that rough time. I told him you were like a father to me . . . and that I really must have hurt you when I left Russia. I told him how much I regretted not listening to you all those years, and how everything you’d ever told me was making so much more sense.”

“Did you also tell him not to throw in random quadruple flips into his Free Skate that he’s obviously never practiced before?” Yakov asked, arms crossed over his chest. “Because you should.”

Bittersweet amusement shimmered in Victor’s eyes. “He wouldn’t listen to me, even if I did.”

“Mmm, now why does that sound familiar?”

“Coaching isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”

“I’ll admit . . . you’ve done better than I thought you would.”

“Well, I trained under the best.” Victor tried to swallow the lump in his throat, his tone becoming softer, humbler. “I’m really sorry, Yakov.”

Yakov’s arms tightened over his chest as if to shield himself against the words. “Sorry for what exactly? Explain it to me.”

“For leaving the way I did. I didn’t know how to tell you I was burned out and needed a break from competing.”

“You think I’m angry with you for taking a break?”

Victor shrugged helplessly. “How am I supposed to know what you’re thinking when you won’t talk to me?”

“I never realized you were so interested in listening. You never have before.”

“I’m listening now. Please, Yakov. You’re important to me. . .”

Yakov fell silent for a long moment, still glaring, but there was a crack forming in his anger. He never was able to stay upset with Victor for long. Perhaps that’s why Yakov had ignored him all this time—because he knew he’d give in the second Victor hugged him. Hugs were Yakov’s Achilles Heel.

“For years, I’ve been begging you to find more balance in your personal life,” Yakov said. “I’ve lectured you about it until I’m blue in the face.”

“I know,” Victor whispered.

“But what I didn’t tell you to do was throw the balance completely in the opposite direction, and let your career come to ruin just like your personal life did. Do you understand what the word ‘balance’ means, Vitya? It means to find a happy, comfortable place in the middle. Unfortunately, I think that word vanished from your vocabulary the second you saw that drunk Japanese boy dancing on a pole in his underpants.”

Victor flushed, drawing back.

“Suddenly, my Vitya’s entire career goes out the window,” Yakov said. “What am I supposed to say when you walk away from your entire life and everyone you’ve ever known for some international booty call? What were you thinking?”

“That is not why I left.”

“Oh, no? Then explain it to me. Because you sure as hell didn’t explain anything last spring. No, you treated me like a goddamn employee you could fire on a whim instead of the man who took you in and raised you like you were one of my own.”

Victor winced, unable to defend himself against the accusation. “I was going to quit anyway,” he whispered.

Yakov’s chin lifted slightly, eyes narrowing.

“I was going to announce my retirement after the World Championship,” Victor continued. “I was so . . . so tired of everything. Of having to fake my way through life and do everything to please everyone else instead of what I wanted, for a change. Yuuri didn’t derail my plans for next season. He gave me another option. He gave me time to think about it while still keeping me rooted in the skating world, when all I really wanted to do was hide from it. Yakov, I wouldn’t be anywhere near a rink this season if it wasn’t for Yuuri. I might not have ever wanted to skate again. Being his coach . . . watching him pick himself up, again and again, and keep trying when everyone doubts him . . . when he’s so scared of failing . . . it makes me want to try again. He’s so much stronger than I ever was.”

Yakov stared at him, barely blinking, seeming to see something in Victor’s face that disquieted him. “This is the first time I’m hearing any of this. But these emotions you’re describing don’t happen overnight. Why didn’t you tell me these things last year?”

“I don’t know,” Victor said, his voice small. “I’m sorry. You know how I freeze up when I don’t know what to do.”

A little boy, alone on a bus with no one there to guide him.

“Vitya, you have got to start telling people what you need,” Yakov said. “You’ve gone from one codependent relationship with your audience and transferred it onto this boy. You can’t just focus all your attention on him and expect this relationship to last. He needs to be supporting you, too. Remember that ‘balance’ word we were talking about a minute ago?”

Victor winced again, worse this time. Yakov wasn’t pulling any punches tonight. He knew Victor had an unhealthy habit of trying to please others more than himself.

“Yuuri has been there for me when no one else would pick up the phone,” Victor said, tears stinging his eyes.

It was Yakov’s turn to wince. His eyes darted down to the ground.

