Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was, on reflection, really not how Viktor thought he’d be spending the night after his free program at Skate America. He had assumed, quite reasonably one might argue, that he and Chris would at this point be getting drunk to celebrate their respective gold and silver medals having successfully snuck away from Yakov and Josef and revelling in the brief chance to actually relax before flying back to their respective homes and getting straight back to work for the looming final.

He leaned back, lightly surprised given the circumstances that his brain was supplying him with the information that it was over three months since he had last seen Chris and would be almost a month before they would likely meet at the final. Or possibly not so likely, considering the fact that currently Viktor was bound to a chair in an unknown warehouse in Chicago.

Possibly Chicago.

He had at least been in Chicago recently. The journey had been hazy and… long? Probably, he had been semi-conscious.

His head hurt. He tried to hold on to the surprise at missing an innocent night out with a friend. The burn at the back of his throat didn’t feel quite so much like irritation anymore. It was starting to feel a little more like fear.

Yakov was going to kill him. That felt slightly better, reassuring somehow.

Viktor was well and truly stuck. Several hours ago (maybe?) he had been the usual untouchable ice king, but despite the various threats and stalkers he had received and ignored over the years, he had never once been attacked like this. He was pretty sure that he had just been kidnapped. He was also suspicious that there was bleeding somewhere. Probably his head that might explain some things. His hands were bound, bent awkwardly behind his back. The one detail he had managed to process about the room he was in was the figure all in black carrying very casually one of the largest guns he had ever seen in his life. It seemed almost hilariously American. Almost, was the oversized gun not angled just towards Viktor’s feet. The man with no discernible features visible behind such a classic ‘bad-guy’ costume might have seemed quite amusing if the lack of features and complete inability to see an eyeline wasn’t in fact, terrifying.

There really wasn’t any blood getting to Viktor’s hands. He wished he had his training gloves. Wished he didn’t feel like he’d just fallen, hard, on the ice. Wished his head would stop pounding and his throat would stop burning and the cold would please go away for just a moment.

He glanced up at the guard, considered actually breaking this awful nothing silence. He wondered at what point Chris would decide he had fallen asleep in his room, when he might decide he’d run off to get drunk without him, when he might decide Viktor had forgotten their plans. Wondered if he would tell Yakov before Yakov started his barrage of screamed voicemails in the morning as Viktor missed his flight.

“Excuse me.” Was what he intended to say, what actually came out was an odd rasp and cough as his throat decided to stick.

“Excuse me, can I…I don’t suppose I could have a blanket? Or something…” He gave a weak smile as the words trailed off, media smile failing without the pretence of the usual cameras and reactions.

The silence seemed worse after having been broken. The guard seemed somehow even less friendly in the aftermath.

Viktor swore really quite impressively in his head, not daring to disturb the ‘peace’ of the room anymore and flexed his hands trying to get some circulation back and maybe warm the ice blocks at his back. He pitched forward as his attempt worked and the pain shot straight up his arms and created a miserable sort of echo in his head. He focused on his feet, breathing slowly. Somewhere in between the drumming in his head he cursed his hands for betraying him like that, cursed his probable concussion and whichever of these costumed idiots had given it to him, cursed the cold of this stupid warehouse in what might be Chicago, cursed the gold medal that was sitting right below his ribs under his jacket making him only colder, and then ran out of steam and cursed Yakov for good measure.

Ah that burn in his throat was back.

Chris sat in the hotel lobby for once not loving the attention he was receiving from the hopeful traffic passing through. He had been there for quite some time and the fun flirting he had expected from the night was not supposed to come solely from the hotel lobby.

He had been really quite impressed with the speed Viktor had managed to give Yakov the slip after the press conference, nothing but a wink in his direction as he bolted for the shuttle. By the time he followed out the arena he had a text from 10 minutes ago with a 1-hour deadline for meeting in the lobby, several kisses and a winky face. He had laughed under his breath as he caught the next shuttle to creep through the traffic back to the hotel.

It was honestly the first time in a long time Viktor had been so keen for a night out, actively seeking Chris out, even texting him titbits and in the last couple of weeks once they’d found out their assignment crossover. He had been happy, pleased to see his friend with some of his old spark coming back. Wondering if a ‘what’ or a ‘who’ had something to do with it and terribly keen on finding out all the awful gossip that might bring. He had in fact managed to dress and apply makeup in half an hour (quite a feat considering how tight and thin some of what he was wearing was) and arrived in the lobby with an impressive 5 minutes to spare, stopping as seemed fair, in the bar to see how many drinks he could get in before Viktor appeared and dragged them across half the bars in the city.

He was about to order his third when something low in his gut turned over.

Viktor was somewhat unsurprisingly late.

He slid out his phone, brought up the chat, stared for a moment then turned it off.

Viktor had very surprisingly already ignored two of Chris’s calls.

He looked back towards the lobby, just able to see the glass doors from the bar.

Minutes passed and Yakov walked in, Mila in tow, she must have finished up her press. Yakov would be sure to yell at Viktor if he caught up to him in his room, probably kick up a fuss about irresponsibility going out drinking mid-competition season. Chris smiled, well that might speed him up at least.

He didn’t get a third drink, just didn’t want to get too far ahead, especially with Viktor’s ridiculous liver.

Viktor wasn’t answering his phone. It was unlikely he had fallen asleep, even less likely he hadn’t been woken by Yakov after his escape act from the press. It was almost unthinkable that he’d already left, he was fairly sure Viktor had never even been to Chicago before and would most likely get lost crossing the street. The only reason he discounted getting lost on the way back to the hotel was because the shuttle would have taken him directly to the front door. Viktor hadn’t forgotten. He had given him a deadline, an irritatingly short deadline meaning his eyeliner was basic at best and had had to make up for it with some iridescent highlighter. Chulanont would be offended. He was actually considering finding Yakov.

Chris had abandoned the bar half an hour ago and was now sat in the chairs facing the front desk with a side view to both the doors and the lifts. He was also feeling an odd clench in his stomach that he was determined to not label as concern. He wasn’t succeeding.

Oh there was Chulanont, had the night out still seemed likely he would have asked him to join, maybe he could get some eyeliner tips. Actually didn’t Phichit live not far? Yuuri’s flatmate so must be Detroit. That was close-ish, close for America, maybe he had some recommendations. Maybe he could ask Yuuri to introduce them, actually Yuuri probably has the secrets to eyeliner already, that man is a minx and no one living with them could keep such secrets to themselves, surely.

He watched as Chulanont walked past wearing a different outfit to what he had on several moments before. Wait. He checked his phone. Ah another half hour had gone past; Viktor was almost 2 hours late and not answering his phone. Chris leaned back in his seat, he has absolutely no idea which room Viktor was staying and doubted very much the desk would be willing to freely divulge that information. There were quite a few very popular skaters staying here, he was one of them. Unless he could prove himself part of the Russian skate team that didn’t seem like a likely avenue.

He brought his eyes back down and watched Coach Celestino stop with Chulanont and clap him rather forcefully on the back. He must be pleased, this was the Thai’s second year in the senior division, he might not make it to the final but he’d placed fourth tonight and seemed stronger than last year. Lucky bastard was probably getting tips from Yuuri.

Wait.

Celestino might possibly have Yakov’s room number.

Actually Celestino very likely has Yakov’s phone number.

Come to think of it, Josef might also have Yakov’s number, though Josef was likely asleep and not best pleased with Chris for sneaking off early.

Celestino it is.

Phichit walked along the hotel corridor tapping away at his screen. He didn’t medal tonight and could feel the lead starting to creep into his legs, tiredness ticking at his eyelids. It had been a good skate but the others were better, for now. He scrolled past a clip of Chris’s skate watching the spin into his final pose. Scrolled down, several freezeframes of Viktor seeming suspending in the air. He grinned, sending one to Yuuri who would appreciate waking up out of his study stress coma to that.

He was comparing his jump components to Chris’s and trying to tally up the difference when he almost tripped over the very same Chris standing immobile in front of an open hotel room.

“Oops hahaha. Sorry Chris didn’t see you there.” No reaction. “Um, you good?”

Phichit became increasingly concerned as Chris slowly opened and closed his mouth several times before breathing in and starting to hyperventilate.

This prompted Phichit to peer around the door.

"Hia."

“…”

"Fuck."

The two men stood in the doorway.

“Chris.” Silence. “Chris. What the fuck.” Silence. “Chris whose room is that?”

This at last seems to snap Chris back to himself. He looks at Phichit and breathes out, “Viktor.” Phichit’s eyes widen.

They both start as steps are heard behind them, words are muffled through the door opposite.

Phichit jumps forward, pulling Chris into the room and quickly shutting the door behind them.

Chris stumbles forward, catching himself on the dressing table. Pulling his hands back immediately and staring at the surface. Phichit turns from the door, surveying the room and feeling panic rising in response.

Viktor’s costume from tonight’s free skate is thrown over the back of a chair, there’s several shirts strewn over the bed and a kit bag dumped messily in the middle of the room. There is also blood on a cracked mirror, broken glass next to the remains of a light and a bullet sitting on the dressing table next to what looks like a lock of silver hair.

Chris starts rambling, “He was supposed to meet me two hours ago in the lobby, he’s not been answering his phone. Phichit he’s gone. What the fuck. Viktor’s been kidnapped.”

“Chris calm down.” Phichit was not calm.

“Viktor has been kidnapped.”

“Chris calm down.”

“Phichit what the fuck Viktor has been kidnapped.” Chris maybe did need to calm down.

“Chris calm down.”

“Phichit!” They look at each other, eye’s wide.

“I might also need to calm down.”

“What do we do?”

Phichit grabs his phone and as Chris begins to pace. “Fuck, the police! Of course we need to phone the police. FUCK we need to find Yakov.”

“Chris calm down we’re not phoning the police.” This very effectively stops him in his tracks.

“What the fuck do you mean we’re not fucking phoning the police??”

Phichit blinks. “That sounded bad. We need to not phone the police, we weren’t supposed to find this.”

“WHAT?” Phitchit winces.

“Ahh… Look, someone’s taken Viktor and left a bullet, they left a BULLET Chris! First of all that is cliché and kind of terrifying. Second of all, they left that for someone as a threat so someone here was supposed to find this. If the police get involved now Viktor might get hurt.”

Chris looks stunned. “How do you even… What if the message is for the police Phichit don’t be ridiculous the slower we are the longer he’s out there somewhere with… What do you mean someone here was supposed to find it?”

The room is awkwardly quiet as the two stare at each other.

“Ah. Haha. I um… may have had some issues before. Detroit was a bit messy last year. Someone gave me a hand and um… told me things… to be careful… or… to like… a couple of things… to look out for. So as not to piss anyone off?” He laughs nervously.

Chris stares. Phichit tries to smile reassuringly. It’s not hugely effective.

“Okay. Okay. Merde. Okay.” Chris paces, running one hand through his hair before stopping, turning and locking eyes. “This someone.” He stops, not quite believing how the night had derailed. Not quite sure of the words in his mouth. Very sure his friend was alone and needing help, any help. He runs his hand over his face, willing something to look different after being wiped away. “This someone that helped before, gave you a hand.” His drops to a whisper, “Can they help Viktor?”

Phichit nods.

“I mean he- they can try. They’ll know how to try- they’ll be willing to try!”

Chris nods. Closes his eyes.

“What do we do?”

“I’ll um… need to phone them.” He waves the phone held tight in his hand.

“Oh…”

Chris looks around the room as Phichit pulls up a contact and dials. His eyes catch on the spiderweb cracks in the mirror, on the blood in the centre, the small shards on the carpet below. His mind is trying to make sense of the fact that Phichit Chulanont, international figure skater apparently had some American mobster on speed dial. What the hell had happened that his reaction to a kidnapping and threatening message was not to call the police but call up a… what- a friend? Who the hell was this friend? Why should Chris trust this unknown man with Viktor’s life? He traced the empty cracks in the mirror where the glass had fallen. There was one short line where some blood had run down in a drop. He felt sick.

“Ah hello? It’s me.”

Chris’s eyes pick up, not sure if this was something he was allowed to listen in. Not sure if he cared. Still really not sure how he felt about all of this.

Chapter Text

In a non-descript college flat in Detroit there lay a single bed covered in a mound of covers, blankets and defunct essay notes.

Visible next to the bed decorating the somewhat scabby walls were several posters of a handsome Russian skater mid routine, a handful postcards of some traditional Japanese scenes, a series of pictures of two dark haired boys in various states of sobriety and a small photograph of a dog.

Around the flat lay the remnants of several days’ worth of exam stress, empty contraband takeout containers and the clothes of two athletes who had fallen behind on laundry.

Unfortunately, Katsuki Yuuri did not get to wake up to a lovingly selected photo of his crush/idol from his flatmate/best friend.

Yuuri’s phone was in fact off. Hidden under a blanket in the corner of his bedroom where Phichit Chulanont, best friend and pain in the ass, wouldn’t be able to magically turn it on through a mix of determination and sheer volume of notifications and rouse the beast from his well-deserved sleep.

Instead Yuuri woke up to the ringing of another phone, one that was admittedly still his but that was very unlikely to be used by Phichit as he has been warned that it was really only to be used for absolute emergencies and honestly you won’t ever need it but you’re going to save it and memorise it and no Phichit you absolutely cannot save it under ‘Yuuri 2: I choose you’ Phichit what the fuck.

Phichit had once (and only once) pocket dialled this number while watching TV at 2am (with headphones on he’s not an animal) and had not noticed until his bedroom door crashed open to reveal Yuuri standing with an actual knife in his hand that (Phichit assumed) had actually been used to kill people.

Phichit thought he was going to die. Phichit may yet die if that scenario were to ever happen again.

Yuuri was dragged really rather rudely from the depth of his stress coma by the very particular ringtone of this phone that was never turned off or hidden away.

Some part of his brain registered and followed through on reflex.

The call connected.

“Ah hello? It’s me.”

Yuuri sat up.

That was definitely not the voice he wanted to hear coming from this phone.

Phichit was not next door.

Phichit was in Chicago his brain very helpfully provided.

Yuuri blinked, he had just watched Phichit’s free skate, had stayed awake long enough for the full list of the men’s results and then turned off his regular phone and passed out. He glanced at the window. Still night.

“What’s up?”

“I’m in Chicago.” Yuuri frowned. Yuuri knew that Phichit was in Chicago, his brain had just been over that. Phichit knew that Yuuri knew that Phichit was in Chicago. Phichit knew that Yuuri was in fact still pissed that he was not also in Chicago due to an exam landing on the same day as the short program and really not being able to get an excusal if he himself wasn’t due to perform at the event.

So Phichit was not alone.

“It’s pretty late. Who you staying with? I’m sure I know a guy that could put you up if you need to crash.”

“Don’t worry I’m with a friend. And- No just staying at a hotel.”

Who? Celestino? Another skater? If he was at his hotel it was very likely someone they both knew. But Phichit was safe, for now. He forced himself to focus on that and swung himself out of bed.

Putting his phone on speaker he padded softly to the wardrobe.

“So what do you want?”

He heard Phichit’s long breath out and then a catch. He started dressing, quickly.

“So someone’s been kidnapped and they left a bullet and a lock of hair and I know you said there were things to stay away from and not get missed up in but they’re gone and you also said sometimes if the police get involved then they might cut things loose or you know um...” The latter part is higher and panicked. Detached, part of Yuuri’s brain notes the reversal of roles from their usual panicked phone calls.

“Breathe. Who’s been taken?” Yuuri is lacing up a pair of slim, black boots.

“His name is Viktor Nikiforov.”

Yuuri’s fingers pause momentarily, eye’s glancing at the poster staring out at him above his desk depicting one Viktor Nikiforov.

“Describe the room. What’s wrong? How long has he been gone?”

There’s another long breath, shaky. “The mirror is broken, there’s a little blood on the cracks. Um… there’s a broken light next to it and some glass. The bullet is on the dressing table next to the hair. It’s messy but just like someone’s been staying here, there’s clothes around but it doesn’t look like it’s been searched.

Um, how long has he been gone?” There’s a muffled response. “Two, maybe three hours. He was supposed to meet someone in the hotel lobby two hours ago and hasn’t replied to his phone in three.”

Yuuri narrows his eyes, there’s a lot of people that might be interested in an athlete as decorated as Viktor, as popular as Viktor. There’s not many that would be so bold as to stage a kidnapping in the middle of an international competition. There’s even fewer that would on doing so, would leave a very specific threat in the shape of a bullet.

“Who knows?”

He hears his question repeated.

“Me. His coach and mine know that Viktor didn’t turn up but they both think he just fell asleep in his room.” There’s a pause. Yuuri grabs a battered laptop from a drawer and boots it up. “And Christophe Giacometti.” There’s a hushed ‘Phichit!’ in response.

Huh.

That makes sense.

It also makes things both more complicated and much easier.

Yuuri knows Chris. This makes working around him easier.

Chris knows Yuuri. This makes working around him without revealing himself to be Yuuri much more complicated.

This means there may be a need to reveal himself to two more famous figure skaters before the night is over. Yuuri pinches the bridge of his nose. That would bring the grand total (excluding himself) to three. Mari’s gonna kill him. Not super ideal.

Yuuri ran what was needed to make this night work with minimal damage through his head. Really not super ideal.

Three messages ping across Michigan.

“Um…” He glanced at the phone. This wasn’t the time to be precious about personal relationships.

Good thing he was still owed a favour in Illinois. A messaged pinged in Chicago.

“Put me on speaker.”

Chris was stressed. This was, it has to be said, very reasonable.

Viktor was missing and presumably bleeding. Phichit may or may not be friends with a gangster. Said gangster was currently on the phone. This was turning out to be a very strange night.

He hears Phichit describe the room and has to close his eyes as they start to burn. Everything is sinking in and churning up and clawing at his head.

‘it doesn’t look like it’s been searched’

Chris feels sick.

Phichit is asking him a question and he maybe responds. The room might also be spinning.

‘Christophe Giacometti’

Chris’s eyes snap open.

“Phichit!”

Well great now Chris was apparently making friends with an American mobster. This evening was really getting more and more complicated.

Chris and Phichit stare awkwardly at each other as apparently, whoever is on the other side of the phone goes silent. Chris finds his throat to suddenly be very dry. Was that a normal response to being told a name? In his head he wishes fervently that they had instead phoned the police.

“Um…” Well at least Phichit also seemed uncomfortable. It was his own fault for calling this idiot and if Chris ended up kidnapped and Viktor ended up dead it would really be his fault for that as well. Chris tried really hard to wash away that last thought. He might be a little over stressed if that was where his brain was going.

Phichit was putting the phone on the dresser. Oh it was on speaker oh good Chris was about to be introduced to a gangster via speaker phone, how fun. How on earth did Viktor always manage to drag him into the absolutely strangest situations every time without fail?

“Hi Chris. I need you to not ask questions and do exactly as I say. Can you do that?”

Well fuck.

Chris froze.

That. Sounded really very like Katsuki Yuuri who… Chris looked up at the other man in the room currently biting his thumb and looking at him like he was waiting for a bomb to go off. The man who was coincidently flatmate to the very same Katsuki Yuuri.

Fuck.

What the fuck Phichit?

What the fuck Yuuri?

Chris and Phichit sit awkwardly in Chris’s hotel room. They had (on strict instruction) wiped down all traces they may have left and quickly abandoned Viktor’s room after hanging up the phone. Chris had felt some relief at leaving such a blatant crime scene but as the door latched behind them he thought he might throw up. It felt like abandoning Viktor.

Yuuri suspected, apparently, that one of the Russian team had a connection to the mafia. Which was par for the course of the night quite frankly. That the bullet had been a message for them, whoever they were, and was likely supposed to be seen tomorrow morning when he was discovered missing.

What had actually happened was lucky for two reasons.

Firstly, whoever had taken Viktor had presumably been sloppy and left his hotel door ajar. This allowed Chris to find it earlier than intended and gave Yuuri a head start.

Secondly, for some reason Phichit happened to be walking past just moments later. Probably the only person, bar the supposed intended but unknown Russian, that was able to partially understand the message and as a bonus spot of luck, happened to know someone he could call.

Chris was now angry. At Yuuri for telling him next to nothing. At Phichit for telling him almost less. At the hotel’s evidently lacking security system. At himself for not realising what had happened sooner. At himself for being utterly useless about the entire situation. At himself for sitting in a hotel room while two of his friends were in danger out there somewhere in Chicago. At Viktor for being so utter cliché as to get kidnapped after winning a gold medal.

He glanced at Phichit. He looked pale. He had said he’d had ‘issues’ before. That Detroit had been ‘messy’ last year. He wondered what exactly that meant, if Phichit had needed similar help or if something else, what that something else could possibly be. He wondered if he was allowed to ask. He wondered if he wanted to.

Why was Katsuki Yuuri in a position to give that sort of help?

‘I need you to not ask questions and do exactly as I say.’

It had immediately been recognisable as Yuuri’s voice. It sounded absolutely nothing like Yuuri.

He thought of the shy boy he met in juniors.

He had twice found Yuuri crying, hidden away out of sight of reporters and officials throughout their junior years. He hadn’t been much help, just offering a shoulder and an extra barrier to the world, they had gotten closer after that for a while.

They didn’t see each other much once Chris joined the Senior division. He hadn’t found him crying in the corners of any arenas since then, had worried he’d maybe gotten better at hiding. They’d gotten drunk a couple of times when in the same city, grabbed food occasionally in between ice time at the few shared competitions, but Yuuri had gotten more elusive.

By all rights Yuuri should probably have won either the Grand Prix or Worlds by now. Probably could in the next couple of years. So far, the closest he had come was gold at Four Continents last year, though when Chris had congratulated him he’d shrugged it off as only possible because Cao Bin had pulled out for an injury.

Chris frowned. Yuuri had won gold at Four Continents last year and placed… fifth at Worlds? Why had he not placed at the Grand Prix again?

Chris had skated against him in skate Canada in the first assignment. Yuuri had beaten him to gold by half a point.

Chris looked back at Phichit, who had only been assigned one qualifier last year, the first one in skate Canada.

Yuuri had pulled out of Rostelecom two weeks later. He hadn’t replied to Chris’s messages which to be honest wasn’t out of character. Had made some comment to a reporter around the time of the final, siting stress from studying and some family matters.

‘I need you to not ask questions and do exactly as I say.’

He remembered the first time he had found Yuuri crying in the locker room, half an hour before they were supposed to skate. It had taken 15 minutes for him to calm down. The five minutes where neither of them spoke afterwards Chris spent desperately searching for something to say or something to ask. Nothing seeming right. 10 minutes before Yuuri was due on the ice he had lifted his head from Chris’s damp shoulder, wiped his eyes, whispered a quiet, ‘Thanks Chris’, and walked off.

5 minutes later Chris stood rink side looking at a skater who looked detached, indifferent, poised. The boy had glanced at him, face hard and impassive, nodded and turned back to the ice. Suddenly the boy looked like a hunter. Pink around cold, hard eyes making him somehow more intimidating.

When the boy had taken to the ice it had been beautiful, the dance delicate and clean.

‘I need you to not ask questions and do exactly as I say.’

Chris in that moment trusted Yuuri to somehow make Viktor magically appear back at the hotel. Whatever it took, Viktor would be safe.

Chapter Text

Viktor was numb.

He wasn’t entirely sure he still had hands; he hadn’t felt anything from them in a while. His legs, ass and back were frozen from the bare metal chair and the cold had taken all the sensitivity from his skin.

Luckily for Viktor, numb also meant a reprieve from the unpleasant mix of fear, stress and general confusion that had been echoing through him for the last few hours.

Being kidnapped it seemed, wasn’t actually that bad.

Viktor was in fact in shock. Though he was not currently aware of that.

Everything he was feeling had sort of banded together and called an emergency shutdown. In fact the only thought he had been able to focus on in the last few minutes was that he hadn’t had the chance to stretch and cool down after skating and he would probably be sore tomorrow.

Which… was true? But also really not the main issue at hand.

No one had entered or left the room since Viktor had registered that he was in it. Several hours had passed and it was still him and the unidentifiable, unmoving guard.

Viktor felt his eyes focus without having been asked and he registered what a big shadow the guard was casting. What an asshole. He glared at the too big gun held in too big arms and a too big shadow cast from two big fucking boots.

The guard moved.

Viktor blinked.

Oh. That was a noise.

Kind of like when Chris had convinced him to spend a day at Disney World the last time they were in Paris and they had methodically worked through every ride up to the highest rollercoaster – Viktor’s stomach dropped to somewhere below his knees.

Things were happening outside, or in another room, or in whatever was past that door. Viktor’s pulse sped up and he suddenly didn’t know if the continued nothing was worse than whatever was beyond that door.

The guard was looking at him. Maybe. Why cover your entire face? His head at least turned towards him, then back to the door. Were they not expecting this? Viktor really didn’t want to know what was beyond that door.

The guard’s shadow moved towards the door. The guard followed.

Wait.

Every single hair stood up on the back of Viktor’s neck. His long-forgotten hands registered something and he felt the skin around his eyes grow cold. That was a strange thing to notice, was he really going to cry now?

A voice appeared like a breath in his ear.

“No noise, we are friends.”

No noise was easy, Viktor was not currently breathing. ‘Friends’ was more confusing.

He nodded the slightest he could manage, not wanting to offend any sort of friend that had appeared in the situation, whether they were real or imaginary or temporary he would take them.

Wait.

That had been said in Russian.

What the hell was going on?

Viktor tried to weigh up whether it was more likely that he had somehow missed a trans-continental flight due to a concussion and was currently in Russia or he had somehow gotten mixed up in an American/Russian gang war. The shock however just made the thought drift slowly through his mind and didn’t offer any conclusion as to what might be happening.

He wondered if he had won enough gold medals to be worth rescuing on principle.

Unlikely, not impossible.

The guard dropped to the ground at the same time as the bindings on his hands.

“Are you injured?”

Viktor stared at the guard. He looked very small beneath his shadow.

A hand touched his head and it hurt. His wrists hurt. And his legs. And he was so, so cold.

There was nothing holding him up anymore so he pitched forward, stopping on a pair of hands bracing his shoulders.

Someone had caught him.

He breathed out, suddenly quite sure he might cry.

“I think… I might have a concussion.”

There was a breathy laugh in his ear. Which was kind of rude. Viktor had managed to answer their question after all and given his currently state he felt that was honestly quite impressive.

“I think you might be right.”

Two knocks on the door. Viktor flinched. The hands gripped him tighter and he felt himself relax ever so slightly, leaning into the (man’s?) side.

The shadow knocked back. The door opened. A second shadow slipped in. Why the fuck was everyone wearing a fucking balaklava?

The two shadows walked towards them stepping over the (sleeping?) guard and Viktor decided they were friends too. He also didn’t think he could do anything at this point if they weren’t friendly and his new leaning post/self-declared friend hadn’t made any complaints yet.

“Mr Nikiforov, excuse us.” Huh well they knew who he was.

Wait.

That was English.

Viktor’s head hurt.

But still being in America was looking more likely and that was probably only a good thing. Yakov would kill him if he somehow managed to get smuggled halfway across the world, though if he’d lost more time than he originally thought and had missed his flight home maybe that would be preferable.

Oh he was standing. He was standing between these two shadows. Standing was maybe generous he should possibly help them out and take some more of his weight.