“He won’t let me get away with anything,” Victor said. “Not one of my usual tricks to get people to like me worked on him. All he ever wanted me to be was myself. He wasn’t satisfied with anything else. Do you know how hard it was for me not to be told what to do? Who to be? How to act? I admit, I tried bringing the codependency thing into our relationship, but Yuuri sure as hell didn’t let me get away with it for long.”

“I admit, I know nothing about him,” Yakov said. “But even I’ve noticed the change in your tone in your voicemails and texts. Perhaps this boy isn’t the bad influence I first assumed him to be.”

Victor’s expression softened. “I would love to tell you about him sometime. I’m sorry I haven’t opened up to you in the past. And I’m sorry I made you feel like an employee instead of like my family. That was wrong of me.”

Yakov kept staring at him like he didn’t recognize the person standing in front of him. “Your face looks so different. There’s light in your eyes I’ve never seen before. Not even on the rink. . .” He suddenly looked at Victor sharply. “You’re not dying of some terminal illness, are you?”

“No. I’m just . . . happy. Yakov, I’m so happy. Being Yuuri’s coach. His friend. I love sharing my life with him.”

“But?”

Victor hesitated, not sure how to respond to that.

“But you miss ice skating,” Yakov said, answering the question for him.

With a shake of his head, Victor corrected him. “I miss you.”

But even he knew that it was all tied together. Yakov, Russia, skating. Victor’s heart had never felt complete without Yuuri, but it also didn’t feel quite right without the rest of his family there, too.

Yakov sighed and made a gesture like he didn’t know what Victor expected. “You’ve made your choice.”

“Are you seriously going to make me choose between you and him?”

“Of course, not! I’m an old man, Vitya. I’ve lived my life. Don’t you understand that this isn’t about me and you? You walked away from your calling. You are the finest skater on this entire mess of a planet. The very best in all of history. Skating is in your blood. It saved your life, once upon a time, and you’ve turned your back on it. There is nothing wrong with falling in love with that boy, but don’t forget that you love skating, too. The rink was your first love, and you need to find your way back to it. If your Yuuri truly cares about you, he will encourage you in that direction.”

Victor liked the way that sounded. Your Yuuri.

My Yuuri.

“He hints at it sometimes,” Victor said, “but I always change the subject. We’ve been working on choreography together. Pair skating, if you can believe it. It’s been a nice change. Sort of . . . easing me back into the idea of skating again.”

“He must really look up to you. You could see your influence all over his skating, even before you became his coach. Imagine how inspired he would be to see you compete again.”

Victor hung his head. He was not prepared to go to that place mentally yet. He was still too raw.

“He could find another coach,” Yakov hinted. “You could skate together.”

“I don’t want Yuuri to find another coach,” Victor said. “I’m his coach.”

Yakov pressed his lips together, exhaling through his nose. Then, stepping forward so that he was standing directly in front of Victor, he said, “For months, you’ve been calling me, begging for advice. Are you listening, Vitya? Because here it is. Figure out a way to keep skating and keep your Yuuri at the same time. And when you’re ready to come back to me, you call me. I will answer.”

“And what if I don’t go back?” Victor asked. “What if I’m done forever and never skate again? Am I worth anything then?”

Yakov reached out both hands to cradle Victor’s downturned face between them. Stroking his boy’s cheek until he looked up again, Yakov said, “You call me.”

They exited the stairwell together.

Yakov held the door open for Victor, who had his head ducked down so that he could dry his cheeks discreetly. There was no telling who would be hanging around outside the locker-rooms. But as luck would have it, the hallway was empty for the most part, with no one there to witness him in such an emotional state.

That is, no one except for Yuuri. He was standing outside the locker-room doors, trying to balance his backpack in his arms and type on his phone at the same time.

He didn’t spot Victor until he was almost right in front of him, but when he finally looked up, Yuuri sagged with relief and said, “There you are. Hey, Phichit texted me and said everyone’s going out to dinner. Do you want to . . . ?”

And then Yuuri trailed off, his mouth dropping open as he realized Yakov was standing behind Victor.

Victor smiled at his boyfriend, eyes a bit sad but holding within them a glimmer of hope. “Dinner sounds great.” Turning to Yakov, he added, “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like.”

“Hmph,” Yakov said, straightening the lapels of his overcoat. “Another time, perhaps.” He marched straight past Yuuri without acknowledging him, posture stiff, like he still wasn’t sure if he approved of Victor’s pole-dancing boyfriend or not.

“Coach Feltsman?” Yuuri called out.

Yakov turned, his expression sour and guarded.

“I just wanted you to know that my family and I are taking good care of Victor,” Yuuri said in a soft but steady tone. “I know you worry about him . . . so please know that I want what’s best for him, too. You have my word on that.”

Victor blinked at him, stunned . . . and definitely more in love than he was five seconds ago.

Yakov was taken aback as well. Once he’d disciplined his expression, he gave Yuuri a curt nod and said, “Enjoy your dinner.”

Then he left.

Once Yakov had rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, Yuuri let out a huge gust of relief. “Oh, my God. Did I really just say that out loud? To Yakov Feltsman? The Yakov Feltsman? Victor, I’m so tired. I can’t seem to stop talking. Why can’t I shut up? See?” He pointed to his mouth, hand trembling. “It’s still happening. Why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

Victor’s heart hummed with affection. “Because my Yuuri is already perfect, of course.”

Blushing, Yuuri said, “Are you . . . okay? That looked a little intense.”

“Definitely intense. But I think Yakov is finally on speaking terms with me again. Or at least, I hope he is. I’ve been wrong before.”

“Well . . . even if he’s not, you know that you’re not alone, right?”

Victor gazed steadily at Yuuri, unable to respond right away.

A mental image had overtaken him without warning of that lonely little boy sitting on the bus by himself, not knowing what to do . . . until a friend came to sit down in the seat beside him. A cute little boy with glasses, too-big eyes, a softly rounded face, and the sweetest, most disarming smile he’d ever seen. Victor wasn’t alone anymore.

“Yuuri. . .” he whispered.

Yuuri reached out to take his hand, those beautiful too-big eyes staring up at him in concern.

“Sorry,” Victor said, his throat almost too tight to speak. “It’s hard to get this out.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Yuuri said. “Just know I’m not going anywhere.”

Eyes crinkling with a smile, Victor leaned in and kissed the tip of his boyfriend’s nose.

Dear Yuri,

I have a confession to make. I have no idea how to be a competitive figure skating coach, but you probably figured that out before I did. When I came to Japan, it was with the intention of mentoring a promising talent, but after the privilege of experiencing a skating season at your side, I’ve come to realize I had our roles backwards. You’re the one who ended up teaching me.

What I learned from you is how to ice skate.

(Stop laughing. It isn’t funny.)

(Okay, it’s a little funny. I am being serious, though.)

I had it all wrong. I thought skating was a formula. A strategy to win gold. I became something I wasn’t in order to manufacture an outcome, but what you taught me was the importance of being true to who I am. You’ve never settled for anything less, in fact. (Quite the demanding coach.) You challenged me to be genuine, which is exactly what my skating was lacking. Me.

That’s what I see when you skate. You, Yuri. Your heart. I can hear the music in your head and feel the scrape of the ice beneath your feet. (How do you do that?) I want to learn more from you. Your skating is a true inspiration to me, and I’d like to thank you for being my teacher. You have not only become my best friend, but you’ve helped me gain new strength I once thought could only be found on my own.

If there’s one thing I’d like to teach you in return, it’s that you will never find satisfaction in a gold medal. The real reward is in the journey. Look around you. Look through the pages of this book and be proud of the impact you’ve had on others’ lives. I hope the riches you find here bring you a well-deserved smile. Congratulations on an incredible journey this season, Yuri.

I can’t wait to see what you do next.

Your biggest fan*,
Victor Nikiforov

*Kenjirou Minami and the citizens of Hasetsu have submitted formal complaints against the accuracy of this statement. While they have made convincing arguments that they are in fact your biggest fans, all they actually are is wrong.

Through the dim light of the hotel room, Victor stared down at the letter he’d just finished writing and tried to find fault with it. He chewed on his thumbnail while he scanned the handwritten paragraphs, which he’d penned in a single go without stopping to think, reread, or edit. Not one word was crossed out or reworked. The sentences had poured onto the page as effortlessly as they might have rolled off his tongue.

Feeling satisfied with Yuuri’s birthday letter for the first time, Victor capped his pen and smiled.