His friend was gone. He felt cold.

“Mr Nikiforov, please lean on us for now.” Okay, that he could do.

• -

The shadows helped Viktor into the back of a van. It felt kind of like a bad situation to willingly go along with but on account of the fact that he was leaving a definite bad situation and this time people were talking to him, it felt like a mild improvement.

The back of the van seemed fitted with an odd fold out seat station that looked like it should either be in an ambulance or a campervan but had gotten confused on its way out the factory. Viktor was placed down and handed an open bottle of water; opening it for him had been nice seeing as apparently his hands were shaking. The door slammed behind them causing him to jump and the figure to catch the bottle and hand it back carefully.

The shadows were people now, or at least looked more like them. They had taken off their masks and had actual real faces underneath.

His eyes were starting to sting again. He couldn’t remember if he’d actually gotten round to crying yet and it seemed odd to do so now when things were improving but this was all honestly just a lot to process.

The (man?) who had handed him the water knelt in front of him, seemed to be speaking. A name?

Did he ask for Viktor’s or tell him his own?

Was this in English or Russian? His brain was trying to translate but getting stuck part way.

Viktor blinked. There was a light in his eye.

Ah yes, concussion. Wonderful.

“Извините…” Viktor frowned, he hadn’t meant to use Russian.

He tried again, sounding out the syllables to get started. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“That’s okay, you’re okay now. My name is Grant, can you tell me your name?”

“Vik- Viktor”

“Good, that’s good. Do you know where you are?”

Viktor blinked. Honestly no.

“I… was in Chicago? But I don’t… they didn’t…” He trailed off, his throat was beginning to burn again.

“Good. Okay we’re just outside of Chicago, we’re not far. We’ll get you back in about an hour.”

That was just about the best thing Viktor had heard all day. Including having his gold medal announced.

Two knocks on the door.

The engine kicked into life.

Grant reached over and knocked back. The door swung open. A third figure stepped in. Faceless.

The door swung shut as the van started to move. Grant stood to whisper something to the new shadow and moved through the van, sitting in the passenger seat next to the driver.

“Viktor” The shadow knelt down where Grant had been and looked up. Viktor frowned. They hadn’t taken off their mask. “You are safe.”

The tears that had threatened to fall for so long spilled silently down his cheeks. He breathed in, blinking them away and seeing droplets in front of his eyes.

There was a hand in front of Viktor. He looked down at the palm confused, glancing at the unreadable mask and back. Tentatively he put his hand on top, it was warm.

The unknown figure rose and sat beside Viktor, taking the untouched bottle from his hands. He had forgotten about that.

The hand was back, reaching towards his face slowly as if expecting Viktor to bite it. He was very confused so decided to sit as still as possible.

The hand wiped the tears from his cheeks. Now his face was warm.

“Drink.”

The bottle was raised to his lips and there were light fingers under his chin. Viktor noted that they were back to Russian. Maybe this one was Russian, but Grant had sounded American. He would try to keep up.

“Swallow.” Oops. He had been distracted.

The bottle was gone. That was good honestly, Viktor’s head was hurting again and tipping back hadn’t helped.

“We can take you to a hospital or to your hotel. Your choice.” The Russian was flawless but oddly soft, spoken slowly. After so long in silence it sounded wonderful.

“Hotel. Please. …I just want to sleep.”

The warm shadow nodded, “Hotel it is. But no sleeping yet. Sorry.”

They turned and rapped on the body of the van, the (woman?) at the wheel raised their hand in response.

Viktor pouted.

“So mean, so cruel, I thought you were saving me.” He thought he heard a huff of laughter as they reached below the seat. This was good, he was feeling slightly more like Viktor.

“Forgive me, I need to check your head.”

“So cruel, my knight in shining armour is attacking me.”

The figure is exasperated, “Viktor…”

Viktor smiled softly, “Thank you.”

The van is silent except from the low sound of the engine. The only light coming from strips along the floor and the pale orange from streetlamps reaching through from the front windshield.

“Can I know your name?”

The figure is silent. Viktor is nervous. They open the box in front of them revealing a first aid kit.

“You can call me whatever you like. Excuse me.”

They pull out some sort of strips and tip some water out.

Viktor pouts. They know his name. To be honest a lot of people know his name but the man that turned out to be Grant and had called him ‘Mr Nikiforov’ and then he had introduced himself and shown his face. This person who he was guessing was maybe a man based on his voice and build had called him ‘Viktor’ and won’t tell or show him anything!

His head stung and he flinched. The man was touching him.

“I’m sorry, I need to clean this.”

Oh. Viktor had been bleeding. This wonderful man or they or shadow had cut him loose and spoken softly and held his hand and wiped his tears and now was literally cleaning his wounds. He might cry again.

He didn’t trust himself to speak just yet so looked where he hoped their eyes were and nodded. They brought the cloth back to his head and gently began to wash the blood from his hair.

It didn’t hurt so bad now that he was expecting it. Well it did, but he found he didn’t mind. He was really very tired.

• -

Chris was vibrating with nervous energy.

He was currently sitting on a chair beside the window watching the door. Phichit was currently passed out on his bed with his phone gripped in his hand.

Roughly six hours ago had been the strangest phone call of Chris’s life. Since then they had received one text, about an hour ago. All it said was, ‘Viktor is safe. Stay where you are.’

Phichit had honestly jumped halfway up the wall when his phone went off. Chris had thought they were about to die. Chris had then considered murdering Phichit, it seemed only fair seeing as he’d just taken 10 or so years off of Chris’s life. Maybe Yuuri could give him tips. Oh god maybe Yuuri actually could give him tips nope nope not going down that road at 3am.

He looked at the clock. Oh. 4am.

He blinked.

He was really honestly very tired.

The two of them had spoken on and off through the night. Softly, as if scared to really break the silence and spook the elephants looming above them. It had been nonsense, Phichit had rambled through an essay plan he was working on and Chris had talked about the collection of cats that lived in the alley by his apartment that had claimed him as a surrogate father. The longest discussion had been on the quality and variety of bed coverings in competition hotels.

After each topic ran dry, they would sit in silence. The clock would flash new numbers. One would get up and pace. Or sit and breathe.

When Yuuri’s text had come through, Phichit had started crying softly, the stress of the night breaking some sort of limit. He had hugged Chris, laughing as he babbled about how obviously everything was okay Yuuri was going to fix it Chris it’s okay they’re safe they’re okay.

Chris thinks he might have been crying loudly. He’s not quite sure.

They both lay down, exhausted, scared to move and not sure what happens next.

‘Stay where you are.’

Chris couldn’t sleep.

Safe? Was he okay? Stay here how long? What were they waiting for?

He had stood so as not to wake Phichit, walked to the window and watched the dark city stretch out in front of him. The blinking lights down below and the glass surrounding them.

He looked back at Phichit, hair stuck up from running his hands through it, face tight and hands holding onto that phone like it was a lifeline.

As far as he knew, despite them competing together, Phichit had never once ‘met’ Viktor Nikiforov. What would he have done if Phichit hadn’t walked past the door? What would have happened to Viktor?

Phichit he decided, was getting sent a very nice and very expensive makeup set. Or maybe a new hamster.

He took a seat facing the door and waited.

Chapter Text

There was a knock on the door.

For some reason, despite watching the door for the last 30 minutes, Chris had not been expecting that.

Phichit rose like a zombie straight up from the waist. Yuuri had been bullying him into more core conditioning recently.

The room was deathly, deathly quiet. The two stared at each other. Stared at the now terrifying door. No one dared breath.

An unknown voice sounded through the door. “Delivery from Bob’s Pizza Palace?”

Chris could only watch in confusion as Phichit once again showed why he was an internationally ranked athlete by leaping out of the bed and clearing the room without seeming to touch the floor.

The door was wrenched open.

Oh thank god Viktor was alive.

Even better he was here.

Held up between a man dressed like a concierge and a figure all in black (that was slightly unsettling). He was sporting a bandage around his head and dark rings around bloodshot eyes. But he was here and alive and real and the figure was half carrying him in and he smiled weakly at Chris as the concierge waited outside.

Phichit closed the door as the unknown figure lay Viktor down on the bed.

“спать”

What?

“ты в безопасности”

Viktor looked as if he had passed out the moment his head had landed on the pillow so Chris isn’t sure if anyone in the room understood any of that. Was that Russian? Had Yuuri actually contacted the Russian mob to save Viktor??

Phichit was still standing by the door. Chris was standing awkwardly next to him, not sure when he arrived at his side but feeling the need to be near someone he knew.

The figure turned his back to the bed and faced them. Chris swallowed. This was worse than being put on speaker phone with surprise gangster Yuuri.

They reached up and pulled off some sort of soft face covering to reveal.

Ah.

Oh okay.

“Hi Chris, hey Phichit. Oh congrats on the silver by the way.”

Surprise gangster Yuuri number 2.

“Yuuri.” Phichit breathed out as he crushed him in a hug.

“Are you both okay?”

Chris found himself half crouched, half leaning on the wall.

“I think so.”

There were hands on his arms, “Chris just breathe, you’re probably in shock.” Yuuri frowned, “You’re also exhausted, sorry I just gave your bed away you’ll have to share.”

Chris laughed, pulled Yuuri forward into a hug. They stayed for a moment, Chris letting a few tears spill onto his shoulder thinking how strange it was for them to have switched like this. How safe he felt right now.

“Thank you.” He pulled back, wiping his face on the sweater he was wearing over the clothes he had once thought he’d be going out and getting drunk in. “Thank you.” Two sets of hands helped him to his feet.

“Yuuri…” Phichit started admirably but didn’t seem to know where to go from there.

Softly, so softly, Chris found the words to continue, “Yuuri… what the fuck?”

Yuuri laughed nervously, every bit the usual shy skater if it weren’t for the full body black stealth gear.

“Ahh. Look I’m sorry, I know tonight has been…” Chris raised a brow. “I’m sorry I haven’t explained anything. It really is better for you to know as little as possible.” Yuuri glanced at Phichit.

“Ah I didn’t tell him anything!”

Yuuri laughs, “It’s okay Phi, you did the right thing calling. Though I have no idea how you convinced Chris this was a good idea.”

Chris is deadpan, “He didn’t, I thought I was going to die. I thought you were an American gangster and then a Russian gangster and I that was going to get sold to a life of crime in place of Viktor’s safe return.”

Yuuri stared at him silently before all three burst into giggles.

The pressure in the room that had prevailed throughout the long night seemed to lift just a little.

Phichit breaks the levity with a cautious, “What happens now?”

Yuuri is calm, instantly switching back to pragmatic, “The three of you spent the night drinking here in Chris’s room. Phichit, go back to your room once I’ve left.” He glances to Viktor lying soundless on the bed, curled in on himself. “Chris, you can take the bandage off in the morning. The injury isn’t bad he should be fine without it but if you think it’s obvious, then he fell and hit his head when you were drinking. None of you left the hotel.”

“What about Yakov when he sees his room?” Chris interjects.

“There is nothing out of place in Viktor’s room.”

Chris glances at Phichit. He looks nervous, clearly not enjoying the serious part of the discussion, but not scared. Like he trusts implicitly that yes, there is nothing wrong with Viktor’s room. Yes, no one left the hotel tonight.

“What if something happens again? Who even did this? Is Viktor in danger?” Chris knew he might be spilling an unfair amount of responsibility onto Yuuri who definitely isn’t to blame for most of tonight’s events but, like Phichit, he had found himself once more ready to implicitly trust him with his life.

Yuuri’s face softened, “The man outside will keep you safe until you fly out tomorrow. He has several others set around the building while you’re here. If you need anything, ask at the desk for Grant.” He pauses, eye’s narrowing and suddenly looking very much the man in full stealth gear. No more the shy skater but just as cold. “As for who, I don’t know. Yet. They risked an attack at a competition even with all the security and press, maybe even because of it. It’s likely he’s safe in Russia and they took the chance here where they’re more comfortable, so he goes back as soon as possible.”

He looked at Chris for conformation, “Viktor’s next event is NHK?”

Chris nodded, slightly unnerved by the Yuuri in front of him.

Yuuri hummed, seeming pleased, “He’ll be safe.” Phichit did not doubt this for a second. In his head Chris jotted Japanese mobster down next to a crossed out American and Russian, he added a ‘Yakuza?’ For good measure. “We’ll keep an eye on the rest of the Grand Prix just in case.”

We? Yakuza is tentatively circled.

“What about you? What happens now?” Cold eyes turned to Chris and he gulped.

“I was never here.” Chris nodded. After he night he had had and the confusing rewrite of facts that had just occurred he can maybe be excused for believing, just for a moment, that statement quite literally and thinking that honestly yes Katsuki Yuuri may indeed still be asleep somewhere in Detroit. Just for a moment, until he was able to rationalise and consider that maybe that was one of the rewrites.

Yuuri sighed, “Chris…I really can’t stress how much you cannot talk about what happened tonight with anyone. Katsuki Yuuri is a figure skater, nothing more. Names can be dangerous, please remember that.”

Yuuri looks kind of sad, Chris wonders how many people know all the hidden names of Katsuki Yuuri, wonders if Katsuki is more or less real than whoever is in front of him right now. He thinks he’s seen photos of parents, of a sister maybe, back in juniors when they talked about leaving home to compete. The last few minutes are running through his head on repeat, trying to sort themselves out and somehow make sense of what’s been said.

‘None of you left the hotel’

‘There is nothing out of place in Viktor’s room’

‘The man outside will keep you safe’

‘He’ll be safe’

‘Viktor is safe’

“Chris. That includes Viktor. Obviously, you will need to talk about this.” Yuuri sighs, runs a weary hand down his face muttering, “Frankly I have no idea how he’ll going to deal with this, he was pretty out of it all the way here.” He looks back up making eye contact with both of them in turn. “The less you know, the less you have to keep from him.”

Chris goes to speak, to protest but Yuuri holds up a hand, “You can tell him what I’ve told you here, I doubt he’d settle for less. But I was never here. Phichit called in a favour. You know nothing more.”

Phichit makes a sort of strangled noise from the back of his throat. Yuuri turns with an evil look to face him, “Phone calls have consequences Phi.”

“Please don’t take my liver, take a kidney or something.”

Yuuri’s face is deadpan when he replies, “Phi, the state your liver is in I wouldn’t even make a profit.”

Phichit, outraged, can only splutter a rebuttal. Chris and Yuuri watch on as he tries to find an argument that defends his liver’s market value and yet doesn’t entice that as a tempting option.

“Phichit.” He stops, looking to Yuuri like a man awaiting execution. “I’d prefer no one knew you had this connection, for your own sake. But Viktor is safe thanks to you.” He turns to Chris, “You as well, you found what happened, you trusted me without reason. Keeping your silence is the safest thing you can do.” He bows shallowly.

Chris felt a small emotional whiplash from that turn.

Yuuri stepped towards the door pulling his face covering on as he goes.

Chris watches as his movements seem to change. It’s not quite like watching him on the ice but there’s something similar. A weightlessness. He truly looks like a shadow in the dark of the room.

He pauses as he passes them.

“Phi, give him the number, just in case.” The faceless Yuuri turns to Chris, “Memorize it, if you ever butt dial me and I hear nothing but crying only to arrive at your door to find you sobbing over Pokémon, I will sell your liver.”

Phichit, Chris noticed out of the corner of his eye, turned very red and then very pale. Quite impressive.

The door clicked shut behind him.

The two were left once again in a silent hotel room. This time however, on turning instead of a painful emptiness they would see Viktor curled to one side, lit by city night lights, looking impressively small for such a larger-than-life man. Silver hair flopping over the bandage that marred the otherwise peaceful scene.

They stood for a moment. Reeling slightly from the stress of everything that had just happened. Suddenly feeling the heaviness that comes from an intense physical competition on top of the bone deep weariness that comes from being on edge for so many hours.

“Bob’s Pizza Palace?”

“If you’re ever in Detroit, I’ll treat you. It’s worth breaking the meal plan.”

• -

Several hours later one Katsuki Yuuri arrived back in a non-descript college flat somewhere in Detroit.

Despite the strong temptation of bed he had several phone calls that could not wait.

The first was wonderful because he was able to facetime Vicchan and begin to erode some of the tension of the night.

The second was frustrating and long and involved far more logistics than Yuuri would have liked.

The third was…as expected.

“先生” Sensei

“お願いしたいことがあります。 そしてその見返りに申し出。” Onegai shitai koto ga arimasu. Soshite sono mikaeri ni mōshide.

At 10am Yuuri ignored the sun already high in the sky and crashed, dead to the world, into an unmade bed and promptly passed out.

Chapter Text

Viktor woke to a headache, a general body ache and the awareness that he was not in his hotel room.

He lay still. Mind clearing for the first time since…well since his head had been slammed into a mirror.

He raised his hand up slowly and lightly traced the bandage wound through his hair. It brought back memories of warm hands and a soft voice in his ear. He lowered his hand back to the bed, catching sight of the dark, ugly bruising marring the skin in a ring around his wrist.

He lay still. Mind starting to prick with fear as he remembered the sensation of being immobilised, of being watched, of seeing nothing but a covered, expressionless face and feeling so, so cold. He felt the pressure of the sheets on his aching legs and tried to focus on the fabric under his cheek.

He lay still. Mind racing as his body felt like it was detaching, felt like it once again couldn’t move. His eyes stung with tears and he remember a palm out in front, a warm touch, a caress and a breathy laugh. A covered expressionless face that said, “Viktor. You are safe.”

He registered the shower turning off. Felt himself tense as someone shuffled about, clicked open the door and lowered a towel from around blond tousled hair.

Oh.

He was with Chris.

Chris who locked eyes with him and was at his side in a second. He was being pulled into a hug. That felt nice actually. Looks like he could move again.

Viktor cleared his throat. “What time is it?” His voice was raspy.

Chris pulled back, “Just after two.”

“I have a flight in three hours.”

Chris stared a little incredulously before grinning, “I was just about to wake you. I’ve ordered room service. A breakfast for champions.”

Viktor’s stomach suddenly growled. “I suppose we didn’t get to celebrate yet.”

“The mysterious Grant also dropped off some clothes from your room if you wanted to change before grabbing your things.” They both eyed the dirtied tracksuit Viktor still wore, there was mud all along one leg and dots of blood down the collar.

Then something registered in Viktor’s brain, “Wait, Grant is here?”

Chris’s eyebrows raised, “You…know Grant? The mysterious concierge that appeared at 4am and dropped you off?”

Viktor frowned. Grant was a concierge?

“Grant was there when they…rescued me? He…spoke to me? I think. In the van.”

Chris was looking at him with some concern.

“Well, that makes sense I suppose. He is apparently in charge of getting us safely to the airport.” He watches Viktor closely but he didn’t seem too concerned or suspicious at this new development in the mysterious life of Grant.

Viktor honestly was still a little fuzzy on the details of the night before but his brain had latched on to ‘Grant’ as ‘friend’ and ‘speak English’. The prevalent memory surfacing was of Grant the shadow overpowering the unpleasant asshole without a face (not to be confused with the mysterious knight in stealthy armour without a face) so actually hearing that Grant was currently in charge of their immediate safety was incredibly reassuring.

Viktor frowned, “What happens after the airport?”

There was a knock on the door. Chris sighed, “I’ll tell you over breakfast.”

Viktor was standing outside his hotel room.

There were two problems here. The first was that despite the reassurances passed on by Chris, that ‘apparently’ they were safe until leaving the country and even had a hidden security detail somewhere in the hotel (??), the last time Viktor had entered this room he had been quite violently attacked and he was feeling some trepidation. He was glad Chris had ignored him and had insisted on coming with him.

Had Chris not been there he might have had to go find Yakov and rope him into helping him pack under the semblance of running out of time or something (so in other words, a quick death), or he might have just never opened the door.

Ah Viktor really wanted to see Yakov.

Grumpy coaches aside, that brings us to the second problem. Viktor’s kidnappers hadn’t been patient enough to let him grab his room key on the way out. So now he wasn’t really sure about how to get back in.

Viktor spent a luxurious 10 seconds with closed eyes cursing idiots who walk into hotels to smash things up and ruin people’s day before deciding that was enough of that and it was time to move on.

He signed, loud and dramatic and pouting to Chris as he stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to emulate Yuri when he was in one of his rink side strops.

“Chriiiiiiis. I’m locked ou…”, he trailed off. Fingers wrapping around a thin piece of plastic in his (clean) hoodie pocket.

“Viktor?”

Viktor silently took the hotel key card from his pocket and placed it on his palm like one might inspect an unusual bug.

Chris was looking at him like he might take him to hospital after all.

Viktor looked him in eyes and said slowly, with great conviction, “God bless Grant.”

Chris just sort of gave up at that point and put Viktor in the new ‘Chicago: don’t touch’ labelled box inside his head that currently housed one Phichit Chulanont. They could keep each other company at least.

The card was waved and the door clicked open. Both skaters peered cautiously in.

Viktor’s costume from last night’s free skate was thrown over the back of a chair, there were several shirts strewn over the bed and a kit bag dumped messily in the middle of the room.

It looked like someone had gotten dressed quickly after a competition, and then gone to perhaps get drunk and celebrate.

Viktor reached up and lightly pressed on the side of his head.

It hurt.

It hurt from being smashed into a mirror by a figure in black who appeared behind him while he looked at his clothes on the bed.

Viktor stared at himself in the unblemished mirror.

Chris had told him that Phichit Chulanont, the skater from Thailand, had happened to find him panicking after Viktor had been taken and just so happened to have a favour owed by some people that were able to get him back and ensure his safety for the immediate future.

Viktor didn’t think he had ever actually spoken to Phichit Chulanont and knew him purely as the flatmate of Katsuki Yuuri, a skater he had caught little Yura fanboying over once or twice. Viktor had noticed him when he beat Chris by half a point at last years Skate Canada and had tried to find more about him online only to discover he was an old age ghost and didn’t use social media. Hence the stumble upon Mr Chulanont, champion of the selfie and candid Yuuri pics. (Viktor had been disappointed when Katsuki had pulled out of the Prix and had largely left it at that, until his stunning performance at Four Continents where he had beaten everyone else by a mile.)

As grateful as he was, Viktor had no idea why Phichit would risk an association with people like that for someone he had never met. Maybe he was good friends with Chris.

Chris, meanwhile, was trying to reconcile the image in front of him with the fear inducing crime scene he had found last night.

Katsuki Yuuri, he decided, was not someone he ever wanted to piss off.

Viktor turned to Chris, “Hey, do you know Phichit well? I didn’t know you two were close.”

Chris mildly panicked.

“Um…we’re not. Well I know him a bit, better now probably.” He gulped. This wouldn’t breaking any rules, right? “I know his flatmate Yuuri so we’ve met a few times.”

Viktor’s brow raised, no one seemed to know one without the other.

He laughed, “I wonder if Yuuri knows Phichit has friends in the underworld, that must be an awkward secret to keep when you live together.”

Chris watched as Viktor began to pack away his things.

Yakov appeared at the door not long after, grumbling at him to hurry up. Viktor bounded over and swept him into a hug managing a full rotation before the flailing forced him to set his poor coach down. Yakov wondered when his overexcitable puppy would grow up.

His eyes narrowed, taking in Viktor’s appearance, “Vitya, how long did you stay up drinking last night?”

Chris slipped out of the room.

Viktor tutted, patting Yakov on the head, “Don’t worry about it, we youngsters don’t get hangovers like you do.”

Yakov yelled something unpleasant in Russian and stormed to the door, stopping to snap, “Be in the lobby in 10 minutes!”

Viktor’s reply was a sing song, “Of course ~Yakooov~.”

Yakov thought he caught a flash of purple as he turned away and he paused for a moment, willing Viktor’s sleave to ride up again. He looked at the idiot checking himself out in the mirror and snorted.

Walking off he remembered the unexpected call from Caldini the night before.

Viktor had clearly met up with Chris as planned. But the idiot was only that affectionate when something was wrong.

Yakov noted what good service the hotel was providing as they were led directly into a waiting taxi.

Both Chris and Viktor had evening flights. Despite still feeling bone tired and mildly hungover without having drunk a drop of alcohol (technically Chris had but that was pre-kidnap fiasco so it didn’t count) they were able to sleep for a solid 8 hours+ and were semi-functional.

Phichit, unfortunately, didn’t have an evening flight.

What he did have was an overly boisterous, “Ciao Ciao Phichit!” to wake him up at 8am for the drive back to Detroit a luxurious three hours after he had fallen asleep.

Poor Phichit.

Celestino attempted for the first hour of the drive to tempt him into conversation by going over his performances from the last few days, their upcoming trip to France and even trying to trick him into talking about what banned food he would inevitably be treating himself to tonight.

At the one hour mark he decided the best he was going to get out of his skater was a slow blink as he lay against the window watching the world.

He cranked the music up.

At least hungover Phichit didn’t complain about his singing. Hungover Yuuri was mean.

• -

Phichit arrived home at 5pm.

Celestino had taken pity and bought them lunch at a drive through half-way, though that meant they had gotten stuck in traffic and added another hour onto their journey.

He stealthily tip toed through the flat, well aware that awaking the beast right now would incur a death sentence, super stealthily crashing into every bit of furniture and door frame he passed.  Oh well. Can’t say he didn’t try.

Yuuri had clearly walked straight into bed without stopping for anything as inconsequential as closing his bedroom door, pulling up his covers or collecting any lump sums of cash. He had stripped to his boxers and crashed into his pillow head-first, mouth turned just enough to breath. What a terrifying hitman-gangster-monster. Adorable.

Phichit grabbed the blanket on the back of couch and gently placed it over one of the most infamous men in the underworld. Wouldn’t want him to get a cold. He closed the door softly on his way out and crashed into his own bed. Dead to the world.

Yuuri (having still been low on sleep from the last few days exam stress before getting roped into a rescue mission in another state) slept soundly for 19 hours, waking up at about 5am the next day.

He blinked groggily, wondering why things hurt and why he could see before he realised he’d forgotten to take his contacts out and clawed at his eyes to return things to their usual blurry state.

That was better.

He felt for the glasses that had at some point been knocked to the floor and noticed he was lying under the living room blanket. He smiled.

He checked his phone, several messages but no calls. Excellent, nothing too urgent before breakfast. He stumbled over to where he vaguely remembered hiding phone no.1 some time before and woke it up. Taking both with him as he wandered off in search of food.

Phone no.1 started buzzing as he cracked the eggs, catching up on the 36 hours or so it had been abandoned.

It kept buzzing.

Ugh.

Yuuri’s head tipped back as he sighed.  Coffee first.

Baka

Hey lil bro [21:04]

Talked to Mum about how bad college has been

She’s sending over some videos of Vicchan to make you feel better so incoming

Ur welcome and u o me

Also

Sorry none of us have been at any events recently

Things have been busy at the inn which is great but we miss you

Do you need me to take time off and come to the final?

Let me know what you think

Wtf how long do you sleep haha [03:01]

Text me when you’re up if you’re not dead loser x [03:28]

Ded 🧟️ [05:14] 

Haha

Fuck off.

Answer my question baka

It has been  

A very long wekk  

Week  

Let me drink my coffee bitch  

If only that would help :’(

>:(  

Also ty <3  

And its k I understand, don’t worry about it  

Flights to Russia are expensive but if you have time you could come see worlds??  