That was it. That’s what he’d wanted to say this whole time.

Thank you for being my teacher.

Using a special scanning app on his phone, Victor snapped a few pictures of the letter and sent them off to the person who was designing Yuuri’s birthday book. Finally, it was done.

Victor stood and clicked off the lamp on the hotel desk, plunging the room into near-darkness, save for the city lights glittering through the window like moonlight reflected on water. Folding the letter in half, he put it on the nightstand by the bed and placed his phone on top of it so that Yuuri wouldn’t find it.

In the bed, Yuuri stirred beneath the covers and turned his face toward Victor, black eyelashes pressing together tightly before they fluttered and blinked open.

Victor smiled down at his boyfriend, overwhelmed by the emotions that coursed through him every time he looked at him now. It wasn’t just love. There was inspiration, too. And joy and peace and belonging and hope and. . .

“It’s just me, baby,” Victor said, his voice a gentle rumble as he leaned down to stroke his sweetheart’s cheek. “Go back to sleep. Sorry I kept the light on.”

Yuuri hummed, still half asleep, and said, “Vikutoru . . . come to bed. . .”

Victor’s smile spread wider at the sound of his sleepy boyfriend turning his two-syllable name into four. He loved it when Yuuri said his name like that.

Pulling back the covers, Victor waited patiently for Yuuri to scoot over to give him more room in the narrow, single-person bed before lying down next to him. Yuuri stifled a yawn against Victor’s shoulder and snuggled close, his head tucked under Victor’s chin, a hand on his waist, and one leg pressed between Victor’s thighs.

What a night it had been. . .

To celebrate Yuuri’s silver medal win (as well as their very first kiss), Victor had taken him out to dinner, where they were joined by several of the other competitors and their coaches. Yuuri had fallen asleep on Victor’s shoulder, exhausted after not sleeping the night before, as well as from the emotionally taxing day. They hadn’t left the restaurant until it shut down for the night, after which Victor walked his sleepy boyfriend back to the hotel with an arm draped across his shoulders.

He’d kissed Yuuri again, there on the snowy sidewalk, fingertips caressing his much-beloved face, the opposite hand curved around Yuuri’s hip.

And it was perfect, that kiss. Everything Victor had been waiting for and more.

He’d kept his advances slow and sweet, still wary of pushing too hard. But apparently, Yuuri had grown tired of “slow and sweet” because the next thing he did was bring Victor back to his hotel room, push him down on the couch, and straddle him.

In the cool darkness of Yuuri’s hotel room, the two of them had made out for the first time—with Yuuri straddled on Victor’s lap, letting out the softest little pouts and moans between kisses, sucking on his boyfriend’s upper lip before moving to do the same to the lower, and nearly coming to pieces at the feel of Victor’s tongue sliding into his mouth for the first time.

And it was surprising, to say the least.

He’d courted Yuuri for such a long time just for the privilege of being able to call him his boyfriend. Victor had assumed they would spend an equally long amount of time enjoying first base before they even thought about moving on to second. But then Yuuri had stripped off his own t-shirt, cast it behind him like he never wanted to feel fabric between his skin and Victor’s for the rest of eternity, and then attempted to divest Victor of his clothing as well.

It seemed Yuuri had built up a considerable amount of sexual tension over the past few months. Perhaps it was because Victor had teased him one too many times about seducing him . . . because that was exactly what Yuuri did on that tiny hotel room couch. Victor remembered hoping the damn thing was treated with fire retardant because his sexy little katsudon had thrown off sparks like a runaway train streaking down the tracks.

Eros, indeed.

They never did make it to second base. Yuuri got as far as pushing Victor’s overcoat and suit jacket down his arms and working his tie loose before the courage leaked out of him. This happened right around the same time that he felt Victor getting aroused by the gorgeous man wriggling so provocatively in his lap.

The moment had been awkward but sweet, with Yuuri seeming to realize exactly how sexually suggestive his actions had been and Victor reaching out to touch his face and assure him he wasn’t expecting anything more than Yuuri wanted to give.

Even though having sex with Yuuri would have been the best thing that ever happened to him, Victor was secretly relieved things didn’t get that far. It would have felt rushed, with a high potential for regretting their actions later, and Victor wanted to do right by Yuuri. After all, this was the last time he was ever going to fall in love, as well as the last time he would make love to someone for the first time.