Tokyo bbeee 🇯🇵 

Sweet

I’ll see what I can do

You can introduce me to Vicchan 2.0

Stfu he doesn’t even know who I am

Or is it Vicchan the OG?

Mari  

Fuck off  

😂😂😂

First chat done, good job Yuuri. Productivity at 5am.

He clocked the first message on the next name down. ‘Hey hot stuff’

Yuuri poured a second cup of coffee.

Coffee was not part of the meal plan. But then again according to Celestino stealth missions were not part of the workout plan so on such occasions Yuuri allowed himself certain liberties.

Eggs were done.

Swiss Roll

Hey hot stuff [02:46]

Do you think

Phichit would prefer the new Dior eyeshadow palette

Or does he need a new hamster

What. [05:28]  

Makeup or hamster

You know what idc  

Hamster  

<3 x

Also

;)

Viktor was asking for your number

WHAT  

Chris istg  

Wow chill

He knows you’re Phichit’s flatmate

And for some reason is curious about him

Must have enjoyed our drinks sesh :)

:)  

I’m so glad  

You guys had a nice time  

Tell him no  

:(

Even tho

“Chris this is the perfect chance for me to talk to Yuuri”

Fuck off he did not say that  

“Maybe he can give me tips on his steps”

I don’t believe you  

Maybe you can step on him I bet he’d be down

*Blocked*

Yuuri thought that this might be a long day.

God he wanted to skate.

At least he didn’t have any classes today.

Okay, plate over the pan for Phichit’s eggs.

Last messages come on.

Peach cobbler

Ty ty [19:07]

Wish you were heeeeere

We could get drunk to commiserate my loss

Ciao Ciao seemed pleased tho

Bought me dinner ^.^

My son

T_T

R u asleep

Rest well my summer child

Hapi morning ^_~ [22:17]

*screen shot of Viktor’s Free skate*

*seen 05:39*  

Yuuri saved the photo and refilled the coffee pot because he was a nice flatmate who did nice things and appreciated his best friend. Not like Chris. Chris could go suck a dick.

He ambled through and grabbed his running gear, dressing slowly. Time for phone no.2.

At 07:00 UTC-4 Katsuki Yuuri went for a long run on the way to his local ice rink.

At the same time in Japan, a woman sent a message under orders from someone else. The someone else was Insignificant.

A woman in Russia received a message from an old friend and a hitman.

Several men in mainland Europe had not received the message they were expecting and decided to take further action.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks are busy.

Yuuri spends early mornings practicing alone in the rink, arriving before anyone else and carving line after line through the ice. The people who physically took Viktor were dealt with quickly and efficiently. The people who had orchestrated it however were remaining elusive, and Yuuri was displeased.

This was to be expected. Though it might be good to understand why.

At 6 years old the boy he had been had moved from ballet bars to ballet blades and had fallen in love.

At 9 years old he had watched a Russian skater dance like the blades on his feet didn’t exist and he had fallen in love.

At 19 he had first skated on the same ice as Viktor Nikiforov at the World Championships. He had suffered from anxiety all throughout the lead up and hadn’t made it to the Free Skate, but he had breathed in the air of the competition and had seen the very best in the world skate their very best on the grand world stage and he had fallen in love.

At 22 he had gotten a call that this man he had admired, had challenged himself against, had learned all he could from, this man had been taken and hurt. Yuuri had been angry. Then he had found him, cold and scared and bleeding and still able to laugh even after he cried and Yuuri…well Yuuri had fallen in love.

He knew it was not real love because this man had not known who he was, could not know who he was. He hoped it was not real love because this man was in danger and Yuuri was scared that he wouldn’t be enough to keep him safe.

So he skated. Hours and hours tracing steps and spins and jumps.

Almost five years ago, this Yuuri had nervously gone to his parents and told them he wanted to leave. He hadn’t wanted to abandon his family but his heart belonged to the ice and he was desperate to see the world. He had been offered a contract with a coach in America and a scholarship at a college in the same state.

Hiroko and Toshiya had looked at their son kneeling before them and smiled; happy to see him grow, sad to see him go, happy that he had found something he loved, sad to watch from afar as he lived a life separate from theirs.

Besides, Mari had always been the one who would take over the inn, just as Hiroko had taken it from her parents. They watched as Mari tackled Yuuri into a headlock, pinned him with her legs and knuckled on his head until he was tapping the floor gasping to breathe. Those two were strong. They knew for sure that the siblings would live separate lives yet support each other unfailingly.

The thing is, the Katsuki family own an inn in Hasetsu, Japan. It’s important to understand that there really isn’t anything underhanded or underworldly about the family.

One day, Katsuki Toshiya met a very lovely woman named Hiroko and fell in love. They married, had two children, and still run an inn together in the very town they met. Their son is an internationally ranked figure skater who they are incredibly proud of and their daughter who they are also very proud of works with them running the inn.

All of this is very true.

Despite leaving his family in Japan, Yuuri always tried to be the best son and brother he could be.

He had now spent almost five years in Detroit.

It was safe to say that at this point, Yuuri owned Detroit. Or at the very least owned the world that lived underneath the everyday Detroit.

He had learned from a young age how to run a business from watching and working with his parents. There were clients and products and services and skills.

He hadn’t set out to acquire American real estate so to speak. As an 18-year-old living away from home for the first time he was busy, college and skating (even with a scholarship) are expensive.

So he had kept receiving money from his parents, not for nothing and not for free, but there is always work to be done in a business whether remotely or internationally. The Katsuki’s run an inn after all, and their son travels for work.

Does that make sense?

So Yuuri, without setting out to, now owned Detroit. He also happened to have shares in several other major US cities, currently he was in the middle of acquiring Chicago for personal reasons. Thailand owed him a favour, he had some good friends in Sweden, Switzerland and Spain, a tentative professional relationship with companies in the UK and had recently been trying to broker a deal in Russia.

As a businessman, relationships are very important and Yuuri had never forgotten his roots. He hasn’t had the time to go back to Hasetsu since leaving, but every year he had at least one competition in Japan and often promoted his family’s business through his work. That is somewhat the perks of fame, his family’s business has never been so successful as when Yuuri began widening their client pool.

Hiroko and Toshiya are very proud.

Mari likes to tease he is only trying to make more work for her.

Phichit was worried about Yuuri.

This was actually often true and part of what made Phichit such a good friend.

He didn’t regret seeking Yuuri’s help with the Chicago fiasco because anytime he thought of what could have happened in the alternative, he felt a little sick. He had asked as they sat down to watch a crappy rom-com one night what they might have done if the mystery Russian hadn’t played along and had instead phoned the police and Yuuri had left the room, fetched Phichit’s favourite popcorn (that they definitely weren’t allowed to eat mid-season) and had pat him on the head.

He appreciated that Yuuri had worked on being more honest with him since the Detroit fiasco of 2013 so he knew that sometimes it really was better for him not to know.

Still, he knew that Yuuri for better or for worse would see this through to the end. He just wished that the poor boy didn’t also have finals coming up. Phichit had fallen behind on two of his classes already and he didn’t have a double life to keep up with, the thought of that alone was honestly enough to make him want a nap.

He was also worried because he knew how much being able to skate meant to Yuuri. How Yuuri thought that by all rights he should be working with his family in Japan and how much pressure he felt to show them what their support and freedom meant to him by winning.

Phichit had seen first-hand how upset Yuuri had been last year when he pulled out of the Grand Prix after winning his first international gold in Skate Canada, and how he hadn’t questioned that decision for even a second. He had seen time and time again when Yuuri’s anxiety pushed him into a tailspin leading up to a competition, and how Yuuri pushed right back, determined and driven and deadly.

So Phichit was worried, but he was also excited, because a determined Yuuri was capable of anything. He had finals coming up and a Grand Prix to win and an obscure plot to solve and someone had threatened the man that Yuuri had idolised for the last 13 years which really wasn’t ideal but it meant Yuuri was very, very determined.

Celestino said he had never seen a free program like it. Phichit thinks Yuuri has been training jumps in secret. The idea of which he found terrifying but the one time he decided to confront Yuuri about it he had heard Yuuri get back late from what he presumed was a midnight jump session and had burst in on Yuuri sitting calming cleaning a set of very sharp knives.

The two had stared at each other for a full minute before Yuuri had broken the silence with a cheery, “What’s up Peach?”.

Phichit threw a cushion at Yuuri’s head.

Living with a hitman had really desensitised him to normal standards of living.

Yuuri takes silver at Rostelecom.

Phichit wasn’t allowed to go. Celestino sucks.

He watched it live though. As he touched down once in the short program Phichit could see something built up in his limbs dragging him back slightly.

His free though.

Phichit still suspected Yuuri has been training jumps in secret; if that was true there was no evidence of it in Moscow. If it is true, that routine is going to be a beast.

Viktor watches from his apartment. The short program is boring, no one really catches his eye and Katsuki seems held back, he was interested in the skater sure but he seemed inconsistent. His own practice the next day is dejected, Yakov has to yell everything twice before it gets through.

He’d been feeling a loss of inspiration for a long time now. It had crept up and taken root and he’d kept it at bay by smiling and laughing and skating. Hours and hours tracing steps and spins and jumps, trying to find joy in the weightlessness as his heart grew heavier. After Skate America he’d felt himself detaching sometimes, felt the strength leave his body and his mind wander off.

He considers missing the rest of Rostelecom. He doesn’t watch to watch but Yakov would be furious.

The free program though, is different. Otabek Altin, he notes, may rise up the ranks very soon. Cao Bin, in first as he expects. Everyone seems more charged than usual. Katsuki.

Viktor raises a brow as Yuuri steps out, the camera zooming in to catch the first season glance of a new costume.

Viktor’s costume this year is a military inspired jacket blushing from pale to deep pink, gold fastenings and loops over white.

Yuuri’s feels like his counterpart.

It’s dark, blue but almost black. The front is tight, crossed over itself and coming to sharp points at the shoulders. The detailing is silver, highlighting the crosses over his chest, the accents on the shoulders and running in a line down his forearm.

If Viktor is a soldier lamenting for his lover as he serves overseas, Yuuri is a weapon whose lover was taken and he shows his fury on the field.

Viktor hopes he makes it to the final. He wants to see that in person. Actually he wants to skate against that in person. It’s a shame he only has one quad. He frowns. Artistically, Katsuki Yuuri can beat him. Maybe he’ll ask Yakov to drill his steps tomorrow.

At another apartment in St Petersburg a boy sits, raptured at the screen, barely breathing as a skater dances without touching the ice. He’s never seen anything like it. He wonders if he could do it. He frowns, the one quad is easy. The steps though, it’s like one wrong move and you’ll cut yourself. He leans back in his chair, Katsuki had better make it to the final.

After all this, away from the drama of the rink. A man who is sometimes a skater sits down to eat. Opposite sits a woman who is sometimes a dancer taking a drink. They have a lot in common after all, dancing and skating I mean.

Chapter Text

Viktor was at NHK.

It was his first time leaving Russia since he had been attacked and very noise or touch was setting him on edge.

Yakov could feel his blood pressure rise. Every minute Viktor seemed to be jumping up or turning round or trailing off a thought mid-sentence and Yakov was about to snap. Georgi was apparently back on with that ice dancer of his and had spent the entirety of breakfast lamenting their separation for the next few days. Yakov really was a saint for having some semblance of sanity to cling to with the skaters he had to deal with.

They had been at the rink for the last hour and Viktor was a mess. Georgi glided past in a series of spins, excellent. Yakov looked back, Viktor fell on a flip. Yakov narrowed his eyes. This wasn’t helping. He yelled at Viktor to go over his footwork, turned back to Georgi who fell on an axel. He turned his face to the sky and breathed out.

Why wasn’t Mila here? Mila was reasonable. Why was he stuck with the drama queens? Then he remembered the very colourful threats Mila had made the last time Georgi had waxed poetic about Anya for too long in her presence and decided he needed a new group of skaters.

He lasted another hour before he had had enough, not wanting to exhaust either of them before the short tomorrow and feeling a mild concern in the shape of Viktor as he called both his skaters over to cool off. Viktor had been acting odd the last few weeks ever since Chicago and he was always wearing long sleaved training shirts or sweat bands underneath a loose jacket. Yakov had been subtly checking his wrists. He didn’t think Viktor would be likely to hurt himself, but there were plenty of people who would hurt Viktor. He had fielded enough rabid fans and reporters over the years to have developed a protective streak a mile long. Not that he gave bias to Viktor. Just that Viktor was an idiot and Yakov didn’t trust him further than he could throw him, so he looked out a little closer was all.

They exited the stadium with Yakov giving a low grumbling commentary of every mistake they had made in the session. He tried to avoid personal insults today as both seemed to be feeding off of each other’s gloom and Yakov really just wanted a quiet rest of the day without any extra drama from either queen.

The stadium at least seemed to have very good security Yakov noted with approval. Several figures dressed in black watched them leave from behind glass doors and two more waited by the shuttle. Very professional.

They stepped into the hotel and Yakov caught sight of a familiar head of hair sitting at the bar next to Coach Celestino.

He narrowed his eyes, why was that head familiar?

The woman gestured wildly to the side and caught his eye, grinned and waved him over, “Yakov Feltsman, come here! You’re getting a drink with us!”

Yakov blinked. He was? What was Minako Okukawa doing here?

Somehow, Minako convinced Yakov to drag both Viktor and Georgi to dinner with her and Celestino. Who had apparently met when Minako recognised him on the street that afternoon when Celestino was on the way back from practise with his pair skaters that were competing tomorrow. Minako, as it turned out, ‘had trained Katsuki Yuuri in ballet once upon a time’ (which honestly explained a lot about the skater) and so had stopped to ask his coach who she recognised from watching Yuuri’s competitions how he was getting on this season.

Now they were sitting down to dinner and Minako was ordering them all dishes Yakov couldn’t pronounce. He wasn’t even entirely sure why Minako had been passing by the hotel earlier, if he missed that part or if she was just a skating fan and took the chance to see it because it was in Japan.

Yakov was very confused.

Georgi had found a fellow romantic in Celestino and was being commiserated on his separation while Celestino told of his days winning hearts as a young skater himself.

Viktor had seemingly latched onto Minako as a friend and information pool about Katsuki Yuuri and was alternating between grilling her about how he was as a dancer and waxing poetic about his sequences. When on earth had that little infatuation started and how the hell had Yakov missed it?

At least the food was good.

Minako insisted on walking them back to the hotel, not trusting them not to get lost, wished them all good luck for the morning, assured them she would be watching and vanished into the night with a flirty smile at Celestino and a wink for Yakov.

He rode the elevator up with his skaters having said goodnight to Celestino as he wandered off to greet another coach somewhere in the lobby.

Viktor and Georgi were bickering softly at one another, a slight smile on Viktor’s face as he teased Georgi for something or other, Yakov didn’t really care.

Maybe it had been good to see Minako.

It had been a long time after all. He was grateful she had been tactful in avoiding the subject of Lilia.

Yakov froze.

Viktor and Georgi were looking at him expectantly from the other side of the elevator doors.

He snapped at them to get to sleep and closed his room behind him. Glad for once that the two were actually sharing and he could panic in peace.

Lilia had phoned him two weeks ago. Asking how Skate America had been, asking what events were coming up, who was going where, if he needed any help. It had been very strange. She had then nagged him about keeping an eye on Viktor as if he needed reminded, went on about how ‘all she hears is him getting himself into trouble’ and by god didn’t Yakov know it. He was the one that had to deal with it! He had told her if she wanted to help, she could come and run some conditioning sessions at the rink.

He hadn’t seen Okukawa Minako since he and Lilia were married.

The two had been good friends as dancers and Yakov had met her at various events. As far as he was aware, throughout the time of his marriage the two had even worked together on occasion.

Yakov wanted to know why exactly Lilia had been asking about Skate America. He wanted to know why Minako had appeared here at NHK.

‘trained Katsuki Yuuri in ballet once upon a time’

Had she now.

Well. Yakov would like to know. Why exactly. Viktor. Was interested in Katsuki Yuuri.

And also. What the hell kind of trouble that idiot had gotten himself into now.

‘He’ll be safe’

Chris watched the NHK from his apartment, one arm wrapped about his new boyfriend. Things were going well. He had another week until Cup of China and was taking what down time he could while Josef was off in Japan with Millie.

He snuggled into Masumi’s side; he had a good feeling about this one. They were waiting for the men’s singles to start, idly scrolling through their phones.

Phichit training selfie.

Cat account.

NHK update.

Phichit documenting a sleepy housewife Yuuri cooking in boxers and a hoodie.

Millie screenshot of the woman’s short program table.

Viktor out for dinner.

Wait.

Chris scrolled back up. Viktor and Georgi had their arms around a woman who was raising her glass in a toast.

Chris narrowed his eyes.

That. That was Okukawa Minako, winner of the Benois de la Dance. What the hell Viktor, since when did he know her well enough to go out to dinner?

‘He’ll be safe’

Chris tipped his head back and sighed. Goddammit Yuuri. Bet this was somehow his doing.

Masumi just reached out and pat him on the head, it had been a long month.

The finalists for the Grand Prix are in place after Trophée de France, the men’s singles are as follows.

Viktor Nikiforov

Cao Bin

Christophe Giacometti

Yuuri Katsuki

Michele Crispino

Jean Jaques Leroy

Yakov narrow his eyes as he looks through the list. Something had wormed its way in and settled heavy in his gut in Chicago and, try as he might, he couldn’t get that flash of Viktor’s bruised wrists out of his head. Katsuki wasn’t even in Chicago. Why did something about that boy raise Yakov’s hackles? Was he actually just unused to seeing a competitor after so long with Viktor on top? Why had Okukawa Minako been at NHK?

He phoned his ex-wife.

“Yakov.”

“Lilia. What happened in Chicago? What’s going on?”

There is a sigh on the other line before a pause, Lilia’s vice is softer than usual when she speaks, “Yakov, you decided you didn’t want this life, let me handle it.”

Yakov wants to scream. He’s well aware he didn’t want this life, in fact he gave up a great deal just to avoid it. So why was it here.

“Is Viktor safe?”

“We’re going to make sure he is.”

He feels a small amount of pressure release from around his ears, “Good.”

“I’m going to go.”

“Wait!” The line is silent. “What do you know about Katsuki Yuuri?”

Lilia’s voice is no longer soft but now a warning, “Yakov…”

“Why did Okukawa Minako take me to dinner in Osaka? Minako trained him in Ballet?? Lilia, Viktor’s obsessed with the boy I’m worried-”

“Worried he’ll get involved with something he’ll regret?”

Yakov closes his eyes.

“Minako is a family friend of the Katsuki’s, before you ask, they are a very lovely family I met only once. They own an inn in a small town somewhere, she taught Yuuri as he grew up, introduced him to skating if you’ll take her word for it.”

Yakov clenched the phone tighter. All of that made sense, and yet.

“There’s nothing… unusual about Katsuki?”

Yakov hears another sigh, can picture her face as she pinches her brow, “Yakov.” He’s caught off guard by how gentle she sounds, “You didn’t want to join this world. You know names can be dangerous.” Yakov always hated that phrase. “Think of him as Katsuki, nothing else.” That had been what Yakov was afraid to hear. “He’s looking out for Viktor, trust me.”

The line went dead.

Yakov went to the kitchen and poured himself a long vodka.

The Yuuri that was sometimes Katsuki Yuuri was pleased.

Business was going well in Russia. His last deal in Japan, negotiated in his absence, had gone off without a hitch. His partners in Spain had caught wind of a rival firm negotiating a deal in various countries across Europe and had, with Yuuri’s support, been able to make headway into a merger with France.

The main issue at the moment was that someone had cut ties with their subcontractors in America, and Yuuri was having difficulty getting through to the CEO.

That seems like enough of that.

The main point in all of that is that thanks to Katsuki Yuuri being assigned a qualifier in Moscow, Takeuchi Yuuri had managed to set up a remote branch of the Yakuza in partnership with the Russians.

They owed him a favour after all.

Chapter Text

Phichit was a shell of a man.

The shell sat, wrapped in a blanket and cradling a cup of coffee on a messy sofa surrounded by an almost dead laptop top, several sheets of paper and his hopes and dreams. Thank god he hadn’t qualified for the final this year; he had an essay and a paper due in two days and was considering running to Canada to escape his responsibilities.

He also had a class in an hour and was trying really quite hard to find the willpower to go.

At least he had coffee.

Yuuri’s bedroom door slammed open. Phichit, the peak of athletic reflex, promptly passed away. For context, Phichit hadn’t seen or heard from Yuuri in a couple of days and had naturally assumed he was off doing mysterious things like training secret new jumps behind his coach and best friends back or hunting down serial killers or buying a new country. Phichit only really had a rough grasp on what it was Yuuri did.

“Phiiii-chiiiiiit.” Yuuri was happy why was Yuuri happy?

He walked up to Phichit, hugged him while laughing then walked into the kitchen.

Phichit peered over the back of the sofa to see his friend humming to himself as he gathered ingredients for…was Yuuri making pancakes??

Phichit was not going to class he decided.

Whatever was going on was clearly worth celebrating and what kind of friend would Phichit be if he didn’t take the time to join the celebrations? Yuuri did a little shimmy, dancing along to whatever song was running through his head as he made coffee. Phichit narrowed his eyes and, like he always did when Yuuri acted suspicious, Phichit checked the world news.

Well.

Okay.

That might explain some things.

Open on Phichit’s news app was a breaking headline.

‘SMUGGLING RING WITH BASES IN MOSCOW, PARIS AND WARSAW DISCOVERED. RECORD ARRESTS’

Interesting.

“Yuuri?” Phichit called out tentatively.

Yuuri’s head popped into the doorway, there was a grin on his face and batter on his cheek. Why was he so adorable?

“Did you piss off the Russian mafia?” Why did Phichit live in a world where that was a genuine question?

Yuuri laughed. He laughed. He skipped over, hugged Phichit’s head sticking up from the sofa and kissed the top of his hair.

“Don’t be silly, Peach.” Oh thank god. “I made friends with the Russian mafia.”

Right. Of course.

“Does this mean Viktor’s safe?”

Yuuri straightens up. Suddenly looking slightly more like he’s maybe not slept enough in the last week, “For now.” He grins again, “I think Sochi will be safe, the rest we can worry about later.”

He wanders back to the kitchen, stopping suddenly and turning, one brow arched sceptically.

“Phichit.” Oh shit. “Don’t you have class?”

Viktor was numb.

He wasn’t entirely sure he still had hands; he hadn’t felt anything from them in a while. His legs, ass and back were frozen from slamming down hard on the rink and the shock of the fall was echoing through his head and making him swim.  

There was a looming faceless figure staring at him.

All he could move were his eyes as he stared up above him. He wanted to break the silence, wanted to ask for help, wanted to sit up and stand up and move his limbs and skate. But he had fallen. And he couldn’t get up. And the looming faceless figure’s shadow was stretching and stretching until it covered him and turned him icy icy cold.

He couldn’t remember why he was here. He couldn’t work out where was here. He thought he was at the rink but it was too quiet for the rink. Where was everyone?

The icy feeling latched onto his face and he felt himself grow lighter, felt the feelings start to fade.

There were hands on his face. Wiping away…when did he start crying?

There was a faceless figure in front of him holding his face.

All Viktor could do was stare at the fabric or smoke or shadow something that knelt, pulling him to his feet.

The figure was…licking him?

He recoiled.

Viktor blinked awake. Makkachin was licking his face.

Makkachin was licking his face.

He laughed, pulling her close in for a hug and ruffling the fur around her face.

She kept attacking and he spluttered, now registering the slobbery facial and putting up a weak resistance.

“Makka.”

“Makka.”

Finally he gets her off the bed and swings his feet to the floor. Murmuring away to her as they both padded to the bathroom.

The bathroom light clicks on.

A slender man with silver hair looks at himself in the mirror. There are light bags under his eyes but they are not the worst they have been. There is dog slobber over tear tracks and freckled skin underneath. The man runs a finger under his eye and remembers another hand doing the same.

This was not the first time he had dreamt of the faceless man.

‘You can call me whatever you like’

Viktor frowned. So dramatic. He’s grateful to the faceless man, he is, but he just wished he had a name.

He thinks about what Chris had told over their champions room service breakfast often, thinks that Chris doesn’t really know what or who happened to get Viktor back. Thinks that he might know a little more than he said.

Grant and the driver showed their faces as soon as they were alone with him. Realistically he knows that ‘Grant’ may well be a fake name but then why didn’t the other man give him a random name to use?

Chulanont is very easy to find, it could be as simple as asking him but what would he say? Viktor follows him on Instagram and Twitter but any time he had gone to form a message he blanked. Why do you know these people? Who took me? Hi, how are you? Are you being pressured by the mob because they did you a favour? Why did you do this for me?

Chris’s warnings didn’t help.

He’ll be going to Sochi tomorrow to get used to the rink and he was glad the final was in Russia this year. Was looking forward to seeing Chris. Chris can maybe calm him down, or maybe if he gets drunk at the banquet he’ll let something slip.

He turned on the shower.

Turned up the heat.

He glanced at his bruised feet as he stepped over the tiles.

He’d caught little Yuri one day, drilling the fastest sequence he’d seen. He hadn’t managed and had tripped, over and over and over. He’d realised on the third run that he’d seen that sequence before, but it had been flawless and only on screen. He’d asked Yakov the next day when Yuri had started practicing other skater’s sequences.

Yakov had looked at him for so long Viktor had waved a hand in front of his face. Yakov had of course snapped at him to stop messing about and get on the ice before he lost his edge or something. Yakov’s insults had started to lose their bite recently and Viktor was keeping a close eye on him in case it was sign of early senile-ism or something.

As Viktor had tied his laces Yakov had said quietly, “Yuri’s found someone to look up to, don’t spoilt it for him.” Viktor smiled, he was glad the little tiger had someone other than him and Georgi to watch, they certainly weren’t the best role models after all.

“And Viktor? Maybe you should try skating them.”

Viktor froze with one blade on the ice.

The air seemed to still between them.

When he was a young skater, Yakov used to challenge him by showing him harder and harder routines. It was a way of making sure the prodigy didn’t get complacent, giving him room to grow, pushing him higher. On Viktor’s own routines they’d work together, building and choreographing and marking out the steps as a team. But for the challenges he’d give him nothing but the footage. Viktor would sit for hours pulling them apart and breaking them down, then he would build them back and with them, would build himself stronger and faster and cleaner.

They stopped when Viktor started choreographing his own routines. He was already learning how to challenge himself and every season would push and create and reshape himself as he’d been taught.

And in the last couple of years that spark had flickered. He hadn’t seen the challenge in any steps apart from his own so when he came to build a new, he could no longer find the challenge within his own.

‘Maybe you could try skating them’

The scolding water fell on his bruised feet. He hadn’t managed Katsuki’s routine yet. But he was getting closer.

Celestino carefully lead his sleepy skater through the various checkpoints and hurdles and merry go rounds that make up an airport.

Yuuri had been on excellent form this season.

His short program they had made together and displayed a beautiful lightness, a joy and love for skating that as a coach was an indulgence to create. It hadn’t quite landed yet because Yuuri had struggled to balance such a busy college year with his competitions and the effect had weighed him down. It was a lot to ask to find that carefree joy at the first major final of the year but Yuuri had been notably excited the last few days, and Celestino was optimistic.