Victor was done searching for his perfect partner. All his “firsts” and “lasts” belonged to Yuuri from here on out, and Victor planned on savoring and celebrating every single one.

After that, Yuuri had invited Victor to stay the night with him in his hotel room—another first for them, because thus far in their relationship, they’d only ever slept in the same bed together at Victor’s request. Never Yuuri’s.

But tonight was different. This was Yuuri’s room. Yuuri’s bed. Yuuri’s pillow.

And now it was Victor’s pillow, too. By invitation.

Yuuri had fallen asleep first before Victor made it into bed. Just the sight of him there, cuddled up in the covers and comfortable in the knowledge that Victor was there in the room with him, had caused Victor to get emotional. Love and pride and sheer amazement had swelled up inside him at that moment, and instead of getting in bed, he’d gone to the desk and sat down to write Yuuri his birthday letter.

With that task now complete, Victor could finally get some sleep, snuggled up tight with his sweetheart beside him.

In his arms, Yuuri burrowed deeper into Victor’s warmth and let out a happy sigh. “Vikutoru. . .” he said again, his accent inspiring invisible hearts to rise up over Victor’s head, where they swarmed and popped like little bubbles. Yuuri’s fingers curled around Victor’s shirt and held it as he whispered, “I’m really happy.”

Victor’s heart was so full of love that it ached. He kissed the top of his boyfriend’s head and whispered back, “Are you, love? Are you sure this is what you want?”

After so many months of hesitation, he had to be certain.

Because as many times as he’d referred to Yuuri as his boyfriend in his head, they’d still never had an actual conversation about putting an official label on their relationship.

Yuuri pulled back just far enough so that he could look Victor in the eyes. A little smile tugged at his mouth as he reached up to touch Victor’s. With the pads of his fingers flitting over the sensitive skin of Victor’s lips, Yuuri said in a hushed, reverent voice, “I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.”

And then he leaned closer, eyes still cracked open so that he wouldn’t miss a single detail. He first nuzzled the side of Victor’s face before moving in to press a warm kiss to his mouth.

Victor exhaled, eyelids trembling as they drifted shut. Yuuri is kissing me, he thought, absolutely amazed.

Falling in love was a frightening thing.

A bit like plunging off the edge of a cliff with no understanding of what might be in store for him at the bottom . . . of how long or fast or far he would fall . . . if the landing would mean the end of him, or if it would give him the most exciting and gratifying thrill of his life.

It was Yuuri who was the gravity that had pulled Victor into that terrifying freefall. It was Yuuri’s undeniable pull that had unmade him, tearing Victor’s carefully constructed mask into pieces in search of the real person hiding beneath. It was Yuuri that was kissing Victor now, sliding his hand up the back of his neck and weaving fingers into silvery hair, laying claim to the treasure he’d found beneath the mask.

It was Yuuri who had pulled Victor out of that lonely freefall into a mutual dance instead. Like two stars, they orbited around each other, their paths now hopelessly intertwined, bending and spinning and weaving their dance in the sky for eons to come.

Not that Victor noticed any of that.

Yuuri is kissing me, he thought, blissfully floating along in the pull of his boyfriend’s gravity. My Yuuri is kissing me.

Yakov Feltsman—Missed Messages (10)

7:33AM Vitya, what time is your flight back to Japan?

7:33AM Assuming that’s where you’re going, that is.

7:33AM Do you know WHY I have to assume, Vitya?

7:33AM Because you haven’t emailed me the second half of your flight schedule, that’s why. How am I supposed to know if your plane lands safely in Japan if I don’t have a flight schedule?

7:34AM I thought we talked about this. I expect you to stay in touch with me while you’re out of the country so that I know you’re alive. I’ll be looking for that email in my inbox.

7:38AM Oh, and make sure you include the flight number. I like watching the progression on the airline’s website. They have this map that shows exactly where the plane is at. Gives me peace of mind to see it moving.

7:55AM Well????????

7:55AM Wake up, you lazy boy.

7:55AM And call me when you do.

7:55AM Maybe we can grab a coffee before you go. I seem to recall you saying you had a few questions about how to be a good coach to your Yuri.

The end