His free program Yuuri had requested to build himself and had taken a week where he only skated nights and Celestino had seen nothing of him. Afterwards he asked Yuuri what had inspired that routine and was told only that it was something he had wanted to skate for a very long time.

They stepped out into the cold air. Celestino shivered, Russia in winter was something he’d never grown used to. He glanced down as Yuuri pulled the face mask down to his chin and breathed deeply. He seemed to have woken up much faster than usual from his groggy jetlagged state. Celestino grinned to match him. Yes, he was feeling optimistic.

Yuuri’s eyes flickered across the snow and settled on Celestino, “Let’s go coach.”

Celestino shivered. Winter in Russia was cold.

Chris leaned into the barrier, watching Yuuri like a hawk as he spun like a whirlwind on the ice, moving into a complicated series of twists as he heard steps behind him.

It was no surprise when he was grabbed at the waist and spun round before getting placed back right where he started next to one Viktor Nikiforov giving him a sultry look from below long eyelashes.

“Don’t you think you’re eyeing up the wrong competition?” Viktor winked.

Chris grinned. “Good thing you’re here to give me something to look at.”

He glanced back at the ice. Cao Bin had joined Yuuri and the two had started alternating jumps at each other as Cao’s coach yelled at them to stick to doubles and stop tiring themselves out. “It’s going to be a tough year.”

His eye’s flicked to Viktor as he stepped up to the barrier and grinned, “It’s going to be a great year.” Chris’s brow raised.

Yuuri fell on quad and Celestino’s weary, “Yuuuuuri we said doubles today.” Echoed round the practice rink. Yuuri laughed, he and Cao nodded at each other as they skated off to their respective coaches. Chris couldn’t help but stare at possibly the most carefree Yuuri he had ever seen at a competition. What the hell. Also. That was going to be dangerous. Yuuri sans nerves was a monster.

“You seem more excited than usual. Still pining over Katsuki’s ass?” He teased.

When he wasn’t immediately met with an embarrassed splutter or a flirty response, he turned to see Viktor watching Yuuri with a hint of small smile on his face, his eyes were shinning. Chris wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his friend so…what, awed? Smitten? Viktor still hadn’t actually met Yuuri yet had he? Chris pushed down the Chicago box that threatened to bob up to the surface of his mind.

Busy as he was with his thoughts, he almost missed Viktor’s delayed response.

“I can’t skate his routine.”

Chris’s brows reached his hair. Smitten received a checkmark. Impressive Yuuri, you haven’t even spoken in English to the boy yet.

“I didn’t know that you were in the habit of skating other people’s routines.”

Viktor laughed and turned from the ice. Chris could see some shadows almost hidden under careful concealer, but also a brightness, a lightness.

“Yura started it, you know how begrudging our little Yuri is with his praise. I had to see if I could do it too.”

“And?” Chris was genuinely quite intrigued, he and Yuuri and once or twice tried out each other’s routines in juniors as a way to take the pressure off perfecting their own. It had been fun but they’d both changed greatly as skaters since then.

“It’s too fast.” Chris stared. Viktor grinned. “Yura took a month to stop tripping, he can keep time now but the flow is all wrong.” He seemed to think, placing one finger on his lips and glancing back to where Yuuri was conveniently carving out one of his quicker sections. “I’ve managed the full routine twice now and I still can’t get it right. I’d probably score alright in theory but it’s missing something, I can’t change the jumps as long as he doesn’t so I’m stuck with his jump component score but with a lower presentation.”

Viktor’s grin is blinding.

“Isn’t it wonderful?”

Chris thinks, that this idiot, might be more excited by the idea of losing than he is of winning. Chris wondered in that moment, what it might be like for Viktor. To win. To keep winning. To be expected to and to expect to win. He looked out at the other idiot, landing the jump he missed earlier and pointedly ignoring his coach dropping his weary head to the boards in defeat.

He remembers the boy he met in juniors, who had suggested they swap routines. He remembers the boy who would panic at the pressure he piled on himself at competitions, and the routines he would skate on repeat to cope. The routines that had been choreographed and skated and won by someone else Chris admired. Someone he now knew, skated that very same boy’s routines too.

Well what do you know.

The two idiots were perfect for each other.

“Wonderful.”

He wonders for a moment if it’s fair to Viktor to try and set him up with a (known?) hitman/possible Yakuza/shady secret Yuuri and thinks of the man who had carefully set him down to sleep while whispering in Russian. He decided that A – this might actually be the perfect match for Viktor’s dramatics, B – Yuuri could at least keep him safer from potential kidnappings and had even already been proven effective in that area, C – Viktor was able to make bad decisions for himself and honestly Yuuri will probably be the harder one to convince considering the lengths he went to remain unknown.

Phichit was going to absolutely love this.

Maybe they should conspire some sort of game plan.

Chapter Text

The morning of the short program Yuuri felt detached.

Celestino was giving him a weird look over breakfast and Sara had tried to start a conversation twice with him before realising it wasn’t a good time and leaving him be. It wasn’t quite the old nerves, like how he used to lose himself in his head. In fact he hadn’t felt those in some time.

Something had changed for him last year when he was forced to pull out of the Grand Prix mid-season. He remembers clearly Phichit’s pale worried face as he told him he was leaving for a while, remembers glancing back at his desk and that gold Skate Canada medal taunting him. He remembers feeling for the first time with his skating, a similar feeling to his other work. He knew he was capable. All he had to do was reach out and take it.

He could skate on the same ice as Viktor. He could show his family it had been worth it. He could have done it for himself.

He had closed the door and left.

When he had come back, the first thing he had done was grab skates and run to the rink. He hadn’t even skated. He had sat on a bench in front of the ice and stared.

That had been a strange night.

Yuuri had gone over the last three and a half years and considered whether or not it had been worth it. He had gone to decide if it was worth retiring. And he almost had. And as he considered that option, really considered it. He had started to cry. Big, ugly, loud crying that broke the quiet of the rink. And as he was crying onto the skates lying in front of him, he had considered all the tears he had shed over them so far, all the blood he had bled into them and the tracks worn into them.

He had cried so hard, as he felt his thoughts spiral through his failings and his crashes and his falls and his pain, that he had wondered if he would ever stop.

And then he did. He stopped crying. He ran out of things to think and tears to blink and his body breathed.

And as he breathed, feeling the cold air bite into his lungs; he realised that was what retiring was to him. It was giving up. And so he wondered, was it worth at this stage giving up? Because Yuuri knew that sometimes, giving up was the better thing to do. Giving up could also mean letting go.

And Yuuri had felt angry. Because Yuuri might have wanted to give up but he realised in that moment he wasn’t capable of letting go. Not now, not yet. Not while he faced the empty ice in front of him.

So Yuuri had left the rink, without skating, because to skate in that moment would have tainted his resolve.

Katsuki Yuuri had left home three and a half years ago to chase his dream of becoming a professional skater and to one day skate on the same ice as Viktor Nikiforov. But Katsuki Yuuri could never fully be a skater and when he faced those who were, he felt such a pressure; to meet their standard, to prove himself, to be more than he was and pretend to be fully a skater.

But Yuuri was not just Katsuki Yuuri. So he decided that if one part of him could uproot them from Japan, from family and tradition, but was unable to live and breathe and be as much as he was desperate to be; then those other parts that kept coming out to play, they would have to root themselves and have to prove themselves and Yuuri, not Katsuki Yuuri, would become fully a skater.

Yuuri decided not to retire.

Now when he skates, it is all of him on the ice.

The next night Yuuri had gone back to the rink and laced up his boots. That night he felt so light. He had skated for hours, getting faster and faster until his body ached and his face dripped and his mind detached and he felt himself fly across the ice.

He had finished off the season feeling like he was bursting at the seams. As soon as it was done, he had gone to Celestino and proposed his theme for the coming year. Celestino had been shocked. Both at Yuuri’s speed and insistence but also by the theme.

Self.

They had built a short program together that displayed a skater’s love for the ice, the feeling of weightlessness, the story of finding what could happen when you put blades to your feet. Yuuri loved it. How could he not, it was everything he loved and had built for himself in this life.

Yuuri had built his free program himself, in lonely nights like that first one where he could feel the bite in his lungs and the burn in his feet, and the part of himself that existed for others, that was hidden and dark and cold, the part that he had kept for so long from the ice, could breathe.

Celestino clapped Yuuri on the shoulder bringing him halfway back to earth and they headed in silence to the arena. Celestino’s confidence from the days before was trying to keep his concern at bay, but his skater was unfocused, drifting off, watching the world.

Yuuri was detached. But he wasn’t worried, he knew why. Yuuri’s short program was a love letter to the ice and he was, as a lover, dreaming of that first touch. He was waiting to be brought to life on the ice.

Viktor and Cao stood rink side as the next skater set blades to ice. Cao, straight from the kiss and cry was sitting in first, Viktor was up next.

“That was a great skate.”

Cao smiled, “Thank you.”

Viktor watched them skate an easy lap around the rink.

“I don’t think I’ve seen him look like that before at a competition.”

Viktor looked to Cao, face still pink and shining from his own skate, smiling as he watched them take up a starting position. “Like what?”

“You ever caught Katsuki practicing?”, he quirks a brow at Viktor who frowns.

“No? Is it…different to how he skates?”

Cao hums, “He seems a little different this year.”

The music starts. Yuuri begins to move.

In the stands a boy sits with shining eyes as a man flies across ice. He watches his feet as they push him round and spin and up and glide. He lands a jump and the boy sees joy on his face, the boy frowns. It didn’t even look like he was competing. He had thought this was the easier of two routines, but maybe not. How were you supposed to look that light and carefree he must be so tired?

The man lands a second quad. The boy’s eyes widened. That was a salchow. Yuuri could land a salchow. Yuri was going to skate against him next year. Yuri was going to try to beat him. Yuri breathed deeply.

Sitting next to him a red-haired Russian saw excitement on the face so quick to anger and smiled. She glanced over at the skaters waiting by the boards. Someone else was watching, awed. She smirked.

Next to Cao, Viktor’s fingers gripped the boards. He had been simply enjoying watching the skate, but then Yuuri landed a salchow.

‘I can’t change the jumps as long as he doesn’t so I’m stuck with his jump component score but with a lower presentation’

Yuuri could beat him.

Yuuri chuckled, batting away Chris’s wandering hands as he grabbed his things from the locker room and slung his bag over own shoulder. Chris was trying to convince him very nicely that the best idea in the world would be to go out to dinner with him and Viktor to toast the short program and Yuuri was trying to explain, equally nicely, that there was probably nothing in the world that sounded more panic inducing right now.

“Chris. I am calm, I am collected. I have just skated in the Grand Prix final.”

“Yes, you are. You were wonderful today, look at my little baby Yuuri all grown up.”

Yuuri narrows his eyes, “Please understand, going to dinner with Viktor Nikiforov does not equal calm and collected.”

Chris pouts, throwing himself over Yuuri dramatically. “Yuuri I’m trying to set you up with the man of your dreams, work with me!”

“Chris, fuck off. I’m going to bed.” He deadpanned while peeling Chris’s arms from his neck.

“We can join you.” Chris whispered in his ear.

“I will end your miserable life.”

“Better wait till after tomorrow or it might look like you’re going after your competition.”

Yuuri froze. Chris took one look at his face and grinned, taking the chance to throw himself back over his shoulders, “Viktor! Don’t encourage him.”

Viktor grinned, “Katsuki Yuuri! It’s so great to meet you finally! You were brilliant today.” Viktor was practically glowing.

Yuuri managed to croak out a hello.

Viktor started gushing about Yuuri’s short program as Yuuri just sort of broke. Chris poked him in the cheek, Yuuri slapped him.

Viktor giggled. He actually giggled.

Yuuri woke up out of his daze and seemed to go straight into shy skater mode and told them both how much he had loved their programs, heaping praise and exultations before petering off as Viktor reached up leaning past him to open his own locker.

Chris was having a great time. Time to poke the bear again.

“So Viktor, I was just suggesting to Yuuri-”, Chris choaked. Viktor looked back confused to see a concerned Yuuri patting Chris on the back as he coughed.

That was mean Yuuri.

“So Yuuri,” Viktor started while Chris wheezed off to one side. “You have plans for tonight?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “I…um.”

Yuuri’s phone rang.

“Ah, I’m sorry I need to take this. I’m waiting on a call from my sister.”

Viktor smiled and waved him off. Chris pouting as he managed to straighten.

“I can’t wait to watch you skate tomorrow Yuuri!”, followed him as he walked away. Yuuri thought his heart might have stopped, he may have actually had this exact dream before.

“Will you watch me?” Viktor was smiling at him and his phone was ringing and why was any of this happening wow.

“I always watch you skate.” He blinked. That probably sounded weird, time to go.

Yuuri stepped from the locker room and dug out his phone. He was not in fact waiting on a phone call from anyone, but he couldn’t exactly ignore that phone just because Viktor Nikiforov the man of his dreams was deigning to talk to him.

He frowned. Mari was calling him. Maybe she was calling this phone because she knew the other would be off. In which case Yuuri was going to kill her because that was a reason the other one was off. Dammit Mairi.

He opened the call.

“Otōto-san. Gomen e.”

Chapter Text

Yuri was angry.

Yuri was upset and let down and frustrated and embarrassed and he wished everyone would stop looking at Yuuri like that like they pity him, he’s better than you what are you doing get up.

He had been so excited because this free program was beautiful. He had watched it from home when Yuuri was in Moscow and watched it again when he was in Paris and had watched it again and again when he was practicing. He still couldn’t get fast enough for those steps to look good.

He had been so excited because Katsuki had made something powerful and it was supposed to be his year and he was going to knock stupid Viktor off his stupid pedestal and then next year Yuri was supposed to knock Yuuri down from his.

Get up.

This made no sense yesterday he was so good, so carefree. Why was he so inconsistent? Stupid. Get up. Stop falling.

He watched as Yuuri went into a beautiful series of spins, it looked like he was fighting a battle. Every time he attempted a jump Yuri held his breath; he hadn’t attempted a quad since that very first one where he fell hard. He had had to clamber back up and then for the next few steps he looked dazed. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he was down grading all his jumps to singles or doubles this was horrible.

Yuri felt a burn in the back of his throat as he watched the man he dared looked up to, had aspired to learn from, had challenged his seniors to try and beat, fell apart.

The final section came and went with Yuuri going through the motions. He came loose on a spin and improvised a somehow still graceful step and glide to cover it up. It looked like his body had just stopped connecting. He looked dizzy in a way no skater should.

The music finished and the crowd seemed unsure. Yuri wanted to yell at them. Why wouldn’t they cheer.

Yuuri seemed to buckle and had to put a hand down to catch himself.

He looked exhausted.

That first and only quad had been a slam, Yuri wondered if maybe he had hit something but his movements had been disconnected even before he started. Every double had been at least a touchdown, the only triple, the triple axel, Yuuri’s best jump, had been a fall.

Yuri watched him exit the rink, forgetting to even put on his guards until his coach grabbed him to stop him stepping down. He walked past Yuri to the kiss and cry and Yuri looked away, hating himself for not even being able to look him in the face. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

Yuri didn’t move as his idol ambled past him without a glance.

He swallowed. His eyes were burning.

Phichit watched with tears in his eyes as his best friend didn’t even raise his head on hearing his scores. Celestino wraps an arm around his shoulders and he brushes it off, leaving the screen.

He held his phone in his hand, biting his lip. He wanted nothing more than to talk to Yuuri, make sure he knew he was loved, make sure he was okay. He knew that the last thing Yuuri would want right now would be to talk on the phone.

He left a series of messages, assuring he was loved, he was here if/when Yuuri wanted to talk.

Viktor was standing on the ice facing away from the rink. He wasn’t sure he wanted to skate. He didn’t know what had just happened.

Yuuri could beat him. He had been so sure of it. Sure to the point where he wanted to prove himself wrong, had wanted to try and win.

He frowned. There were plenty of other talented skaters here, why was Katsuki the only one to make it feel like a challenge? Viktor felt a pang of guilt. He understood the pressure from being expected to win. He could see the determination of those trying against all odds to win. What did he have? What was he still giving?

“Viktor, you need to go.”

Yakov was talking to him.

“Viktor. Go.”

Viktor looked up and met his eyes. He wondered if Yakov could see how much he had tried to keep himself engaged with this season. Wondered if Yakov could see him fading.

“Vitya.” His voice is softer, “Forget Katsuki. You came here to skate, go.”

Did he?

Viktor goes on autopilot, quickly gliding round the rink and raising an arm to the audience even as it makes him sick.

Did he come here to skate?

Yuuri had looked so alive yesterday. Today he looked half dead. Only half there.

Did he come here to skate? To win or to lose?

Viktor stared at his feet; bruises hidden under golden blades.

A melody started, followed by a man singing. Viktor looked up on autopilot, sweeping an arm over his face. This was a dance of longing.

He had wanted to skate. For the first time in so long. Maybe that was why this hurt, to see a peer who wanted nothing more than to skate and to win, seeing him fall when he should be flying.

‘Will you watch me?’

Viktor jumped. He danced beautifully over the icy stage as it was all he knew how to do.

‘I always watch you skate.’

So many watched Viktor skate. Why did he feel the loss of those eyes?

You see, Viktor was a little bit in love. Though he was not currently aware of it. After all, he didn’t really even know Yuuri yet.

Viktor won gold. It was a world record. Five-time Grand Prix champion. He smiled on the podium. That’s what you do after all. He charms the reporters at the press conference with laughs and smiles and talked through the technical points of his routine and posed with Chris and Cao and receives many congratulations with many thank yous and signatures.

And if Yakov doesn’t grumble when they’re out of sight of the lights and the cameras and the eyes as Viktor holds him in a hug for just a few moments too long, then maybe this weird feeling inside of him will be okay.

The whole time, he’s looking with one eye out for Yuuri. Doesn’t really know why, doesn’t really know him after all. Doesn’t see him until he’s leaving. Calls out his name and watches him walk out the doors.

Yuri stood outside the bathroom where he knew that asshole had hidden himself away.

He had thought it through and he had come to a decision. If Yuuri wasn’t up to the task, that was fine. He would be the one to knock Viktor from his pedestal, and if Yuuri wasn’t needed for that well, then he might as well just retire. He narrowed his eyes, better that than there be two Yuris in the senior bracket. Asshole.

He breathed. He could do this. Go in, yell, say your piece, get out, move on. No more idolising skaters, they only disappointed.

He slammed open the main door hard enough that something cracks and hears an intake of breath.

His eyes fell on the one occupied stall from which he could hear shallow, laboured breathing. That was the sound of someone trying not to be heard.

That asshole was what? Crying? No. Yuri was upset. Not him. Fuck this.

He stalked over, gathered all his righteous fury, and kicked open the door.

What.

The fuck.

Every word resting on Yuri’s tongue dies.

There are three things that Yuri realises very quickly.

The first is that Katsuki’s bare torso is covered in blood.

The second is that Katsuki has just skated an entire free program with what looks like an open bullet wound.

The third, that he deduces from thing one and thing two, Katsuki Yuuri is either a spy, a hitman or a serial killer.

“What. The fuck.”

Yuri then realises two more things.

One: Katsuki’s left hand is holding onto what looks like thread and a grotesque curved needle and he has in fact been sitting for the last 20 minutes in a bathroom sewing himself shut.

Two: Katsuki’s right hand is inside a kit bag at his feet.

“What do you want Plisetsky?” His voice is tired but firm.

“Are you holding a gun?”

Later, Yuri would wonder why this was what his brain decided was a good idea to voice first. Much later, Yuuri would lecture him on how this was just about the dumbest thing he could have said given the circumstances and should he ever act that way in a similar situation, Yuuri would shoot him to teach him a lesson.

“No.”

Yuri notes that Katsuki’s hand is no longer in the kit bag. Interesting. So probably was a moment ago. Serial killer is looking unlikely which is great for Yuri.

It did mean though that the only options left were spy or hitman which honesty…was just about the coolest thing ever.

“Are you a spy or a hitman?”

Katsuki stares for a moment, tips his head back to the sky, breathes heavily and then ignores Yuri entirely and begins sewing himself up again.

Yuri is kind of confused to be honest. He had really expected to come in here and yell angrily, storm out and slam the door and never see this man again in his life. The anger was sort of leaking out of him though and he wasn’t really sure what do now. He had worked for that anger, it took effort.

Katsuki had been an absolute mess on the ice.

“Did you skate an entire free program with an open bullet wound?” Yuri will deny to this day that this was said in awe.

“No.” Katsuki actually sounds a bit petulant. He ducks his head and the next line is muttered, “Pretty sure it reopened on that fucking quad.”

“YOU DID A FUCKING QUAD.” Katsuki hisses, nicking extra skin at the unexpected volume.

“Plisetsky.” Yuuri cuts the thread and begins mopping up the extra blood that’s leaked over his stomach. “What. Do. You. Want?”

“What is happening…” Yuri whispers.

“First aid.”

“Did you get shot in the arena?”

For some reason, Katsuki looks offended, “No.”

“Does anyone know?”

Katsuki looks exasperated, “Plisetsky, I am currently sitting in what I thought was a locked bathroom stitching myself up. Now based on that do you think, honestly, that anyone knows?”

“No…” Yuri narrows his eyes, he was the one that was supposed to be angry and now Katsuki was almost there, that he would not have.

Katsuki pulled on a track jacket. Yuri wondered how much blood was on his costume, good thing it was dark.

He stood, locking eyes with Yuri, “And do you think. That anyone is likely to find out?”

The room seems a little colder somehow. Yuri gulps. That was super cool, maybe Katsuki could teach him how to do that.

“…no.”

Katsuki sighed, suddenly looking very tired. He shouldered his sports bag, every bit the exhausted athlete after a long hard competition.

“Good. Congratulations on your gold Plisetsky.” He’s been calling him by name. Katsuki Yuuri knew Yuri Plisetsky’s name.

He walks to the door.

“Yuri.”

He stops and turns, “Yes?”

“My name, it’s Yuri.”

He arches a brow, “I know?”

Yuri huffs, stuffing his hands back in his pockets, “So call me Yuri. Don’t call me Plisetsky, Yuuri.”

Yuuri laughs, “Okay Yuuu-chan.”

Yuri splutters, “That’s not- I didn’t say-”

Yuuri has already turned and is looking at the door, lock broken from where Yuri had slammed it open. “Huh. I knew I’d locked that.”

He opened the door.

“You better not die before next season Kat-sucky. I’m going to beat you.”

Yuuri paused slightly, there was a hint of a smile as he left. Tossing over his shoulder, “Sure thing Yuri.”

Yuri stood still for several minutes. He felt satisfied. Then he frowned, what asshole had shot Yuuri? How dare they, Yuri wanted to see him skate. If they came near him again, Yuri would kick their ass.

Yakov was phoning him, he’d better get back. He glanced to the open cubicle, there wasn’t a trace of blood.

Chapter Text

Chris was bored.

He had a new silver medal that tasted just a little more sour than he was used to, having just edged out Cao, Michele falling one time too many times to make it to the podium and JJ just letting his inexperience get the better of him. Chris always came intending to win, he knew they all did, but there had been an air of worry mixed with interest mixed with excitement coming from various coaches and skaters alike this year as they caught glimpses of the new Katsuki.

Seeing Yuuri so open and playful at practice, even being able to joke and laugh with him just after the short program had Chris hoping that the usual anxieties would be kept at bay. Instead it had been like Yuuri was fighting against himself during the free program. Fighting to even stay upright and moving.

Chris had wanted to skate with and beat Viktor for years, but this year he had occasionally thought he might be fighting with him for silver. Viktor for all his comical infatuation with Yuuri had come out and delivered one of his best performances yet, even breaking his own free program record.

Chris remembered a faceless man appearing in a hotel room.

‘I was never here’

He wondered how much not Katsuki Yuuri had been doing while the rest of them focused on their routines and their qualifiers and nothing else. He sighed, nodding along to the sponsor that was really convinced they were being quite interesting. Thank god Josef was good at the professional talking, Chris really did not have the energy for this right now. He flashed a winning smile and added a non-comital reply, noting the flustered response and deciding checkpoint done.

Yuuri walked in with Celestino looking like he would rather be anywhere else but resigned to a slow death. Chris couldn’t help but smile at his banquet classic of an ill-fitting suit and clashing tie. He wasn’t exactly the stereotype of suavely dressed mobster.

Actually. Chris narrowed his eyes. That little minx, he never dressed that badly when they met up socially, he really was just playing the unsuspecting shy little skater wasn’t he?

‘I can’t skate his routine’

Chris glances over at Viktor, making similar rounds with Yakov, flashing that megawatt smile and dazzling everyone with grace after his momentous win.

Ah Yuuri why are you so frustrating.

He caught sight of Celestino trying to reassure his skater at the side of the room. At least he looked more relaxed than he had on the ice. Chris smiled, Yuuri had done this before and always bounced back. Four Continents was classically his best competition after all. And anyway.

He glanced at Viktor, fake laughing away like the best of them looking miserable as ever. Chris thought he might know a way to cheer them both up.

“Yuri!” Yuuri stumbled over to the younger Yuri and slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Katsuki what are you doing?” Yuri hissed. He couldn’t help but run his eyes over Yuuri’s shirt. No blood, good. What the hell was that idiot doing?

“Yuri? You know other Yuuri?” Viktor was pouting behind Yuri.

Yuuri, thinking that Viktor was talking to him, gave him a quizzical look and answered, “Obviously we know each other, Yuri came to check I hadn’t died after my free program.” Yuri choaked. Yuuri knuckled the younger’s head with his free hand and grinned, “He’s going to try and beat me next year.”

“Get off me Kat-sucky!” It was almost like he meant it.

Viktor was lost. It was evident he had missed something, but he was glad anyway that Yuuri didn’t seem to be taking his last place too close to heart. Yuuri’s eyes snap to his and he starts.

“Of course, you’ll have to try and beat me next year too Vik-tooor.” Yuuri rolled the o and the one glass of champaign Viktor had so far drunk shot to his head.

He smiled, a little dazed, “But…I beat you today Yuuri.”

Yuuri placed a finger on Viktor’s lips, “Shhhhhh.” Viktor, as instructed, is silent. There was a very attractive man touching his face, his hands were very warm. “We don’t talk about today, today was a bad very bad day, okay?”

Viktor’s eyes were wide, he nodded slightly and tried desperately not to do something stupid like bite this man’s very attractive fingers. He cleared his throat, “So um…is your day getting any better?”

Yuuri grinned. Viktor is blinded.

“Yes! Celestino gave me champaign!”

“WHAT?” They both turned to the somewhat forgotten young Yuri.

Yuuri pat him on the head absentmindedly, “Don’t worry Yu-chan, alcohol is just for adults.”

“Kat-sucky are you drunk?” Yuri is back to hissing. It suited him.

Yuuri scoffed, “No. Pfffft. I’ve had like four glasses I don’t get drunk that easily.”

Yuri paled. He wondered how much blood, exactly, Yuuri had lost in the last 24 hours. He’d never gotten drunk, but he’s pretty sure having enough blood to dilute the alcohol is kind of key.

“Yu…chan?” Viktor fought a smile.

“Shut up Viktor!”

“We’re both Yuuri so Russian Yuri is Yuchan! Oh. Do you feel left out? You can be Vic-chan!”

Viktor felt a giggle bubbling out of him at the antics of this mesmerising man. “Vicchan?”

Yuuri beamed at him. Yuchan scowled, “I don’t like being Yuchan it sounds like a child.”

“Hmmmm.” Yuuri looked deep in thought, “Aha! Yuriooooo!” He seemed very pleased with himself.

“No.” Yuuri pouted.

“Why do I have to change?! You can be Kat-sucky.”

Yuuri leaned in close and in a loud stage whisper said, “Yuchan. Don’t be fucking rude.”

Yuri was speechless. Viktor doubled over, trying to focus on breathing through the laughter. No one on the Russian team had ever managed to render Yuri speechless, this was incredible. Yuuri was a magician.

Yuuri brightened, “I know! We’ll fight for it!”

“What!?”

“Dance off!” Yuuri grabbed Yuri’s hand and pulled him towards the dance floor.

Viktor, thinking this was the best banquet he’d been to in years, grabbed a fresh champaign flute and followed behind, getting out his phone to document whatever wonderful thing was about to happen.

Yuchan Yuri Yurio on reaching the dance floor pulled his hand free, grabbed Yuuri by the ear and hissed once more, “What the hell are you doing?”

Yuuri smiled at him as he threw his jacket over the back of a chair, “We’re having a dance off to see which Yuuri keeps their name.”

Yuri experienced some stress. “Are you fucking insane?”

Yuuri blinked, “No.”

“You. Have. A. Bullet. Wound.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened as he looked around them carefully before pressing a finger to his lips, “Shhhhh, don’t tell anyone.”

The music changed and both Yuri’s looked up to see Viktor standing next to the DJ giving them a thumbs up. The idiot had his phone out. Yuri groaned.

Yuuri smiled slyly, “What, scared you’ll lose?”

Yuri narrowed his eyes, “NO!”

Yuri was out of breath. How the hell was Katsuki doing that?

Yuri had been matching him move for move through different styles but anything he tried to throw back was managed easily. Yuuri started to hold poses upside down balancing on his hands, Yuri awkwardly trying to copy. Was this how he managed those crazy routines? Breakdancing??

The song finished and the newly dubbed Yurio staggered to a chair to catch his breath.

Yuuri flipped himself the right way up to thunderous applause. Then staggered to one side and went very pale, putting out a knee to catch himself. Yurio facepalmed. What a fucking idiot. See if he cared when Yuuri pulled his stitches again.

He rolled his eyes and made his way over to help the idiot to his feet only to be beaten by Viktor bounding over laughing with two fresh glasses of champaign. That probably wasn’t going to help.

Oh Yuuri chugged it. Wonderful.

And Viktor’s chugged his.

Yuri claps a hand to his face to catch the laugh that bubbles out of him.

He scowled. If that had been fun, then no one needed to know. He flopped back into the chair, keeping an eye on the idiots giggling over the photos on Viktor’s phone.

Yurio. Damn.

The eyes narrowed further like a very tiny very definitely ferocious predator observing its prey. Guess he’ll have to win back Yuri privileges.

Yuuri had one arm reaching over Viktor’s forearm as he pointed, laughing at a photo on Viktor’s phone. He raised his other hand to push his floppy hair out of his eyes, sweaty and flushed from the dance.

Viktor was very aware of all of this. Very aware.

“Where did you learn to dance?”

Yuuri cocked his head and grinned, “Which dance?”

Haha. Why was he looking at him like that that’s not fair.

“Breakdance?!” Did he sound like he was panicking?

“Detroit!”

“Will you show me how?” Viktor didn’t plan on asking that it just sort of happened, he wasn’t really sure if he was the sort of person who could breakdance and why would this random, beautiful, talented man want to teach him?

“Of course!” Viktor blinked. That was easy. “Not now though, not a good day for breakdance.”

Viktor opened his mouth and paused, was that not breakdancing? Or was Yuuri just being polite and subtly turning him down?

“Hmmmmmm.” Yuuri was leaning into him, tough concentration on his face. Viktor realised Yuuri’s arm was still resting on top of his, he wondered if it would be weird to hold his hand. Some of him was saying don’t do it, the champaign was saying yes.

“Um…what are you thinking about?”

Yuuri blinked.

“What we should dance tonight of course.”

Viktor blinked.

Oh. Maybe Yuuri hadn’t just been being polite. Viktor grinned and did what he did best. Be bold. He purred out, “Yuuri, do you want to dance with me?”

Ah he was smiling again oh god Viktor was going to go blind this was ridiculous. Viktor was trying to be bold and smooth this wasn’t helping.

“Yes! Let’s dance!”

Viktor laughed as he was pulled onto the dancefloor, “Yuuri did you decide what we’re dancing?”

Yuuri laughed, open and happy and living and replied, “Whatever the music makes us do!”

Viktor’s face hurt. It felt wonderful. He wanted to dance.

From across the room, Chris stood watching two drunk idiots twirl and spin and tangle, laughing in a world of their own. He smiled into his glass. This was better than he could have hoped, maybe they didn’t need as much help as he thought. Though, he thought ruefully, he might have to steal Yuuri for a dance at some point. Drunk Yuuri was so much fun.

Actually, he thought sliding his phone out his pocket, someone should be documenting this for the wedding.

Yakov glanced over at his top skater getting dipped by the man who had lost the competition. His jaw clenched. He noticed Viktor’s hand on the small of Katsuki’s back as he held Viktor’s leg high above their heads.

He closed his eyes, Viktor looked so happy. When had he last seen the boy look so light?

He opened his eyes to see Viktor spinning in to land in Yuuri’s arms. He sighed. They’re not exactly subtle are they.

Ugh they look so happy.

For Viktor’s sake, Yakov was trying his hardest to think of him as Katsuki Yuuri. Nothing more, nothing else. He didn’t want to worry about Viktor. Just like he didn’t want to wonder what had happened to make Yuuri skate that free program.

“Yuuuuuriooooo.”

Oh for fucks sake.

The two idiots bounded over, leaning on each other for support and laughing away to themselves.

“What?”

“You should dance with us!” Yuri blinked. He assumed they had gotten lost in each other’s eyes about an hour ago and wouldn’t be rejoining the rest of the planet for the rest of the night. He had caught sight of them practically sitting in each other’s laps at one point as they gasped for breath and told each other childhood secrets or their favourite colours or something. Yuri didn’t care.

“Why would I do that?”

Yuuri laughed as if he thought that was a ridiculous question which of course it was and for a second time that night, Yuri felt himself get pulled to the dance floor by the skater that might be a spy.

This was a strange night.

Yuri had managed to escape at some point and wandered off to bother Mila and Sara and their friends that weren’t being so weird. He was begrudgingly having quite a good time.

Chris was standing talking to Cao about the rest of the season and laughing about something from the previous Worlds banquet. Cao had slyly pointed out Viktor and Yuuri off having fun with a raised brow and Chris had grinned, asking him he felt left out while reaching for his tie.

Cao laughingly batted him away.

“Chriiiiiiiiiis.” Came a whine from behind.

“I think you’ve got incoming.” Cao whispered and wandered off with a wink. Cao thought this had turned into a surprisingly good banquet for such an unexpected final, he was glad Yuuri had bounced back. He really wanted to skate against him properly again before he retired, last year’s Four Continents had taken him by surprise.

Chris turned just in time to stop Yuuri from crashing into him. Wow. It’d been ages since Yuuri had gotten this drunk at one if these things considering his tolerance was terrifying. What on earth had he had?

“Chris.” Viktor leans into his ear and whispers, “Yuuri’s been dancing with me all night.”

Chris had to bite his lip to hold in his laugh, instead whispering back, “You looked like you were having fun.”

“Chris.”

“Yes Yuuri?”

“We haven’t danced all evening and that is terrible.”

Chris glances to Viktor, who is watching Yuuri’s very serious talk with Chris with one of the soppiest faces he’s ever seen, smiling around the edge of a champaign flute.

He smirks, “Terrible you say?”

Yuuri nods slowly, heavily, “Terrible.”

Chris has a wonderful idea. He is a wonderful friend.

“I agree, it’s an absolute disgrace my dear Yuuri.”

Yuuri grinned, things were going just as he’d hoped.

“Dance off!”, Yuuri yelled ecstatically. Viktor laughed and cheered with his glass. Chris smiled like the Cheshire cat he is.

“Say Yuuri, I think I saw a pole earlier. Fancy a rematch?”

Yuuri of course, several glasses in and no thought for consequences thought this was the second-best idea he’d heard all night. “YES. Pole dance off!”

Viktor spat out his drink.

Chris waits for Viktor’s eyes to meet his and winks. Viktor thinks he might be about to die.

Yuuri started unbuttoning his shirt. Viktor’s eyes were of course immediately drawn to this action before he clocked what was happening and looked away trying to mop up the alcohol he’d just sprayed over himself and trying to ignore the blush crawling up his cheeks.

Chris laughed and slid out of his jacket. He reached for his tie as Yuuri’s hands reached the last button.

Chris immediately paled, jumping forward without thinking and pulling Yuuri’s shirt closed.

Viktor and Yuuri both looked at him confused.

“Ahh…Y-You probably don’t want to strip in the middle of a banquet Yuuri!”

Yuuri just looked confused, “Why not?”

Chris mentally asked whoever might be listening to forgive what he was about to say, “Well because…it’s indecent Yuuri.” Who was going to believe this? “You might wake up tomorrow and regret it. Don’t you think? Maybe no pole dancing today.”

A nearby skater choaked on their drink, a coach walked into a table and Mila Babicheva snorted into her glass. She was pretty sure she’d seen Yuuri and Chris play a semi-public game of strip poker at last year’s skate Canada.

Yuuri pouted like a sad puppy, “No pole dancing?”

Viktor tried to tell himself he wasn’t disappointed; Chris was probably actually being very sensible. Maybe. Probably. Unfortunately.

Chris meanwhile was wide eyed and panicking, for now just trying to do up the buttons of Yuuri’s shirt while Yuuri himself gave no help at all.

Right. Well.

What the fuck Yuuri?

‘We’ll keep an eye on the rest of the Grand Prix just in case’

He absolutely had not been expecting to see bandages wrapped around Yuuri’s torso, and even if he didn’t know how or why they were there, he was pretty certain that might be a non-Katsuki secret that sober Yuuri probably didn’t want to display right now. He frowned, wondering if he imagined the small spots of red that had flashed as the shirt had opened for a moment. Yuuri probably also shouldn’t be pole dancing if he’s potentially bleeding.

‘Katsuki Yuuri is a figure skater, nothing more’

He placed his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders trying to gauge what sort of state he was actually in. Probably not great if he hadn’t even realised what he almost gave away. Oh and he’d been dancing all night of course he had. He would be bleeding wouldn’t he what a fucking idiot.

Yuuri pouted up at him. Big idiot doe eyes through floppy hair sad he wasn’t being allowed to drunkenly injure himself.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Chris grew very pale.

Yuuri was injured.

Yurio appeared at that moment having seen the idiot trying to undress from across the room and naturally panicking and rushing over.

“Yuuri what do you think you’re doing?”

“Chris won’t pole dance with me.”

“He won’t…” Yurio tried he really did but all he was capable of doing in response was sort of opening and closing his mouth for a bit before managing, “Well good.”

Viktor once more, felt like he had missed something. Though he really wasn’t sure how seeing as this time he was sure he’d been standing right there.

Chris was busy realising that Yuuri had bombed his free skate, not in fact because of the nerves that have often plagued him as Chris quite reasonably understood. No Yuuri had apparently acquired some new hidden injury which… well okay kind of made sense.

“I’m lost.” Viktor pipped up.

Yurio looked at Viktor like he had grown an extra ear. Chris looked at Viktor and realised that Chicago had followed them here. He looked at Yuuri who was looking between Viktor and Yurio like he was watching a tennis match and realised that his friend had gotten hurt without any of them knowing, presumably to keep them safe.

Despite the shot of panic that raced through Chris as he realised the danger from America had followed them into Russia, he reasoned that if Yuuri was here getting drunk then currently, they were probably okay. Hopefully. Fuck this would definitely be easier with Phichit.

“Chris.”

“Yes Yuuri?”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes and leaned in. Chris gulped.

Yuuri poked him in the cheek, “You’re being weird. Viktor! Dance with me!”

Viktor laughed, finished his glass and turned to find a table to leave it.

Yuuri spun on his heel and drunkenly keeled to one side, Chris on reflex caught him by the waist and saw the resulting flinch and the way Yuuri’s face blanched. He tore his hand back like it had been burned.

Yurio jumped forward, reaching out to support Yuuri and getting his hands slapped away.

They both watched frozen as Yuuri stabilised himself through sheer willpower, one hand cradling his waist.

“Yuuri, maybe you should sit down.”

Yuuri ignored Yurio and produced another glass from somewhere, throwing it back and closing his eyes for a moment.

“Yuuri? Are you okay?” Viktor popped back up a look of concern over his face, hand lightly on the small of his back as he seemed to sway. “We can sit for a while.”

Yuuri brightened like someone had thrown a new log on the fire, “Viktor! Come on let’s dance.” And he grabbed his hand and pulled him away. Viktor laughing at Yuuri’s excitement.

Chris watched them run off happily feeling like someone had just slapped him, blown a leaf blower at his face and gave him very important instructions in a language he had never heard before.

Mission get Viktor and Yuuri together is officially on pause, mission damage control Yuuri was a go.

They watched the two idiots fall into some sort of messy salsa with Yuuri trying and failing to show Viktor the steps, giving up and just grabbing his hips to get him to move.

Chris’s brain began to process.

Yurio turned to leave and was grabbed by the back of the collar.

If he was a cat he’d have scratched and bit and hissed. But as he was a skater he just hissed and glared, “What are you doing Giacometti?”

Chris stared at the boy. He realised he’d never actually spoken to Plisetsky before. His eyes narrowed, “Why. Were you so concerned about Yuuri taking off his shirt?”

“…because that’s gross! Wait. You saw under his shirt?”

Chris’s brows reached his hair. So he knew. How? How did this boy know? Wait.

Chris felt like he had whiplash.

“Are you the mysterious Russian?”

Yuri gaped kind of like a fish, “What the hell is a mysterious Russian?”

Chris released his collar and rubbed a hand down his face, “No that doesn’t make any sense you weren’t even in…”

Yuri gestures at him to keep going as he just trails off talking to himself. He scowled, “You’re the one not making sense old man.”

Chris took a deep breath and decided he really needed any help he could get.

“How bad is it?”

“How bad is what?”

“Don’t play dumb Plisetsky, I don’t know how you found out but I need to know if Yuuri’s okay or if we need to get him out of here before this gets worse.”

“Wait…” Yurio is conflicted.

‘And do you think. That anyone is likely to find out?’

“You know… about Yuuri…”

Chris wants to shake him. A small part of him is glad Yuri apparently has enough common sense to be somewhat subtle about this, another part is ready to tear his hair out.

“Yes. I am aware of Yuuri’s…reckless hobbies. How bad is it?”

Yuri stared at him for a moment, deciding that really a 15 year old probably shouldn’t be the only one to know this considering Yuuri did not seem in a fit state to make good life choices and technically Chris had already found out the issue existed on his own and seemingly had more knowledge than him so he probably wasn’t breaking any sort of vague promise he may have sort of made in an arena bathroom while someone implied violence and threats in a badass way. He leaned in to whisper, “He got shot.”

“HE WHAT!?”

“Shut up old man!”

Chris’s eyes were wide as he stared out at Yuuri dancing quite happily with his long-time crush as he whispered, “He what…?”

“Why was he getting shot at?”, Yurio whispered.

Chris looked down at him in a daze, “Why would I know?”

Yuri looked confused, “But…you know…things?”

“We’re not supposed to know things.” Chris managed to get out. Yurio looked suspicious. “It’s…Yuuri said it was safer not to know.”

“Fuck that’s so cool.”

Chris facepalmed.

“That’s not… Ugh I don’t care. How do you even know?”

“I…walked in on him stitching himself up after he burst them on the free skate.”

Chris found a nearby chair, and sat down. He put his head in his hands. Yurio poked his cheek. He stared up at him blankly.

“If I just kill him now, we won’t have to deal with this and the whole night would be so much simpler.”

Yuri snorted, “Hah. You think you could old man?”

Chris looked at Yuuri doing a pirouette. While drunk. With an apparent bullet wound.

“Not a chance.”

They both watched in silence as Yuuri once again over balanced and Viktor gracefully swooped in and spun him into his arms as the song finished.

“Okay, we watch them.”

“Yes.”

“If Yuuri starts to… fuck. If he starts to keel over or strip, we run in.”

Yuri looks at Chris, “That’s it?”

Chris stared blankly, “I’m going to call Phichit.”

Yuri watched him wander off. “What the fuck old man?”

Viktor had noticed Yuuri stumbling more as the night went on and pulled him aside for a break. Yuuri seemed to space out slightly.

“Yuuri, do you need to go to bed?”

“No!”, Yuuri snapped back to earth. He frowned. “Are you bored Viktor? I can leave.”

“NO.” Viktor yelled then looked mildly embarrassed. “I’m having a wonderful night.”

Yuuri smiled, suddenly looking quite pained, “Do you feel safe with me?”

Viktor was puzzled. He quirked his head and thought about spinning around a dance floor and being caught in strong hands, of his hips being moved to music, of a bright face laughing next to his, of feeling lighter than he had in a long time. ‘I can leave’ Yuuri had said, like it was just that easy. He smiled, “Yes, Yuuri I feel safe with you.

Viktor decided in that moment, with this beautiful, confusing, mesmerising man smiling gently at him, that Katsuki Yuuri was someone he wanted to hold close. If only that was something the man might want.

Viktor took Yuuri’s hand in his and looked at him straight, “You’re my knight in shining armour saving me from sponsors and coaches and skating.” Then his face split into a blinding grin and he laughed, “Do you need saving too Yuuri?”

Yuuri gave him an odd look for a moment, then grinned and leapt forward to grab Viktor around the waist, “Help! Protect me Viktor!”

Viktor stumbled before steadying, eyes shining.

“Yura.”

Yuri jumped. He had been very busy brooding in a corner and wondering if he might be able to claim a favour after tonight. He wasn’t sure if he could ask Yuuri to teach him something; steps or knives or something cool.

“What do you want Yakov?”, Yuri grumbled.

“You should take the chance to talk to some sponsors. You’ve been goofing off all night.”

Yuri bristled, about to retaliate when he was cut off by a cheery, “Yaaaakooov. Let him have fun!”

Oh wonderful, idiot one and two were back. Yuuri looked plastered.

Chris, having seen the couple’s beeline for Yuri and Yakov, flicked the alarm in his head and sidled over to the group. This wasn’t great. Immediate goal was get Yuuri to bed. Ah. No. Goal was get Yuuri to bed sans Viktor.

Yakov sighed, “Viktor you should be speaking to sponsors too.”

Viktor pouted, “I talked to sponsors, I’m busy now.”

Yakov felt a vein twitch, “Busy Vitya?”

“We’re dancing!”, Yuuri very helpfully chimed in. Chris popped up behind him, he very much wanted Yuuri not to speak, that was probably safer.

Yakov pinched his brow, “Katsuki, you look like you’re about to keel over. Where’s your coach?”

“No idea!”

Viktor laughed, “We can be busy not dancing then! Come on Yuuri, you need to show me photos of your dog please, he sounds precious.” He turns to Yakov eyes shining, “Yuuri has a miniature poodle Yakov!”

“Does he now.” Yakov rubbed his face, sounding like a parent who’s been trying to pick up their child from nursery for some time now.

Viktor gasped. “Yuuri!”

Yuuri startled, “What?”

“We can send each other photos of our dogs! You should give me your phone number!”

At the Yuuri narrowed his eyes oddly, “How do you know I have a phone number?”

Viktor paused, not really sure what to do with that response. Yurio and Yakov looked at Yuuri with varying concern and suspicion.

Chris, sweating, chimed in, “Yuuri everyone has a phone number don’t be silly, it’s just an…everyday phone number.” He laughs nervously.

“Oh.” Yuuri’s eyes widened.

Viktor looked slightly nervous, unsure if he had unknowingly crossed a line.

“Of course you can have my phone number, yes let’s send…dog photos.”

“You guys are so weird.” Yurio whispered.

Chris at the end of his tether muttered to himself, “Pour l'amour de la merde, nous allons tous mourir à cause de photos de chien."

“Il vaudrait la peine.”

Several pairs of eyes stared at Yuuri.

Viktor grinned, “I didn’t know you spoke French Yuuri.”

Yuuri looked at him, frowning, “I don’t.”

Viktor, once again, really didn’t know what to do with the information given to him.

Yakov narrowed his eyes.

Okay, interim goal: get Yuuri the hell away from Yakov before Viktor’s coach of all people worked out Yuuri had a double life.

“Viktor why don’t you take Yuuri to get some water?” Chris suggested, trying to smile to reassure someone in the group, maybe himself. Yuuri locked eyes with him and touched his lips gently. Chris saw the moment something clicked. French, he guessed, is not a language many people know that Yuuri speaks. Chris himself, did not know Yuuri spoke French until a moment ago. Chris had in fact, ordered for Yuuri when the two of them ate out in France.

Viktor didn’t even notice that by now he was automatically grabbing Yuuri’s hand to lead him away, “Let’s go Yuuri!”

“Katsuki.”

Yuuri blinked up to see Yakov marching to a nearby table and grabbing Yuuri’s long discarded suit jacket.

“You’re at the Grand Prix banquet, compose yourself.” He snapped, throwing it vaguely in his direction.

Viktor caught it before it hit Yuuri, gently sliding his arms through the sleaves then straightaway taking up his hand once more.

The three watched Viktor lead Yuuri across the hall floor, happily chattering away.

Yuuri stumbled and Viktor subtly slipped an arm around his waist.

“Giacometti.”

Chris jumped and turned to the Russian coach who was looking through him with piercing eyes.

“I think you should get Katsuki to bed before he embarrasses himself further.”

Yakov turned and walked briskly off, grumbling away to himself about useless figure skaters and idiots with crushes.

Chris and Yuri stared at each other.

“You distract Viktor. I’ll get Yuuri to bed.”

Yuri, rather shellshocked from the day for once puts up no protest and merely nodded. They turned towards the idiots.

Viktor was holding a glass of water up to Yuuri’s lips and gently brushing the hair from his eyes, Yuuri leaning heavily into his side.

Yakov watches Chris lead a barely coherent Yuuri out of the banquet hall with a steely gaze. He didn’t want to get involved. He really did not want to get involved. Giacometti knew something. Viktor seemed obliviously at the centre. Yuri had somehow managed to involve himself. Katsuki.

‘Think of him as Katsuki, nothing else.’

He really had tried very hard. He didn’t want to wonder what had happened to make Yuuri skate that free program.

But he had seen the dots of red appearing through the boy’s shirt.

Chapter Text

Chris isn’t sure how he managed to get Yuuri to tell him his room number. Isn’t sure how he managed to get the key or open the door while practically carrying the other man. The only thing alerting him to Yuuri’s semi-consciousness was the soft intake of breath whenever he was jostled.

Somehow, through great perseverance and a general stellar effort from the Swiss, Yuuri is deposited on the bed. He stood for a moment, looking at the drunken man passed out on the covers, sweat messed hair, rumpled clothes and dark, dark rings under eyes.

Chris ran a weary hand down his face. He moved forward meaning only to take off his shoes and jacket and move him under the sheets. Instead his heart sank as the jacket slipped away and showed a lightly blooming poppy underneath.

He clenched his jaw willing it not to shake and, standing in that silent hotel room away from the chaos of the banquet below his feet, he felt suddenly afraid. Afraid of this world he had been plunged into that he knew nothing about. Afraid of who was hiding in the shadows, who was hurting his friends. Afraid for Yuuri who was bleeding and had only Chris standing over him.

Then he did the only thing he could do in that situation; he called Phichit.

“Chris, what is it? What happened? Is Yuuri okay? Did something happen? Are you okay?”

At this at last some of the tension leaked out of him and he heard his shaky laugh echoed back to him down the line.

“Calm down Phichit.” This was met with silence.

“Did you just...?”

“Yes.”

“Damn.”

Chris took a deep heavy breath in the gap that followed.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know what to do,” Chris admitted.

“Okay. Okay.” He hears Phichit’s thoughts running and panting miles ahead. “Tell me what I need to know, and how I can help.” Phichit, Chris thinks, may actually be a gift from the gods. Yuuri doesn’t deserve him.

He glanced at Yuuri passed out on the bed from the hidden injury he obtained protecting them(?). Yuuri maybe did deserve a Phichit.

“Chris?”

“I managed to get Yuuri to his room.”

“Congratulations. Lesser men have tried and failed.” Chris felt his face twitch.

“Not the time Peach.”

“Noted.”

“He is…very drunk. Or passed out. And bleeding,” He heard an intake of breath. “I don’t know if he’s done in the stitches again or… I don’t know if I should leave him or check them and if I check them and they’re bad I don’t know what to do, Phichit I’ve never stitched a person before-”

“Chris, Chris calm down.” Phichit cuts him off. “You’re okay, breathe with me.”

Things fade back to the new chaotic normal.

“I’ll talk you through it, okay? I’ve had to do it a couple of times and they might not have fully torn we’ll wait and see. If you can just get him in a clean bandage that will help.”

Chris was glad Phichit could not see him close his eyes and sway slightly at the words ‘I’ve had to do it a couple of times’. It was perhaps not quite as reassuring as Phichit might have intended.

“Okay. Where do I start?”

“How bad is the bleeding? Is the skin torn?”

“Is the…” Chris paled slightly. “He’s still in his shirt. There’s maybe an inch? Of blood just seeping through.”

“Okay, first step you’ll need to take the shirt off. Can you undo the bandages?”

“Give me a minute.” Chris switched to speaker phone and looked around flustered before laying it on the bedside table. As he undid the last couple of buttons, he thought back to Yuuri trying to pole dance just a few hours prior. The blood stain below was a little wider, not too surprising considering how Yuuri had decided to spend his evening, but still not what Chris had wanted to see.

“Okay there’s a bit more blood on the bandage.”

“That’s okay, just a little will have spread to the shirt. It’s not going to be as big as it looks, if he was drunk he probably didn’t notice the bleed and the spot will have just kept growing.”

“Okay.”

“Unless it’s really bad, you’re not going to do any stitching, okay? We’re just checking he’s not still losing blood. Then wrapping it up for him to deal with when he’s sober.”

“Okay.” Chris steeled himself and started to unwrap the bandages, mentally apologising to Yuuri for invading his privacy when he couldn’t resist.

“Oh and if he’s semi-out of it just be careful he knows who you are and what you’re doing.”

What?

Chris felt the world crash sideways. He tried to breathe but there was a hand on his throat, his back was somehow where Yuuri’s had been just moments ago and his hand which had been attempting to take off the soiled bandage was now pined somehow to his arm in a way that it really shouldn’t be.

He couldn’t help but yelp as the nerve spasmed and shot up the arm making him buck forward only to choak himself on the strong hand around his neck.

There were cold eyes trained on him, staring down without really seeming to see him.

“Yuu- Yuuri.” The sound was strained. “It’s me, it’s Chris. Stop-”

He could hear Phichit panicking on the phone, trying to talk to both of them.

Chris felt faint from the lack of air. His eyes were wide. Yuuri was strong, he suddenly realised. Very strong.

“Yuuri…” He managed to whisper. Yuuri’s eyes seemed to slide into focus and it was like a switch had flipped. He leapt backwards, stumbling off the bed in horror and staring wide eyed as Chris curled and coughed on the bed.

“Chris…?” He managed. Coming to his senses and trying to jump up to rush to his side. Unfortunately, Yuuri was still both high in alcohol content and low in blood levels so stumbled and caught himself shoulder first on the wall.

Chris, catching his breath could only groan, “Stop moving you idiot you’re going to start bleeding again.”

The room is silent for a long moment until the peace is broken by a concerned, “Would someone please tell me what’s going on? I swear if I have to fly to Russia or phone Celestino to unsuspiciously check up on you, Chris I will destroy your online image and Yuuri I will burn all your posters.”

Chris couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him. It felt heady and giddy and bent him double as it kept bubbling over. Yuuri couldn’t help but join in, laughing softly and clutching his waist as his muscles complained.

Slowly they calmed and wiped the hysteria from their eyes.

“Ow.” Yuuri let out. “Please don’t make me laugh Peach that was mean.” He locked eyes with Chris on the bed above him, “Are you okay?”

Chris felt gingerly around his throat, “I think so.”

“Guuuuys.”

“I um…attacked Chris.”

“Ah.”

“Chris, I’m so sorry.” Chris could see he meant it. He sighed. “I- I came to and it was a reflex. I thought you were a threat. I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

Chris winced. Yuuri had half woken and felt hands undoing a bandage around a wound. A wound he had to have gotten here in Sochi between the short program and the free. Of course it had been a reflex. “I’m okay, I understand.”

“I perhaps could have warned you about that better.”

Chris huffed a laugh.

Yuuri tried to muffle a groan and Chris whipped his head up to see Yuuri trying to push himself off the ground.

“You. Stay.” His eyes narrowed as Yuuri’s widened. “No more running off tonight. We’re checking to see if you’ve ripped anything and then you’re going to bed, okay?”

Yuuri nodded slowly then said in a soft voice, “I’ve never heard you sound so stern.” He burst into a giggle then clutched his head. “Ow. I think I’m sobering up why on earth am I so drunk?”

Chris sighed and levered himself off the bed. “How much blood did you lose last night?”

“Ah…”

“Yuuriiii.”

Yuuri at least looked somewhat bashful. Chris knelt at his side and eyed him wearily, “I’m guessing you still need a hand? You’re not going to attack me if I start taking this off again are you?”

Yuuri offered a wry smile, “I will try my best to avoid attacking you.”

“That is…so reassuring.”

“Don’t worry, if he actually tries to kill you you’ll be dead before you notice.”

“Phichit, I will hang up on you.” Yuuri growled.

“You guys are ridiculous…” Chris muttered. He reached back to the hanging end of the wrap and realised this was going to be much easier now Yuuri was sitting up.

As the line slowly unravelled Yuuri tipped his head back against the wall and Chris saw the exhaustion lining his face.

With Yuuri once again fading in and out, Phichit offered reassurances over the line from the bedside and Chris revealed the tiny innocuous hole in Yuuri’s side surrounded by patchy red blotches where the blood had smeared from the wraps.

“Towel.” Chris looked up and met Yuuri’s heavily lidded eyes, “Wet a towel, need to clean to see the damage.” He noted the adrenaline from Yuuri’s earlier panic must have worn off and Yuuri was most likely going to be asleep soon whether he was back in bed yet or not.

Nodding, he straightened out and slipped through to the ensuite, stopping short as he faced a pile of blood sodden towels lying crumped in the bath. There were a fresh pile lying on the floor and he wordlessly grabbed a couple and wet them under the tap.

He remained silent as he cleaned the blood from Yuuri’s abdomen. Silent as the relief poured over him that the wound was not currently bleeding.

Yuuri glanced down at the site and frowned.

This worried Chris. “Don’t do that. What’s wrong? Why are you frowning?”

“Did I… breakdance earlier?”

Chris’s brows raise, “I believe you did yes.”

“…why?”

“I am told. It was for the honour of keeping your name.” Chris would like to declare this to be the strangest night he’s ever experienced, honestly quite the achievement.

“Interesting. Really wish I hadn’t done that.”

“Yuuri you’re such a dumbass I swear.”

“Yes, thank you for your input Phichit I’ll be sure to take that into consideration.” Chris notes that snarking at Phichit apparently does wonders for Yuuri’s coherence.

“Did you at least win?”

“Please, Peach. Give me some credit.”

Chris wants to strangle him.

“That’s my boiiiii.”

“Okay Phichit thank you, night night now.” Chris hangs up the phone.

Yuuri breathes a laugh at him.

Chris eyed him wearily. “Your…gunshot… is clean.”

He gets a weary smile at him, “You make a great nurse Chris but you should really work on your costume next time.”

Chris isn’t sure is he’s about to laugh or cry.

“You could do a service for injured hitmen, bandage them up wearing stockings and an apron or something.” His voice is so quiet, like he doesn’t have the energy for what he’s saying.

Chris has to close his eyes and clover his traitorous grinning mouth with a hand.

“After retirement thoughts maybe?” How is he still making jokes?

Yuuri giggles, clutching his side, “You can offer a post stabbing… stabbing.”

The two of them sit on the floor in a hotel room in Sochi and laugh like school kids hiding from the teacher.

“Yuuri.” Chris managed to gasp eventually, “Shut the-” Various breaks for splutters and laughs, “Shut the fuck up.” He has to wipe away a tear, “I’m not going to offer a post stabbing ‘stabbing’ that is terrible.”

Yuuri was trying so hard not to let his body shake but the extra pain was going to his head and the fact laughing was hurting seemed somehow so funny.

As Chris calmed down, he noticed Yuuri’s eyes start to droop and lightly tapped him on the cheek.

“Hmm?”

“Do we need to re-wrap this?”

“Oh yeah, grab my kit bag there’ll be some fresh bandages in there.”

Chris looked around and saw a sports bag poking out from under the dresser. He unzipped it without thinking and then zips it back up.

“Yuuri.”

“Hmm?”

“There are knives in here.”

“Mm.”

“Okay. Is there, anything I should not look at?” Is his head spinning? He’s already crouched close to the floor he should be fine.

“Nah the bandages are on the left.”

“Great.”

Chris unzipped the bag once more and stared for only a moment before delicately pushing two long blades to the side.

“Oh maybe just don’t open the right inside pocket.”

Chris paused. “Okay, great.”

Chris did not look inside the right inside pocket.

He slowly, carefully wrapped up Yuuri’s waist trying to ignore the scattered silver lines he now could make out over skin.

“Yuuri?”

“Mm?”

“You don’t often need post stabbing nursing, do you?”

Yuuri raised a brow, “Why, you offering?”

“Yuuri, please.” Chris is surprised to note his voice crack.

Yuuri’s eyes widen, “Oh no. Haha don’t worry, normally it’s totally not an issue. Really look,” he points to the place the bullet entered, “Super lucky. Nothing vital, probably would have been fine tonight if it weren’t for the skate, that’s what floored me.”

“Christ Yuuri…”

“Umm. I mean. I don’t get shot often. I promise. I’m actually very good. Hahahaa you should see the other guy. Or not you might not want…to…actually.”

Yuuri, Chris realised as he tied off the wrap, was trying to reassure him. Not that he was succeeding mind, but he recognised the effort. Somehow, while nonchalantly describing major injuries and laughing them off he had reverted back to the mildly awkward boy Chris had met seven years ago, unsure how to connect with the other kids his age and stumbling over placates.

“Yuuri?”

“Yes.”

“Please go to bed.”

“Got it.”

Yuuri eased himself to his feet, using Chris as a fence post and making his way haltingly under the covers.

Chris grabbed his phone, let out a shaky breath and turned to leave but felt a hand on his wrist and turned back.

A soft, “Thanks Chris.” Threw him back in time.

He caught his breath. There were so many things he wanted to ask, wanted, needed to know. So many things he was scared to ask, scared what it might mean to know.

“Yuuri?”, he whispered.

“Mm?”, was the sleepy response.

“What’s your name?”

Yuuri was either asleep or not prepared to answer, maybe that was for the best.

He walked to the door. An almost inaudible voice stopped him with one hand raised to the handle.

“Katsuki.”

That made sense, that was safer.

“And Takeuchi.”

Oh.

Chris couldn’t help but smile as he opened the door. The name of course meant nothing to him, except that Yuuri trusted him, and that meant a lot actually.

“Sleep well Yuuri.”

He leaned against the outside of the door for a moment, allowing the evening to wash over him. He hadn’t even asked about Viktor, about the dancing or if the injury was related to the last attack.

On a more positive note, he thought, the plan to get the two idiots together had made remarkable headway this evening.  Things could have actually gone worse. Yuuri’s weird morbid optimism was clearly getting to him.

Chapter Text

‘Umm. I mean. I don’t get shot often. I promise. I’m actually very good. Hahahaa you should see the other guy. Or not you might not want…to…actually.’

“Otōto-san. Gomen e.”

Oh.

Yuuri breathed in from low down in his chest.

“Nani.”

“Kinmu jikan.”

He sighed, resting his head on the wall behind.

“Wakatta.”

He swallowed the bitter weight at the back of his throat, tearing a glance away from the kit bag held in his hand.

In the room behind, Viktor and Chris were chatting; maybe Chris was teasing Viktor as he does, maybe Viktor was raving about where they could eat if they didn’t have their diets, maybe Cao had joined by now, and he and Viktor were discussing the finer design of their short costumes.

Yuuri did not hear this of course. Yuuri was working.

He left a message for Celestino informing him he’d be eating in his room and turning in early. Unsurprising really, that had been his plan all along and often was.

Yuuri left the hotel via his window and descended like smoke down the fire escape.

The smoke-like man had received orders from his boss who had received an SOS from Moscow.

An hour ago, the Yakuza temporarily stationed in Moscow had received a message from one of their members in Sochi. Everyone in the Russian’s Sochi base had been killed, they alone had made it to a safe house after hired mercenaries had turned up, guns blazing.

58 minutes ago, the Takeuchi’s head in Japan was informed.

50 minutes ago, Another was contacted and instructed to leave a message for whoever had bought the hit.

30 minutes ago, a masked man left a hotel and moved through the night.

28 minutes ago, Lilia Baranovskaya was contacted and informed that her people were likely dead and their partnership would be going public early in retaliation.

Yuuri neared the industrial estate that had until recently been the Bratva’s base in Sochi.

Yuuri’s footsteps were light, barely touching the ground as he approached the oversized warehouse. Only the noise of the river disturbing the night.

His eyes caught the gleam of a shallow stream of blood on the dark concrete, appearing oily under the harsh safety lights. He padded past, noting the occasional limb resting unmoving in a shadow. Stopping only long enough to register the lack of a beat under fingertips on cold throats and moving on.

He eyed the two silhouettes standing outside the main doors, turning and catching a third stationed on a loading tower keeping watch over them. There unfortunately hadn’t been an accurate report of how many mercenaries had overrun the place and if they were actively prepared for a counterattack then they may have more hidden.

He turned from the main doors, starting a wide sweep of the grounds.

It would be odd to think of the same man performing under stadium lights just a couple of hours previous, carving a path over an international stage, dancing for cameras in a display of love, of possibility.

Yuuri breathed in, feeling the bite of cold air in his lungs. On the ice, his body turns into an expression of music, of joy; hand and face and arm an extension of the emotion he wanted told. In the dark, his hand flicks and a man drops, hot liquid spilling out to cool on the ground below. His face is calm as a blade is drawn across beating pulse points and figures fall, never knowing the face that killed them.

He returned to the door, walking forward to the entrance and throwing with pinpoint accuracy at the tower watchman. Watchman and gun fall. A figure at the door turns, raising a hand to squint at the platform. They open their mouth to speak and feel a hand tighten on their throat. Reflex makes them go to shout and a knife is run across, something snaps and they fall. The last figure swings round gun raised, hackles up to see a grinning red face lying peering from the ground. There is a noise behind then and they spin, the momentum slicing them open on the blade resting by their hip. They would cry out if not for the nick on their neck, bringing stillness back to the cold clear night.

Yuuri turned to the doors. He was tasked with leaving a message, there was no need for subtlety anymore.

The doors swing open.

Inside, four men snap to attention. They see an open door and, in the floodlight spilling through, the bodies of those who had been guards. They see a man standing dressed in black, a dark blue mask curving over his eyes and brow. In his hands were two blades.

“What, have they hired a dog now?” Was spoken in brusque Russian as several hands reached for guns.

Yuuri stepped forward.

One of the men snarled and walked forward to meet him, drawing a pistol and letting off two shots in quick succession.

Yuuri continued forward, dancing past the shots unbothered. The man, incensed, rushed forward to take care of the intruder.

The man who had spoken paused, holding back as his three companions charged in. Their eyes widened as the masked newcomer seemed not to move from their path, continuing forward in a delicate dance as the first hothead fell with only a glint of silver. He took a step back. The Russian’s hadn’t just hired a dog, they might have hired a monster.

The monster spun, taking out his two best men with ease and turning to face him. The blue mask seemed to curve into points like ears or horns or spikes, the dark where eyes should be seemed to bore into him, silver accent highlighting that empty, negative space.

The man who was known as Danyl slowly paced his gun on the table by his hip, mind racing. This job had been billed as dangerous but he was now walking a very fine line.

He tried to placate him switching to an accented English, “Namonai, my apologies.” His voice seemed suddenly unable to fill the space, “I’m afraid I didn’t know you were working for the Russians.”

Danyl tried very hard to stand his ground as the masked figure approached him. The figure paused just out of arms reach.

In soft, flawless Russian Yuuri responded, “I am not. I am here on request of the Takeuchi who with this are declaring their partnership with the Russians.”

Danyl swallowed. There had been rumours of the hidden Yakuza making aggressive moves into Europe in recent month but no one had informed him of this. For a response within hours of their own attack meant they had hired the famous No Name either pre-emptively or he was already working with them on something else. Danyl hoped very much that he had no personal attachment to the people that had been stationed here.

“I have two questions for you and a message for you to carry.”

Danyl blinked. That might actually sound like he had a possibility of surviving this.

“Will there be an attack on the final?”

 Danyl paled. He had no idea what interest the Yakuza might have in protecting the lives of skaters but evidently they cared enough to play their wild card.

“I think,” his eyes flicked to the bodies of his men creating a sparse red carpet to the door, the light on more limbs laying just outside, “That we will be unable to complete any attack.”

The mask tilted slightly to one side and Danyl got a horrible feeling that whatever face existed under there might be smiling at him.

“That is good. Who hired you?” That was slightly more difficult to answer.

Danyl wet his lips, hoping he had stalled for enough time.

“Ahh...” He clenched his fists nervously.

Yuuri’s eyes flicked to the movement and registered the barest of sounds from above and behind.

(Had the next move not resulted in him getting shot, his sensei might be pretty proud of him for the flawless form. As it was, she would probably kill him for not having neutralised all the threats beforehand, so ideally she would never find out.)

Danyl watched as the man went from motionless to a spinning pirouette at the very moment a shot echoed through the empty walls. He watched as his last player fell back from the railings and landed against the wall, head tilted up as if in wonder at the handle appearing from her brow.

Yuuri had seen the clenched hand for what it was and registered an accidental sound slip from the waiting mercenary perched on the raised platform above the door. As he spun, he threw one of his blades where he knew the sound to be and used the momentum of the punch from the bullet landing in his side to step back and round behind the last man he had left alive, drawing the shorter blade concealed on his thigh.

Danyl felt a thin sliver of ice rest on his throat. No Name was behind him. He eyed the gun he had placed on the table and realised he might have miscalculated.

“I asked you a question.”

Ah. Chances of surviving have sharply decreased.

“The money came from Switzerland. The orders from the US.” His voice was strained. He swallowed, hyperaware of the 6 inch blade and ornate wrapped handle in the corner of his vision. “I don’t know who, we thought it was just a hit on the major Russian players. We’re just looking to get our old territory back… we have no quarrel with the Japanese, we had no idea the Takeuchi were involved.” He realised he was starting to ramble, panic setting into his blood.

“That much is obvious.”

“I meant no offence Namonai, I’m sure you understand our business, yes? I was prepared for a counter but we wish no ill blood with you.”

The room was horribly silent.

“You really are a dumb piece of shit.”

Danyl, more experienced and practiced in combat than his subordinates, had realised he was outclassed as soon as the mask and blades had rung with recognition. But it wasn’t until those words, ugly and careless, spoken in that unusually soft Russian, that he felt intimately afraid. The sharp breath that sucks in on reflex is bitter and leaden in his lungs.

“Your name?”

Haltingly, “…Danyl Balakin.”

The knife is removed from his throat by just a few inches. Danyl’s heart misses several beats. If he survives this it may be time for a new life, somewhere warm, no more ice or cold air.

“Ah your message? Who am I to deliver it to?” He minutely turns his head and is met by the silver outline and absent space where eyes should be.

Every muscle is tense as he clocks an irregular soft drip. His eyes dart down. Yulia, he notes, did in fact find her mark. The famed Namonai is bleeding.

“Ah Danyl…” He glances back into the mask. It doesn’t matter, he realises. This monster doesn’t care that he’s bleeding, and he can’t see any way to gain control. “My intention had been to leave you to carry a message back to your employers.” Danyl started sinking. A hand grasps the scruff of his collar and he it feels it tighten like the tying of a noose. “Unfortunately, your actions have made you a potential risk.”

“I can still carry your message.” He is whispering he realised, not sure if he was capable of anything more. “I know how not to talk, please. Any instructions, I can follow. What do you need to say?”

Yuuri let go of his collar and leaned into his back, “No not worry Mr Balakin, there are many ways to leave a message.”

Danyls eyes widened. Namonai was famous for many reasons. Their hits for the Takeuchi were used as either warnings or in retaliation and the messages were known by a brutal signature.

‘Namonai’ walked around to his front.

He registered the long wakizashi blade being raised to his neck in preparation for a strike. Instinctively he brought his hands up to protect his throat. Away from his hands, the short tanto blade was run through his stomach. His knees buckled, hands coming down to clutch himself together leaving his neck open for the wakizashi to cut cleanly across. He went to cry out, mouth wide in shock. He registered numbing cold as the tanto cut into his tongue and cheek.

Yuuri stepped back and pressed a hand into his side, hissing as he felt around to check for damage. He glanced up at the remains of the shooter and sighed. He had slightly fucked up there.

‘I can’t wait to watch you skate tomorrow Yuuri!’

Damn. Too good to be true. Really not ideal.

He tied one of his wrist wraps around his waist, enough to avoid leaving a trail. Retrieving any thrown knives and his second wakizashi before slipping back into the night.

In a cold warehouse on the Sochi shore was left a message, spilling out of the mouth of a man growing cold on the floor.

Chapter Text

Yuuri woke to a headache, a dull throb emanating from a battered body and blurry memories from the night before.

He lay still, mind fighting through the fog that had lain over him since he woke the previous day.

He raised his hand slowly and lightly traced the bandage wound around his torso. It brought back memories of warm hands and laughter.

He swung his legs out to the side and winced, breathing shallowly and psyching himself up to start moving. Yesterday had been an excellent example of everything you should not do shortly after being shot, and he was feeling the result. He tipped his head back, sighed, let himself have a count of ten to wallow and then pushed up, ignoring the resulting drum that started in his skull. He was going to blame Celestino for the champaign he decided. He’d think up some nice sort of petty revenge to take against him when he was capable of thinking again.

He stumbled over to his discarded suit and fumbled for his phones, closing his eyes once more at the slew of ignored messages. That was a later problem, for a later Yuuri.

However, several missed calls from Okāsan. Well fuck. He might actually be dead after all. Maybe if he just never went home he might be safe? He could probably stay off the family radar for a good few months.

Actually that might make it worse. Plus Phichit would be super sad if he went AWOL again.

Defeated by his own reasoning he gave himself one more count of ten to prepare before pressing call.

He bit his lip nervously as the tone rang.

“Yuuchan!” He could hear the relief and the remnants of panic in his mother’s voice and felt a lick of guilt at how long she must have been waiting for a response.

“Okāsan. Any chance you maybe didn’t watch the skate?”

“Yuuchan.” Her voice is soft, “You know we always watch you.” Yuuri bows his head. “Are you okay? I was so worried.”

This would be easier if she would just yell at him for being stupid. “Hai. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Yuuchan.” Yuuri is silent. “I’m sorry.”

Yuuri closed his eyes, “Don’t be. I’m here at the final and got to watch everyone skate beautifully. I’m sorry to have left you all at home just to chase this dream and after that I l-let you down.”

“Yuuchan. Don’t worry about that, we will look after everything here. You have always danced beautifully; live how you want to live and you will never let us down. I’ll be cheering you on. We all will.”

“Okāsan…”

“I should let you go, let me know what you thought of the food in Sochi, will you? I’d love to try it myself.”

“Of course.”

They both are quiet for a moment, feeling the time and distance between them.

“Yuuri? Your short program was beautiful. I can’t wait to see the rest when you are feeling more like yourself.”

“Thank you.” He whispers, hanging up the phone.

Cao Bin quirked a brow at Chris, surprise flitting over his face as they glided through simple warm up figures.

“He pulled out of the exhibition entirely?”

He caught Chris’s jaw clenching slightly.

“Well he wouldn’t be performing really anyway, just the group open and close.”

Still it didn’t quite seem right.

“Did he injure himself during the free?” Cao paused, thinking over that horrible quad slam, the dazed look heading out to the ice. “Did he injure himself before the free?”

Chris sighed, “Yuuri’s always been an idiot when it comes to looking after himself, hiding an injury is just the sort of thing he’d pull. I’ve no idea what he may have done but he’s got almost two months before Four Continents at least.”

Cao glanced sideways at him, “Doesn’t he have nationals in two weeks?” Chris, Cao noted, turns very pale at that.

“Ah… yes I suppose he does.” Rather faintly, “Well let’s just hope yesterday was a bad day.”

“Given how he was dancing last night, I think he should be alright.” Cao added, rather amused.

“That idiot could be on death’s door and would probably still demand to dance if he’d had enough alcohol.”

Cao thought that maybe Chris knew a little more than he was letting on. But that was Yuuri’s business not his, and he wouldn’t want to pry. Like Chris said, he only hoped for Four Continents.

He glanced over at some of the other skaters over on the opposite side of the rink.

He smirked, “Someone at least, seemed to very much enjoy the dancing last night.”

Chris grinned.

“Someone, I think, had a very good night indeed.”

Across the rink someone laughed at something unheard by either skater and flipped, landing and catching sight of them before gliding towards the other two medallists.

Chris groaned. Cao raised the signature brow.

“What?”

“He’s going to be insufferable once he hears Yuuri’s not coming.”

Cao grins.

Celestino was stressed. His prize skater was refusing to give any press release, which was unsurprising, and had now pulled out of the group exhibition, which was a little concerning.

Yuuri had barely spoken to him since his disastrous free program and now seemed to have confined himself to his room for the day. Celestino found himself hoping that Yuuri might just have a horrific hangover, because that would mean whatever was going on would be likely to fade without much lasting damage. There was a terrible whisper in the back of his head that he was doing his best to come to terms with that said Yuuri had been favouring one side during his last skate.

The thing is, Celestino knows Yuuri has a history of being unpredictable, but he had still been shocked that this time hadn’t been the exception. It had felt so different. Celestino knew that Yuuri practiced late at night by himself, had given him a key to the rink. Now after the short program he had reason to believe Yuuri had been practicing jumps in secret and he really didn’t know how to feel about. So what, had Yuuri gotten hurt practicing jumps the night before the final? Even for him that seemed unlikely. They would need to address the jump situation as coach and student, address the fact Yuuri had gone behind his back. But how to broach that now?

The press had been asking for statements and interviews and Celestino had smiled and declined and assured.

He took a sip of the long forgotten, cold coffee in his hands, acidic and over brewed. He would wait till they were back in Detroit. God only knows how he was going to broach the subject of whether he was hiding an injury.

He ran through the skate on repeat in his mind. Yuuri was so good that was the thing, there had only really been three, maybe four, brief moments that it looked like one side was favoured. He ruminated on that morning months ago when Yuuri had first revealed his new program to him. The first program he had fully choreographed himself.

Self.

Celestino had never seen that side of Yuuri before. He had always known Yuuri was holding himself back, had always wondered if it was conscious or just another of the walls his mind had built. It was a miracle that he hadn’t done damage on some lonely night at the rink; not for the first time he questioned his handling of the fragile skater.

He sighed. This would be easier if Phichit was here. Those two were a terrifying but incredibly useful influence on each other.

His mind wandered to that odd night in Osaka.

Okukawa Minako. Her influence was evident in Yuuri’s movement.

Viktor Nikiforov had been surprisingly excitable at talk of his young skater. He smiled. Celestino had clocked from across the room last night, the two dancing and fooling around like idiots. He had been so relieved to see Yuuri brighten after the events of the day and secretly proud to see him plucking up the courage to talk to his long-time idol he had made himself scarce away from the duo for most of the night.

He drained the last of the bitter dregs, grimacing. Maybe he was overreacting. Yuuri was breakdancing last night like he didn’t have a care in the world. He closed his eyes to the cold Russian air, maybe he just needed fresh motivation? Inspiration?

Two weeks to nationals. Okay.

Maybe it would be good for us to recap some things while Yuuri suffers through a long flight back to Detroit.

We can assume Celestino manages to drag him on to the right plane and that Yuuri succeeds in illuding any and every press-looking camera holder he sees along the way. We assume also, that there were mixed thoughts in the Russian team over Yuuri’s snub of the exhibition, and of course the various usual rumours and murmurings from busy press and fans.

You, on the other hand, might be wondering who this Namonai might be, why the Takeuchi are so feared, why Yuuri found himself in a cold warehouse in Sochi when he could have been out flirting, why phone calls and texts maybe seem just a little… weighted?

As Yakov had learned, the Katsuki family own an inn in Hasetsu, Japan. Now it’s important to remember that there really isn’t anything underhanded or underworldly about the family at all.

Katsuki Toshiya met a very lovely woman named Hiroko and fell in love. They married, had two children and still run an inn together in the very town they met. Their son is an internationally ranked figure skater who they are incredibly proud of and their daughter who they are also very proud of works with them running the inn.

All of this is very true.

This is also true.

Takeuchi Hiroko met a very lovely man named Toshiya and fell in love. They married, had two children and Hiroko still runs one of the most secretive Yakuza branches in the world. Their son is one of the top hitmen in the global underground and their daughter is Wakagashira, second in command.

There really is nothing underhanded or underworldly about the Katsuki family because the Takeuchi family does not technically exist. Nor has it existed for many, many years. Every generation, the first female of the line would marry and take her new spouses name, as was expected. Every generation, the first female of the line would inherit the mantle of Oyabun and pass their hidden name to only a few, only those that shared it and their generals. And so the Takeuchi Yakuza branch didn’t technically exist, yet it grew.

Yuuri had been taught from a young age that names were very dangerous, and so he shared his names with very few. Despite this, many of his names are very, very famous. His family is proud of them all.

Katsuki was gifted to him by his father.

Takeuchi was gifted to him by his mother.

Yuuri was chosen for him by his parents.

As he was taught to dance, he was called Chīsai tori.

As he was taught to fight, he was named Chīsana ha.

When he worked, he chose his own: Namonai.

There were others of course, some didn’t last and some are still to come.

Takeuchi Yuuri was a prominent man in the global underworld. Rumour was, to those that such rumours would mean anything, that he was one of the top lieutenants of the Takeuchi’s. Rumour was that Namonai was known to favour work from the Takeuchi’s. Rumour was that Takeuchi Yuuri could get you in contact with the Yakuza’s favourite contract killer, whether or not he would.

So Yuuri was a skater, and Yuuri was ‘the hitman without a name’ who’s name was known around the world. But Yuuri was also their son, the third in command, the Sateigashira. And so he became the man with three legs.

So when someone might say ‘I’d love to try the food in Sochi for myself’, just as an example of course, well that might mean something more like ‘we will clear up the rest’. Similarly ‘you’re getting sent photos of your dog (who just so happens to have a very convenient name) to cheer you up’, might translate to ‘we’ve information for you about the attack on Viktor’. Does that make sense?

That’s quite enough of that for now. One should always be careful how much information they are willing to share.

Chapter Text

Phichit heard the door unlock and scrambled up from his position stretched precariously between his desk and chair. Flinging open the bedroom door in time to see Yuuri lean back against the door as it clicked shut and sink slowly down to the floor. He rested his head against the wood as if unable to hold himself up any longer, bags at his feet, knees pulled in and folded up against his body.

Phichit had been running off stress, calming teas, energized illicit coffees and the sparse few texts that had come through since the panicked phone calls with Chris. He felt a little part of himself break at the sheer exhaustion lining Yuuri’s face.

Phichit slowly, carefully made his way over to his friend.

“Yuuri?”, his voice is soft, gentle.

He crouched by the door, unable to stop his eyes from skimming over the fatigued figure, as if that scan would allow him a reading on the state of such an obstinate, illusive man.

“Yuu?”, his voice wavered.

An intake of breath was the only sign of recognition or response, but it is enough that he knows he is being heard. He carefully watched Yuuri’s closed eyes and furrowed brow, reaching out lightly to apply the slightest pressure to the top of a hand.

A slight flinch and a long shaky breath.

Yuuri moved his hand just barely to accommodate the cautious, hovering fingers and Phichit can’t help the sigh of relief. He slid into place next to Yuuri, back to the door, putting his arms around his friend and waiting for him to sink into his side.

Yuuri tips, muscles slowly giving out and uncoiling, face growing tenser as he bites back the bitter waves rolling out of him.

They sit for some time, Phichit tracing his fingers slowly through greasy hair, arms wrapped securely to keep the world at bay as Yuuri, exhausted, let himself crumble.

Several hours later, Yuuri is lying wrapped in the comfiest blankets the flat has to offer on the couch. Pokémon ‘Indigo League’ was playing on the TV, volume turned almost off, just enough to hold semi-focus and allow him to zone in and out.

Phichit was making soup. Phichit was not, it has to be said, the best of chefs. However, that boy did know how to make a soup for every occasion, this occasion being spicy coconut and cauliflower with some dumplings on the side. He maybe couldn’t go all crazy fancy like some show-offs he knew and make dumplings from scratch but they were tasty and definitely not allowed and sorely needed right now.

Phichit looks up from the pot. What was that noise?

From the living room another feeble, “eeeeach”, sounded. Ah, a tired Yuuri. Never easy to make out.

“Peeeeeeeeeeeach…”

Phichit popped his head round the doorframe to the sight of the Yuuri burrito just visible over the top of the couch. Exactly where he had left him.

“Yuuri? You good bud?”

“Make it stooooop.” Phichit frowned. Make what stop? Was Yuuri in pain? Did he need medicine? Was he bleeding?

He focused on the screen, Charmander sitting alone on top of a rock in some rain. Was Yuuri… distressed? This was supposed to be the comfort show…

“Should I… turn off the TV?”

Yuuri’s phone started vibrating from where it innocently lay on the coffee table by Yuuri’s head.

Yuuri groaned.

It kept vibrating.

“Uuuugh make it stoooop.”

Phichit was relieved. Charmander; not traumatic. Ever obliging he picked up the offending object and went to silence it. Phichit’s eyebrows raised.

“Yuuri?”

“Mmmgh.”

“Who exactly is blowing up your phone?”

The room was silent.

“ ‘I had a wonderful time dancing with you’, Yuuri is Viktor Nikiforov blowing up your phone?”

Phichit watched as Yuuri underwent the mammoth task of raising his head high enough to turn and look him in the eye. His eyes narrowed. Phichit, through great personal effort, held back the giggle at Yuuri’s angry pouty face.

“Why would Viktor be texting me?” His brow furrowed, deep in thought, “How would Viktor be texting me?”

Phichit glanced down at the phone once again vibrating, “To say goodnight.” The phone vibrated, “And good morning.” The phone vibrated, “And to send you a picture of a girl in bed? Yuuri, are you sexting your life-long crush without telling me? Are you sharing porn with the Viktor Nikiforov?”

“What the fuck Phi?”

The phone vibrated. “Oh he actually sent a photo, let’s see.”

Yuuri’s brain sort of woke itself up and registered all the words spoken in the last couple of minutes. He launched himself over the side of the chair, stumbling over the arm but still managing to swipe the device from Phichit’s paws. Phichit had been somewhat hoping for that to be honest, it was a good sign if Yuuri was responding to both Viktor stimulus and teasing.

Yuuri fell backwards onto the couch, whining. “Owwww.”

“Ah. Yes. Maybe go back to not moving that seemed to be working better Yuu.”

Yuuri flipped Phichit off while unlocking his phone.

Phichit plonked himself down behind Yuuri’s head so he could get a good view of the screen.

Yuuri was quiet. Phichit risked a glance at his face, it was unreadable.

“Yuuri?”

Nothing.

“Why is Viktor Nikiforov texting you?”

Yuuri tilted his head back so he faced up into Phichit’s. “To… send me photos of his dog.”

“Huh.”

“And I think… so he can see photos of Vicchan.”

Yuuri’s phone vibrated. The two both turn and read the screen.

‘Sleep well Yuuri <3 😊🥰’

Phichit. Was full of glee.

“Yuuri.”

“…”

“Yuuri.”

“…”

“He put a love heart Yuuri.”

Yuuri threw his phone on the ground like it might have bitten him.

Phichit giggled. Yuuri stood stiffly, holding one hand against his bandaged side. Phichit watched him struggling to process.

“I’m going to shower.”

Yuuri walked in a daze to the bathroom, stopping momentarily at the door to the kitchen.

“Phichit, why is that pan smoking?”

“MY DUMPLINGS!”

Yuuri, damp hair dripping occasionally onto the towel stretched over his neck, was doing his best to ignore the idiot on the other side of the table.

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri gracefully picked up a dumpling between a pair of wooden chopsticks and dropped it into his cauliflower soup like a heathen.

“Yuuri.”

He closed his eyes as the rich creamy spice of the soup mixed with the salty, fatty dumpling in his mouth.

“Yuuri.”

He swallowed. And sighed.

“Phichit.”

Phichit grinned, “Aren’t you going to reply to Viktor, Yuuri?”

Yuuri took another bite of the dumpling on his spoon, chewing slowly.

“My loyal friend and caring flatmate has lovingly made me soup. I am very busy enjoying said soup.”

Phichit leaned on his hands, what a sweet talker.

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri blew lightly on his next spoonful. “Mm.”

“Why does Viktor have your phone number?”

Yuuri paused spoon halfway to his mouth, “I’m not…entirely sure. I think he asked for it?” Phichit was glowing. “He wanted…to trade dog photos.”

“Yuuri, I don’t think he just wants to trade dog photos.”

Yuuri looks at him, spoon sticking out his mouth, eyes wide. Phichit had a weird look on his face.

“He told Yakov I have a poodle.”

Phichit burst out laughing.

“I cannot believe-bwahaha” Yuuri was concerned for Phichit who didn’t appear able to breathe, “that all it took for him to fall for you was to find out you had a poodle pwahahahah.”

Yuuri sniffs, “He hasn’t fallen for me Phi don’t be ridiculous.”

Phichit laughs harder, “Oh my god. Does he know Vicchan’s named after him??”

Yuuri flushed, which was honestly a good sign seeing as he’d been looking rather pale since getting home. Phichit took one look at his flatmate avoiding his gaze and cackled once more.

“This is going to be incredible. I cannot believe you met your life-long crush, the man who you plastered on your walls, the man who just beat two world records in one weekend and the two of you bonded over your dogs.”

“Actually, I think we spent most of the night dancing.”

“Ah well that makes sense then, no one can resist those hips.” Phichit frowned, “I can’t believe you went drunk dancing after you’d been shot.”

Yuuri groaned, pushing knuckles into his eyes, “I’m going to kill Celestino, this is all his fault.”

“I’m going to give him a gift basket.”

Yuuri looked over his hands to give Phichit a glare, “I hate to admit it but if Chris hadn’t been there that could have gone really badly. I think I spoke French. Then denied speaking French. To several people who speak French. Including Viktor.”

Phichit whistled, “Damn I forgot Viktor doesn’t even know he’s met you before huh? That’s messy.”

Yuuri looked away. Phichit paused.

This time his voice was soft, “Yuuri?”

Yuuri didn’t look back as he answered, staring instead at the stain on the wall next to the light switch. “It was so nice Peach.”

“What was?”

Yuuri finally turned to face him, eyes a little shiny. “Dancing with Viktor. And talking. It was just…” He looked down to his empty bowl. “I don’t even remember all of it but I just remember laughing and dancing and feeling wonderful.” The next part is whispered, “I don’t want to hope for more when I can’t tell him who I am.”

“Yuuri.” Yuuri met Phichit’s eyes. “You haven’t even read his texts yet. Just talk to him, see if you want anything more before you worry about that. I have a feeling he might, that was a lot of panic texting.” Phichit winked, Yuuri blushed. “Don’t leave him hanging yeah?”

Yuuri considered what he’d heard, considered the many thoughts racing through his head. He sighed. “Can I have some more soup Phi?”

Phichit’s face softened, “Sure thing bud.”

Yuuri was safe in his own bed, away from the dangerous eyes of nosy flatmates who lived only to bully him. His side was aching and his eyes were drooping, the benefits of the post-breakdown nap were starting to wear off and Yuuri was ready to sleep for the next week. But his belly was warm and at last he had been able to begin to relax after the absolute mess that had been the Sochi final.

He tentatively opened his phone.

Unknown number

It’s me :D <3 [15:47]

Viktor

From the banquet

Ha well you gave me your number at the banquet

Obviously we met before

Briefly

And you probably knew who I was anyway hahaa

Maybe you know lots of Viktors…

I was waiting to give you a little space so you could message first if you wanted

Then I realised you don’t have my number yet 😅

So hi!!

I was going to wish you goodnight but it must be earlier in Detroit

Or maybe you’re not back yet

Ah I’m so sorry if you land to all of this I didn’t mean to go so crazy

I had such a wonderful time dancing with you

I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

Or maybe your asleep you must be jetlagged

I’m so sorry if I wake you I should leave you in peace

Goodnight!

Or good morning

Ah as promised heres the best girl in the entire world all ready for bed

*photo of a large brown poodle curled up over a pair of just visible legs*

Sleep well Yuuri <3 😊🥰

Yuuri rested the phone against his chest and stared up at the ceiling.

‘Chris this is the perfect chance for me to talk to Yuuri’

His heart beat a little faster than it should. He wasn’t infatuated. He didn’t really know the other man. He also hadn’t lied to Phichit, he really didn’t remember the whole night, not very well. But he did remember warm hands, a body moving in time with his, the feeling unique to someone’s laughter shaking through skin, shining eyes looking right at him. For a night Yuuri had forgotten his many names and then, when he had just been Yuuri, a very pretty boy had looked him in the eyes and said, ‘do you want to dance with me?’.

Yuuri bit his lip. He had loved Viktor for years. In a very detached ‘this man is incredible and talented and handsome and one day I want to skate on the same ice and stand on (above) the same podium as him’ kind of way.

See when Yuuri had spent that night alone in the icy still of the Detroit rink, as he cried and breathed and spun through his thoughts; he realised that for all his fear of disappointing his family, well…they had never moved. His family still lived in the same inn they always had. He knew in that moment if he phoned his sister or his mother or his father they would answer. He could hear each of their own way of saying his name, of how they’d answer the phone. If he called them and told them he was coming home they would be happy, because he would be home. And yet when he had left home, they had been happy because they could see he needed to go. No matter what his brain tried to tell him, he knew in that moment that they were proud of him. Yet for all that, there were two people he had disappointed with his skating. One was himself; the part of himself that was kept from the ice, despite every part of him wanting to skate freely. One was Viktor; who didn’t know him and who, if he had given up then, he could never have shown thanks for what he had given him.

Yuuri had thought that the best way to show his love for this man who had unknowingly gifted him with so much love was to one day skate against him and win. Surely only then could he hope to resonate; look how great I am, thank you, you gave me this. Sochi had supposed to be that gift. Instead he had crashed and failed and broken, and yet Viktor seen him. A man who was supposed to be a legend had looked at him as an equal. And Yuuri has fallen in love once more.

‘You’re my knight in shining armour saving me from sponsors and coaches and skating’

Yuuri smiled into his hand. Viktor was so silly.

‘So cruel, my knight in shining armour is attacking me’

He sucked in a breath. What an idiot. Right?

It didn’t seem fair. For one of them not to know they had shared another night. What would he think, if he knew Yuuri had been the one to pull him from that chair and cut those ropes? What would he think, if he knew Yuuri had killed those men, that his hands were red since long ago?

‘See if you want anything more before you worry about that’

He picked up his phone.

It’s me :D <3

Viktor

From the banquet

Yuuri snorted. Viktor. From the banquet. As if Yuuri would ever forget Viktor Nikiforov. As if Yuuri hadn’t thought about the banquet non-stop since leaving the banquet.

‘Just talk to him’

Yuuri saved the number to his contacts.

He scrolled to the bottom of the chat. Phichit was right, that was 100% panic texting. That made something in him just a little happy. His thumb paused just before touching the keypad and a sly smile crept over his lips, a little happy and a little mean.

'Viktor' from the banquet

[18:11] Viktor… Which banquet was that?

Sorry, I just give my number to so many boys you see

Goodnight Makkachin <3

He paused. Exhaustion making him unusually bold.

I had a wonderful time too

That was absolutely enough of that.

Yuuri threw the nasty, offending phone away to the corner of the room like it deserved. His phone case, it had to be said, was really quite something.

And with that emotional whirlwind, Yuuri fell promptly, soundly asleep.

Chapter Text

Viktor woke up sweating, chest lurching as his body registered shock switching from reaching, leaning, falling to lying still between twisted sheets.

He raised a shaky fist in front of him, curling and flexing as the muscles woke up and started to obey once again. His breathing started to settle and the wisps of his dream played out behind his eyes. It might have been harder to remember, if this was the first time he’d had that dream.

Sometimes he falls. Hard.

Other times he wakes up. Alone on the ground.

Cold. Numb. Every time alone.

Then shadows. Sometimes large, following him out into the waking world, snapping at his heels as he walks between shops and the rink. Sometimes they linger at the back of his head, fading only as he turns. Sometimes they reach for him and the shadow is nothing but a man, with hands, warm breath, muffled words and a blurred face too dark to make out.

This wasn’t the first time he’d had that dream.

Viktor stared blankly at the bare ceiling up above.

This was the first time the shadow had a face.

He’d looked up as his hand was pulled, looked into brown eyes, as the face laughed at him. As if he hadn’t just slammed into ice, as if he’d just slipped maybe, slipped in the snow. And he’d stood there. As Yuuri turned away. And he saw that the shadow came with skates on his feet. And Yuuri was already out of reach. And so he’d chased. And as he felt himself start to fall, he’d seen that face he knew start to turn and look.

This was not ideal, he thought. He really didn’t want to project Yuuri onto that strange, masked man; the maybe Russian American. Really, he wished he could just forget everything that had happened in Chicago and stop seeing shadows in his head.

He sighed. It’s not like he’d been able to think of anything but Yuuri since the Sochi final, so it’s not exactly surprising that his brain decided to mash them up together in a nice confusing mind melt.

He looked up to the clock on his left.

06:37 looked right back at him.

He’d woken before his alarm again.

He reached over to his phone and felt the lick of post panic regret at the absolute mass of texts sent the night before. He rolled over, groaning into his pillow at the thought of how that must have looked.

Makkachin gave a sleepy yawn, rolled over and went back to sleep. Viktor pouted.

“Makka, how could you let me do that?”

She huffed lightly in her half sleep and Viktor whined, reluctantly opening his phone, half expecting the messages to be left ignored or some confused but polite dismissal.

Yuuri Katsuki <3

Viktor… Which banquet was that? [01:11]

Sorry, I just give my number to so many boys you see

Goodnight Makkachin <3

I had a wonderful time too

Viktor’s heart did a sick lil flip. Then he giggled. Then pouted. Then he pressed his hand to his mouth and curled in on himself with his eyes glued to the screen as you can only do when you want to just reread those few lines of texts until they stick with you forever and unlock something new.

Chris Giacumetti 

[06:42] Help

Yuuri is funny and mean and I am both hopeless and gay

Not one of those things is either new or worth waking me up at 5am for

Oops

Now you’re awake

help

…

Great

*screenshots of previous messages to Yuuri and his response*

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Gay pAnIC

:((((

I am aware

Viktor

From the banquet

Chris pls

😂😂😂

You introduced yourself to Katsuki Yuuri as Viktor from the banquet

You competed against him THIS WEEKEND

Chris

You are known worldwide by both name and idiot face

:( rude

You are literally the most decorated skater in history you absolute disaster

…

Imagine I assumed he knew who I was and he didn’t

I would die

I would bury myself under the ice in shame

Damn

I mean

No

There is no world in which Yuuri would not know who you are you twat

But lets move on

Wait what does that mean

 Said moving on bitch

Ugh fine what do I do

I dunno ask about his day

Flirt with him

How do I do that

Send a pretty picture of your face

Wait what

Wait would that work

What

I mean honestly probably

Just like

Be careful with him

??

I not planning on messing him around chris

I really like him

In a darkened room in Switzerland, Chris read the message at the bottom of his screen and sighed.

He can be shy

…

Chris he told me I had to try and beat him next year

And when I told him I beat him this year

He put his finger on my lips and shushed me

Then challenged Yurio to a dance off

Chris

Ooft

Boy you are so far gone

Thank you I am aware

I just mean sober Yuuri might be more nervous about jumping into anything

Oh

Well that’s okay

What do you want from this?

I mean

Does it matter?

?

Yes?

But if he doesn’t want anything then obviously I don’t want to push him?

We can just be friends who talk about their dogs

Boy sometimes you are denser than the ice you skate on

:o

I didn’t say he didn’t want anything

I’m lost

Ugh

Just

Talk to him

Have some fun

Be safe

Work out what you both want

Mm okay

Also if he’s bullying you over text let me know so I can laugh

Chris

Hahahahahaha

You’re supposed to be helping me

I just realised

Your nickname must be fantastic

My what?

Yuuri never uses peoples names in his phone

His nicknames are ridiculous

I believe I have been

Call for a good time

Stale coriander

I have so many questions

Silky cat

Once I pissed him off and he kept me as ‘castrate or sell’ for an entire year

What the hell did you do

I bet he absolutely slated you when he set your name

Wait what

Viktor I love you but there is no world in which what you sent is not immediately obvious as panic texts

I came here to have a good time

Yuuri is going to destroy you

And I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now

This is going to be hilarious

Right ok

Bye bye Chris

😊

I’m glad I woke you at 5am

Right off I go

Back to sleep in my boyfriends arms

You are the WORST

Have a good day darling x

Love you x

Say hi to Masumi

Viktor flipped back to the page hosting his shameful panic ramble and winced.

He turned to glare at Makkachin, “How come you get a goodnight and I don’t?”

Yuuri Katsuki <3

[06:58] Yuuuuuuri

:o

I cannot believe Makka is the only one to get a goodnight

She deserves it obviously

But mean

Viktor bit his lip. ‘Send a pretty picture of your face’ but also ‘be careful he’s shy’. Viktor was having a hard time imagining Katsuki Yuuri as shy but decided to give Chris the benefit of the doubt.

He counted the messages he’d sent already. Five, not super panicky.

‘I had a wonderful time too’

*Selfie of sleep mused silver hair framing a lightly smiling face*

If I remind you which boy I am then do I get a good morning?

Viktor’s hip pooped as he levered out of bed and he scowled, kneading through shoulder knots as he padded through his morning routine.

Thoughts of dreams far from his mind.

Viktor left the rink feeling frustration leak out of the bruises. His free program had taken on a different quality since Sochi and Yakov seemed begrudgingly pleased, his short however was now noticeably lacking.

It was funny really, he had been desperate for a challenge, someone to push him, someone that could beat him. The man who he had pinned those hopes on had come last, yet, Viktor felt challenged. Yuuri had pulled out a new quad one day, fallen apart the next, then grabbed him boldly by the waist and turned him upside down.

His short program, a story of a man searching for riches and wealth only to bury himself under their weight was the inverse to his free, a story of a man lamenting for a lover as if nothing else mattered in the world.

Viktor had choreographed the two pieces as he always had, drawing on an emotion or thought burying deep in his mind then masking it with layers of presentation and physical power and storyline. So a man with wealth and success had longed for motivation and surprise; he drew on Icarus and spun a tale of collapsing under the weight of an artificial life. Then the man, who did not know what was lacking in his life, who felt the loneliness more than the cold, had drawn on great romantic sentiment and war time separation, because surely those people in that story might know what to long for.

Viktor leant into the shop window, peering at the gloves on display. Makkachin had torn through his last leather pair to voice her displeasure at being left to a dog sitter while Viktor was in Japan for NHK and the suede he’d been wearing since were really not keeping out the cold in the same way.

He shivered. Something in the pit of his stomach tightened. Slowly Viktor straightened. In the glass of the window he saw a man across the street, leaning nonchalantly against a bus stop and watching the cars pass. The shop awning behind cast a wide shadow over the man.

Viktor stared through the window display unable to move, his breathing sped and cold fingers clenched in pockets.

A shadow passed behind him and he told himself it was nothing but paranoia. A voice shouted unintelligibly from further down the street and his body locked him in place and told him to run.

His phone vibrated.

The shock of the subtle vibration knocked him out of the path of the spiral. He clenched the phone tight, refocusing on the window reflection. The phone vibrated again. He let out a breath, the man was gone. It was just a man. No shadows. The phone vibrated.

Viktor walked home quickly. Cold hands stubbornly curled in thin suede.

Unlocking his door he remembered the phone.

Slidding down to accept slobbery kisses he leant his back against the door. He pulled Makkachin close as she stopped wriggling, opening to several new texts.

Yuuri Katsuki <3

Ah my parents always warned me about moving to America and getting catfished by men online who pretend to be Viktor Nikiforov [18:06]

Good morning Viktor

Good morning Makka <3

Viktor couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of his chest.

He hugged Makkachin tighter, “Look you didn’t even send a photo and you still get a good morning text!”

Makkachin pants happily in his face.

“He even gave you a love heart. This is clearly favouritism.”

Why was I the catfish warning?

Viktor heaved himself to his feet, not expecting a reply right away but feeling the happy bubble in his chest grow at another vibration in his hand.

…

Next question

Viktor preened.

Yuuri 😮

Did teen Yuuri have a crush…

Wow it’s getting late in Russia huh?

Night night x

XD

So mean

Ah sorry for teasing

Viktor awkwardly delayered, wondering if he’d maybe crossed a line. He felt like sending more messages was not the best way to defuse any situation. Maybe Yuuri had really meant that last message and didn’t want to talk any longer.

He pottered round the kitchen, going through the motions of whatever meal today was.

He slid Makkachin her bowl and lifted out a fork for himself, twisting as he heard the phone vibrate.

Oops

Fell asleep again and woke up to Celestino calling me asking why I wasn’t at the rink

*Selfie of messy hair, squint glasses and flat bared teeth without a smile next to a loose peace sign*

Viktor laughed. He sat down, absentmindedly digging through the dish in front of him.

Tell him some guy pretending to be Viktor Nikiforov catfished and kidnapped you

XD

Will let you know how that goes

PLEASE do

I’m probably going to fall asleep again so will actually say goodnight now

Give Makkachin a kiss from me I want to win her over before I meet her

Hahaha are you not going to training?

NoPE

Been kidnapped remember?

When are you planning on meeting Makkachin?

Not sure

You know her well, would you introduce us?

I knew you liked me for my dog

Anytime

Night Viktor x

Sleep well Yuuri <3

Viktor had a very sappy look on his face, not that he could see it of course. The phone buzzed once more.

What teen Yuuri chose to decorate his walls with is his business and we mature adults shouldn’t pry

❤

Viktor grinned. He felt giddy.

Yuuri was funny. And silly. And cute when he looked all sleepy. And hinted at wanting to see him. And wanted to meet Makkachin which obviously who wouldn’t?

He reached up and felt his heart beating quickly through his shirt. This was ridiculous. He felt light. He felt like he was dancing.

He stood with his bowl. Walking over to the sink, mind flitting to a scene of skates that barely touched the ice. A man who poured out love and possibility and joy over ice from the twist of his feet to the turn of his hand. A man who could grab him and spin him as if they were dancing over ice while wrapped in dress shoes and shirts and ties.

He thought of reaching towards the sun and burning alone high in the sky. It was the opposite of Yuuri’s program, which celebrated weightlessness without ever seeking to escape the ground. He thought of the character of the man who wanted everything, riches and wealth and success.

Viktor wondered then, if he were to change course, reach towards Yuuri. Would he burn? Would he fall under the weight of… what? What was weighing him down?

Yuuri had skated that like nothing in the world could hold him down.

‘Maybe you should try skating them’

Viktor felt lighter now than he had in a long time. Viktor wanted to reach for the sun.

Chapter Text

Catfish from the banquet

Yakov is bullying me again :( [12:13]

What did you do?

:o

Yuuuuri

Whos side r u on??

Ah

Right

Want me to fight him?

I’m not sure that will help but it would be entertaining for sure

Yurio would love you forever

Even Milas been getting yelled at more than normal

How come?

Ahh he’s been stressed since Sochi

Idk

He’ll be fine after nationals

Just a week right?

Yes!

The day after yours

😊 I can’t wait to watch!

Ugh

Oh I’m sorry

Are you not look looking forward to it?

It’ll be good to be back in Japan again at least?

I guess

Is everything okay?

Sorry

I’m fine

Okay

I’m happy to listen if you need

Now or not

Sorry I’m just distracted

I have a meeting with Celestino later

We haven’t spoken about my mess at sochi yet

I’m just

Not looking forward to it

Ohhh

Wow bad day for coaches Chris even said Josef was snapping at him earlier

Wait not that Celestino is going to snap

I didn’t mean it like that

Sorry

Its ok

Honestly he should be pretty pissed

What?

I’m sure he’s not angry just because you had a bad day

Your short program was so beautiful <3<3<3

I learnt the salchow in secret

The short program was the first time he saw it

Holy shit

Wait you learnt the quad salchow by yourself??

…

Ah I’m sorry that was not the right reaction for that

Don’t worry about it

I have a test now

I’ll speak to you later

Yuuri switched off the screen, tried his hardest to put Viktor out of his mind and walked into the hall with papers already laid out in desks. He sighed. College finals were a great excuse for taking some time off from skating but he just wished he could disappear off the side of the earth for a month and not have to worry about international plots or skating competitions or fucking exams.

He’d been talking to Viktor every day for the last week. He would send him photos from the rink, sometimes with Yurio scowling up at the lens, Makkachin around the house and out on walks, he would ask about Yuuri’s day and ask questions about the paper he was writing and would send random thoughts at random times. And every time Yuuri would feel something warm glow inside of him and also something cold twist around him. Because Viktor would ask after Phichit and squeal over Vicchan and laugh when Yuuri said mean things and send love hearts with good mornings and goodnights. And it had only been a week but Yuuri found himself wanting more.

And that scared him. Because Yuuri didn’t want to hope for more. Didn’t want to drag Viktor into his world.

Celestino was concerned. Yuuri hadn’t been at practice in the week since they had returned from Russia. They were due to fly to Japan in four days.

He had spoken on the phone with the elusive skater twice. Once, clearly right after Yuuri had woken up on the first day he was supposed to be back at the rink; Yuuri saying only that he was taking the day off. Okay, it had been a tough weekend, jetlag had always hit Yuuri hard. Once the next day, now saying he was taking the week away from the rink, a loose apology and a promise to be there Thursday afternoon after whichever exam was taking place.

Today was Thursday. It was 3pm. Yuuri was due at 20 past. Celestino had to address a potential hidden injury, practicing jumps in secret and frankly just try and work out what the hell was going on before he once again put his best and most unpredictable skater on the world stage.

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s eyes stayed fixed to the floor. Celestino sighed, rubbed his eyes and leaned across the desk.

“Yuuri, please.”

Yuuri closed his eyes, breathing out slowly.

“Sorry coach, I know I let you down.”

Celestino wanted to tear out his hair, that was not where he was trying to go with this.

“No, Yuuri that’s not…you didn’t let me down look…” His eyes narrowed, very softly he asked, “Are you thinking of retiring Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s eyes snapped up from the floor, “No!”

Celestino slumped in his chair, “Oh thank god.” Yuuri looked confused. “I had to check. You had a bad day, no you didn’t let me down don’t start, but I won’t lie you had a bad day, then I didn’t see you for a week and all I could think was you didn’t know how to tell me you were retiring.”

“I’m not retiring.” The words were soft but clear, Celestino didn’t doubt them for a second.

“Next question, do you still want me as your coach?”

Yuuri’s confusion grew, “What? Yes? Why wouldn’t I want you as my coach?”

Celestino’s stomach settled. “You don’t have to keep me on Yuuri, this has to work for both of us. But I’m glad to hear that. Next question, if you’re not planning on going out in a blaze of glory and you do still intend on keeping me as your coach then why have you been practicing jumps in secret?”

“Ah.” Yuuri slunk down his chair.

“Ah. Yes.”

“Sorry.”

Celestino hung his head in his hands, “Yuuuuuri.”

“I thought maybe you were mad cause I haven’t been at the rink all week.”

“Oh we’ll get there.”

Yuuri sank further.

“How consistent is your salchow?”

“…”

Celestino raised a brow.

“90%.”

Celestino’s second brow joined the first.

“Technically I’ve got a 100% rate in competition.”

“Yuuri I swear to God.”

“Sorry…”

Celestino remembered getting drunk once with Yakov and Josef after some years past competition and Yakov lamenting about the stress of trying to contain a skater who at once didn’t understand how talented they were, and also had no concept of their own limits. He wondered now if this was how Yakov felt and silently offered up an apology for the laughter he and Josef shared at Yakov’s expense that night.

“Is it just the salchow?”

“…”

Celestino slumped into his hands over the desk, “Christ Yuuri.”

“I…promise to tell you next time?”

“What about the time after that?” Yuuri looked sheepishly back at the floor, “Please tell me you at least have your phone on you and not on some bench at the side.”

“I promise I always have my phone on me and not on the side.”

Celestino glared at Yuuri, not as appeased as he thought he might be by that reassurance.

“You built that routine around those extra jumps, didn’t you?”

Yuuri looks up, straight into his eyes, “I wanted to win.”

Celestino leaned back heavily, the old worn leather moving with him as the chair tipped until he was staring at the ceiling. “You could win with that routine.” He wasn’t satisfied with Yuuri’s answers, not really. Knew now that he would likely keep training by himself. Knew also that that training was what had gotten him to this unexpected high where he was, for the very first time, able to look his coach in the face and without blinking, without apology, state the desire to win in a way that demanded consideration. “I want to see the routine, the full routine, before you skate any of that again.”

“Of course coach.”

“You train by yourself at night, okay, fine. You tell me or Phichit where you are, I don’t care what time it is, I want a text or I want Phichit to know and if you don’t tell us when you leave, we are coming to the rink. You understand? Is that fair?”

“…deal. Seems unfair on Phichit though no?”

Celestino stared him down, “I don’t know how but I’m sure he somehow knew about this so I’m willing to give him some portion of the blame and I think he’d also rather get woken up every so often than find out you were discovered cold on the rink one morning.”

Yuuri looks away. Celestino thinks his point may finally be getting across.

“Okay, let’s take a break from this. There’s no one on the ice right now, show me the routine.” Celestino went to stand.

“Ahh.” Yuuri pulls a face. “That might have to wait.”

Celestino sat back down. “And whys that?”

“I’m not going to do any quads at Nationals.”

“Why.”

“…”

“Katsuki Yuuri, you are possibly the best skater I have coached in my career but if you tell me right now that you blew your free skate at the Grand Prix Final because you were doing unsupervised jumps the night before and hid an injury from me I honestly don’t know if this professional relationship can work.” Yuuri for his part, looked stricken. Celestino softened, “We’re supposed to trust each other, Yuuri. How can I send you out there when I don’t know what shape you’re in? How can I tell press, fans- the JSF has been asking if you’re injured! How can I tell them anything when I’m worried you’re out there hurting yourself!?”

The small office is quiet after Celestino’s outburst.

“The only time I’ve injured myself practicing at night was that time I sprained my wrist.”

Celestino, not expecting that response, just stares at his skater. Yuuri in turn, stares at the board behind his coach, covered in song titles and breakdowns and competition listings.

“Two years ago when three of the hockey players got injured over a week and that janitor got fired for messing up the ice. I went at night and hit a hole during a spin and slammed awkwardly on my wrist. I told you the next day.” Celestino felt the weight of his gaze as he turned to look directly at him, “I didn’t hurt myself doing secret jumps before the free coach. I’m sorry I put you in this position. I’m sorry I didn’t realise how much I’d put on your shoulders and I did let you down, just not how I thought.”

“Was it your anxiety at the final? It’s okay if it’s coming back but we need to talk more about what you’re going through at these events, Yuuri. I’m supposed to be supporting you here.”

Yuuri sighed. He’d thought a lot about the various ways this could go. Celestino watched him closely, feeling for the first time in a long time he was actually getting let into the world of his most private athlete.

“I lied about going to bed after the short program.”

Celestino blinked. “Why?”

“I really wanted to win this time. I really thought I would win.” Celestino stayed silent, watching, listening. “I got a call from my sister, I even spoke to Viktor after the short, I just… There was so much I had pinned on it.” Yuuri smiled ruefully, “I went for a walk, ended up down by the river.” He ran his hands over face before looking straight at Celestino. “I got jumped.”

Celestino gaped. “You got jumped in Sochi?”

Yuuri just looked at him for a long moment, just watching. Kind of sad, as if waiting for something.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?? Did you not phone the police? What happened? Yuuri oh my god what the hell!”

Yuuri sighed, breaking his stare and laughing awkwardly, “I thought it wasn’t too bad. It didn’t seem so bad at the time, I think I was a little in shock. All I was thinking about was I had to skate the next day, I had so much pinned on that program. I wanted to skate the program I had been hiding.”

“Oh Yuuri…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. That’s why I took the week off, I got checked out properly once we were back in Detroit.” He isn’t able to hide the wince, “I em, may have made it worse when I fell on that quad and had a mild internal bleed.”

Celestino at this point went very pale.

“Yuuri.”

“Yes coach?”

“You have Nationals in six days, tell me honestly right now if you are in a fit state to compete.”

“If I do minimal practice before we fly out, no quads during the competition and take the week after off, I can promise I can skate at Nationals.”

Celestino’s head hit the desk.

“That’s sort of not what I asked.”

“I can compete.”

“You’re not going to let me pull you out, are you?”

“I need to qualify for worlds.”

Celestino tilted his head so he was leaning on his chin. “I want the doctors report.”

“On your desk tomorrow.”

“No ice time until I see it, light conditioning today, light cardio, light stretching, then home. I mean light you terror.”

“Got it.”

“We mark through your routines tomorrow and edit to make sure you’ll qualify with no quads.”

Yuuri looked surprised at that, a grin flitting over his face.

“Make sure, coach?”

Celestino glared him down. “You skated an entire free program with an internal bleed I am so angry at you right now I could scream but I swear I will see that damn routine performed at worlds if it kills me. With those secret jumps that you will not be going anywhere near until February.” His eyes narrowed further, “I said if it kills me, got it? No killing yourself over this sport, you hear? You want to win, fucking let’s go get a medal.”

Yuuri nodded, shy smile on his lips and predator glint in his eyes, “Yes coach.”

Catfish from the banquet

Okay [12:39]

Good luck <3

I will fight Celestino for you if he says anything mean

I keep telling Makka about you so I’m sure she will also defend your honour

I’m going to bed now so have a wonderful rest of your day <3 [15:54]

I’m always here if you need to vent

Goodnight Yuuri xxx

Yuuri stepped out of the rink doors and breathed the fresh air feeling a weight lift from his chest. He couldn’t help the curl of a smile at Viktor’s texts. Feeling emboldened from his talk with Celestino he tried to push down the icy fingers clawing at his gut.

Thank you Viktor <3

You had better only be saying good things to Makka

He bit his lip and dared to hope for more.

*Selfie of a scarf pulled down to reveal a softly smiling face*

Good morning and sweet dreams x

Chapter Text

Yakov looked around the table at his skaters on their phones, feeling the blood pressure meter rise as time went on. He was trying not to play the disappointed parent card because he was absolutely not a disappointed parent but a disappointed coach which was very different thank you.

It was you see, a general practice that ‘The Russian Team’, i.e. the skaters under the fulltime tutelage of Yakov Feltsman, would have a team breakfast the morning before Nationals. Throughout the rest of the year, the skaters qualified or placed at different events and bounced around the globe at various rates. ‘Team Breakfast’ however, was Yakov’s treat and as the skaters of the Feltsman consortium were generally among the highest ranking in the country, everyone would receive really rather nice treatment when they gathered together before the annual Russian competition.

Normally said breakfast would at some point involve someone (Mila) coaxing Georgi to tears, Yakov screaming at one of them (Viktor), someone (Yuri) making snide remarks about whatever food was being served, a breakage of some sort (Mila or Viktor), someone (Georgi) setting off Yuri’s unintelligible yelling, and someone (Yakov) threatening to quit there and then. It was nice. It was secretly looked forward to by every member and fondly/exasperatedly brought up for the rest of the year.

Yakov’s face twitched.

Viktor and Yuri were whispering conspiratorially together. That by itself was enough to send the warning signs into overdrive.

Mila’s brow furrowed as she tapped away furiously at the screen. Yakov took a long drink of coffee. It was delicious, the best coffee he’d had all year. Yakov scowled.

Georgi gasped, Viktor’s head snapped up, Georgi leaning over the table to show him his screen and Viktor frantically tapped Yuri’s arm to get him to look.

Why were they getting on and not yelling at each other this was very suspicious what on earth were they looking at?

Mila lit up. “Warmups over!”

Georgi frowned, “No they just started, I’ve got the feed.”

Mila stole a pastry from Georgi’s plate, “Must be lagging, I’ve got a live-tweet, first skater’s up.”

Yakov’s brow raised. His skaters were actively watching a skating event none of them were competing at? A small part of Yakov grumbled that team breakfast was for the team even as another part rejoiced at the fact they were actually showing interest beyond their own egos.

Yuri piped up, poking Viktor with a sticky finger, “Oi. When’s he up?” Yakov narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t know, the only table I can find is rankings, they draw lots for order.” He grimaced, wiping jam from his cheek.

“Hah? Just ask him idiot, what use are you?”

Viktor pouted, “He turned his phone off.”

Mila cackled, “How much were you bothering him?”

“I didn’t bother him. He turns it off for competitions.”

Yakov’s head hit the table. His skaters slowly turned with varying levels of concern to look at their folded coach.

“Yakov?”

Yuri poked at his head. Of course. Yakov was an idiot. Today was Japanese Nationals.

He admired the patterned cloth in front of his eyes. Viktor was a lost cause, Yuri he had somewhat encouraged. Since when had Mila and Georgi joined the Katsuki fan club?

“Um… coach?”

“Oh the order went up!”

Viktor apparently, was fairly unbothered by Yakov’s dramatics. Neither would likely appreciate you pointing out the similarities there.

Yakov tilted his head to rest on his chin and his skaters leaned over to Viktor’s screen.

“8^th?” Yuri frowned, “That’s still ages.”

“Yura you’ve got practice at 10,” Yakov chimed in from the table.

Yuri’s head snapped back down. Ah there was the usual glare. “I’m not going till I’ve watched Kat-sucky skate.”

Yakov blinked, “Sucky?”

Yuri scowled, “Kat-sucky. Idiot 2.”

“Ah ah Yurioooo. Yuuri won his name fair and square.”

“Not when he’s not here! I’m Yuri when he’s not here Idiot 1,” the kitten hissed.

This, Yakov decided, was really not worth the brain power. He heaved the conversation back onto the tracks, “We need to go back to the hotel before your practice, we’ll be rushed after breakfast, just watch it later when you can find a better quality recording.”

“No.”

“No??”

“No.”

“YURA.”

“Why don’t we watch the stream at the hotel? It’ll be better than on our phones and then Yurio can run off to his practice after.”

Yakov could feel the steam start to leak from his ears.

Yuri scowled, “You can’t call me Yurio, Baba.” Mila stuck out her tongue.

“I saw the fight, you lost fair and square. Suck it Yurio.”

“We are not leaving now the food just arrived,” Yakov fumed.

Georgi, silent for some time, chimed in with, “Why don’t we take it back and eat breakfast while we watch?”

Yakov opened his mouth ready to snap back but paused, was he really about to try and stop his skaters from watching their rivals skate?

‘Yuri’s found someone to look up to, don’t spoilt it for him’

Damn.

“Team picnic!” Viktor grinned.

The Russian team were spread over the floor of Yakov’s room, a feast surrounding them marking the very first ‘Team Picnic’.

“Yuuri’s after this guy,” Mila commented.

Yakov sipped his coffee, sadly now lukewarm, from his perch on the bed.

“Vitya.” Viktor craned his head back to blink up at his coach, “Have you got his short program down yet?”

Viktor slumped his head down on the bed, “It’s only been a week Yakov, and you wouldn’t let me practice during regular hours because I had to do my own routines.”

“A week?? I’ve seen you choreograph a routine in a day! What the hell’s stopping you?”

“That’s rude Yakov, it’s hard.” Viktor turned back to the screen pouting, “I can do it, it’s just not the same. Plus he has the salchow now.” Viktor sounded impressively like a child.

Georgi threw a croissant at Viktor’s head, “You’ve been doing salchows for four years you asshole.”

“Ugh that’s not the point Gosha, he puts them at the end like a madman and everything’s so fast you lose the presentation just to keep up with the steps and then when the last quad comes you just want to die.”

“Weak,” Yuri muttered into his hot chocolate.

Viktor glared, “You can’t do it either yet.”

“I can do the salchow, the steps are just silly,” Yuri’s voice retreats further into his drink.

Yakov narrows his eyes, “He’s only done the salchow once in competition, it’s not a sure thing. And anyway,” he fixed a glare on the back of Yuri’s head, “You shouldn’t be doing quads you brat.”

“Well he’s not doing quads today anyway.” All of the heads turn to Viktor.

“Oh thank fuck.” All of the heads turn to Yuri.

“What do you mean he’s not doing quads? Why?” Mila queried; the heads turned back to Viktor.

“He told me he wasn’t doing any quads at Nationals.” Viktor sipped his tea. Yakov’s eyes narrowed.

Yakov’s narrowed eyes fell to Yuri, “And why would you be pleased about that? I thought you couldn’t wait to jump quads in competition.”

Georgi chimed in once more, “You said before Sochi the only weakness Katsuki had was he only had one ‘piss ass easy’ quad.”

Yuri bristled. “Yeah. I said that before I knew he could do the salchow didn’t I? Plus it’s not like he needs quads to win unlike you guys, I bet he’ll win without them. So yeah. Good.”

“There he is!” Yakov glanced at Viktor as he shouted excitedly, heart dropping at the starry-eyed gaze. He looked back at the screen, taking in the skater’s bowed shoulders, head hung between the frame of his coach’s arms as Celestino murmured last minute instructions.

Yakov thought to the spots of blood he tried to ignore at the banquet; Katsuki was absolutely injured during the Grand Prix. Had Celestino had stumbled at all into this game of shadows? Yakov hated that Yuri of all people apparently knew more than anyone in the room and wanted nothing more than to shake the boy until he told him what exactly he’d gotten mixed up in but to do that would be to reveal that he was mixed up in it even though he wasn’t because he didn’t have a clue what was going on. It was all Katsuki’s fault.

Except it wasn’t.

Because if he’d gotten injured at Sochi, did that mean another mess with Viktor? Yakov wanted to tear out his hair. He still had no idea what danger any of the skaters might be in and he couldn’t ask Viktor because once again he wasn’t supposed to admit he knew anything and he couldn’t ask Lilia because the last time he’d tried she had snapped at him in a way he hadn’t heard since they were married.

So Yakov wanted Katsuki to qualify for worlds. If nothing else, that would provide some level of reassurance that someone besides Yakov was present and actively looking out for trouble. Hopefully not causing trouble.

Yuuri looked up, nodding once at Celestino before starting a lap of the rink, raising an arm to thunderous applause from the crowd for their ace. Viktor and Mila happily cheering along, Georgi smiling at the fools and Yuri silently taking on that rare shiny eyed wonder.

‘He’s looking out for Viktor, trust me’

God knows what would happen at Europeans. Maybe Lilia could lend him one of her muscles. If she stopped yelling every time he called.

Did he make the right decision? Opting out of this world all those years ago.

Yuuri held his starting position on the ice. The video grainy and glitching over the livestream.

Yakov leaned in.

The music started.

Baka

[17:36] Fucks sake lil bro

Congratulations and all that

But get some sleep pls

You look half dead

Rude bitch [21:01]

Thanks

I have a bunch of accounting stuff for gross skating finances can you or Dad look it over?

Dude

Get some fucking rest

:)

Great

Gonna be doing some promo work over the next few weeks so will big up the inn 👍

I will set Sumi on you I swear to god

Also

Why have I not been getting any Vicchan content lately what am I paying you for

!!!

U r 3 hours away I will come over there and bitch slap you I swear

Plus get your own Vicchan content you have the real thing

Fuck the fuck off

Ooh ouch things not going well

I want dog

Give me dog

Can you not chill for 1 minute you drama queen

Dog

FINE

Go to sleep and I’ll send you dog content in the morning you actual nightmare

Happy?

Zzzzzz

Sorry getting some fucking rest

I hate you

*photo of a silver medal next to a hand making a ‘hang loose’ sign*

See you in Tokyo bbeeeee

Please get some rest

Ugh

Tokyo bbeeee

Mari sighed, stubbing out the cigarette and sliding the garden door open to slip through. She was going to knock that idiot out when she saw him next.

She padded into the kitchen to see Hiroko and Toshiya standing side by side, finishing the last of the cleaning from the guest’s dinners. Mari sighed; they had as usual had a public viewing for Yuuri’s skate over the last couple of days and the tension could be seen if you knew where to look in the family’s shoulders, in the tightening hands at on screen jumps, in the shining eyes as locals praised the Katsuki boy, cheering along and slapping their backs. Aren’t they so proud of their Yuuri?

She made quick work of prepping the tea. Following her parents into their private family room and settling down in silence to pour and wait for the steam to cool.

It had been a very long two weeks. And it would be a long night.

Chapter Text

Mon 29^th Dec

Catfish from the banquet

[00:57] Congratulations on your gold Viktor!!

That was a beautiful skate <3

Yuuri!!!

You watched :D

❤❤❤❤

Is it not like 1am where you are?

Sleep is for the weak

And I always watch

Ah I’m sorry

You asked me to watch you in Sochi and I didn’t

NO

Don’t apologise

That was a bad day right?

You watched me today

I’m really happy

Oh

Sorry was that too much

Ha sorry

No

I’m glad you’re happy

Thank you

Um… for what

Are you celebrating tonight?

Yes!

Georgi and I are going for drinks

We haven’t hung out in ages somehow

That sounds fun

Ah Yakov is yelling

You should sleep

Yes mom

:o

Tell Yurio congratulations from me

And to improve his steps if he wants to beat me next year

Hahahahaha

I will

From behind a wall or some sort of cover

If you don’t hear from me know yours were the last words I ever spoke

What an honour

No notes for me huh?

Nothing to critique ~

I loved it <3

Your free skate was mesmerising

YUUUUUUURI

😭😭😭

But your short skate was disjointed

You need to work on the transitions to the faster sections

:o

:)

Okay I asked for that

Oh no

?

Yakov Yakov Yakov

Byeeeeeee

Hahahaha

Goodnight Viktor

Have fun with Georgi

Congratulations again x

Yuuri! [08:23]

Omg they are playing the best music here you would love this

We should go dancing at worlds

You promised to teach me breakdancing!!!!

Hahahaba [10:05]

Yuuri  yoi need ot make friends with Gosha

You are both savag e

Wait no

Yuo'll bullt me

Im not intotroduching you

intoduching

intoducing

введение

Hah

Got it !

Ur so pretty [11:51]

We have a comperiuon

Goahi and me

Goshi

Gosha

Hahahaha Goshi hahaha

Anb you WON

YEAY

So youir the pretiist

Goshi dayu rti fob wad [12:34]

fsoi

fusoi

Блядь

время спать

ночь люблю тебя

Princess Bubblegum

[14:23] Phichit

Phichit

Phichit

Phichit

Phichit

Phichit

Phichit

I’m in class

When has that literally ever stopped you

Hahaha right?

Whats up huni bun

Wait isn’t your plane in like now?

Yes

But I forgot to turn my phone on after a meeting last night

So I checked it now before take off

U a lil bitch you did not *forget* to turn it back on

To 30 drunk messages from Viktor

AAAAHHAHH

Incredible

Help

You lil minx you

Whats he saying are there drunk selfies

No he sends selfies sober he’s just incapable of typing

Has he declared his love yet?

…

YUURI

WHAT DID HE SAY

OH MT GOD YOUR CHILDREN ARE GOING TO BE BEAUTIFUL

Phichit I will sell your hamsters

Say love you too

Phichit

He said something very affectionate while very drunk

I would be absolutely panicking if I woke up seeing I’d sent that

Mm I get your point he was very panicky at the start

Also he said it in Russian

Which…I don’t speak…

Ah

Well he’ll probably just assume you’ve googled it

I am going to pretend I didn’t

*gif of a head slamming into a desk*

Why am I here

Clearly not to be any use to me

Wow wow hold on mr

eep I need to turn off my phone

I’m going to lock you out

Great I’ll come in your window

NO

NOT AGAIN

YUURI

Do not come in the window

Just pick the lock like a normal person

Ugh

Safe flight asshole

See you soon xxxxxxxxxxx

Pls do not come in my window

Catfish from the banquet

[14:31] You’re very pretty too Viktor

Have a fun exhibition skate :)

Maybe drink some Gatorade or something

Goshi might want one as well I’m guessing

Oh my god [17:11]

I am

So sorry

Please do not raed that

You’ve definitely already read it

Well it was a fun two weeks

Lovely knowing you

I’m off to bury my head under the ice

Actually that sounds great rn

Mon 5^th Jan

Swiss Roll

Hey Yuuri [10:30]

[12:17] Wat up

Wait

Why are you using my name

Do you happen to know anything about the new Dior eyeshadow palette that just turned up on my doorstep

:D

I knew you loved my pet names <3

-.- I was concerned was all

Y would I know anything about that

So you wouldn’t know why it came with a box of that tea we had in Nagano

The tea I have been complaining about missing since Nagano

:)

Hehe

😮😘💖✨

Yuuuuuuuri

You flirt

What would Viktor think

I’m going to be nice and let that one slide

My birthday isn’t for another month

Not for your birthday bitch

Thank you

For you know

And sorry

You don’t have to apologise

And you didn’t need to thank me

Great lets never mention this again

Yuuri

Really

Do not mention it

Ugh fine

Speaking of flirting

We were not

Hows the bf?

Fuck right off

He’s not my bf!

Phichit’s not your best friend???

He’ll be so sad :(((

…

 I hate you

Why who were you talking about? 🙃

Yuuri

Babe

Sweet pea

Sugar plum

Hot stuff

Don’t leave me

💔💘

Give Vikki a kiss from me 😘😘😘

Wed 7^th Jan

Cake or Death

[17:41] Can you pick up some mixer?

And more protein bars

We also need rice we should do a shop this weekend

Also come to drinks tonight?

Hockey team +

But at jessies not louiss we’re not doing that again

Um

So I could

But it will be with you in 2-3 business days

What

I’m not in Detroit rn

WHAT

So will pass on the drinks thanks

Yuuuuuuri

Say hi to the Chads

Also yes we could go to the big store by the rink on Saturday after practice

Maybe the Sunday market for veggggg

Wait how long have you been gone

See you soon pumpkin x

I hate you

Sat 10^th Jan

Cake or Death

[16:37] Hey where’d you go?

Home

Why

Shopping??

Fuck

Chapter Text

Tue 30^th Dec

Phichit skilfully balanced the bag of hamster bedding between his hip and the doorframe as he opened the door, transferring the bulk to a hand dangling leys and bumping the door closed with a free foot. He gracefully dumped his skate bag and college rucksack in a heap and lit up at the sight of a beat-up pair of Nikes, stained and worn but placed neatly on the rack.

He crept forward, hugging the bag of wood shavings roughly the size of his torso close to his frame as he peered round the corner to the living room, on the look out for the man the myth the legend, the new Japanese Nationals silver medallist, unsure if he’d be up to his face in food or passed out over the couch, who knows maybe he even made it as far as bed.

He’s sitting at his desk.

Yuuri was sitting at his desk.

Phichit stared. Maybe he’d missed a day. He had a long nap during his psychology class (that he only took for extra credit really so a few naps in the grand scheme were pretty minor anyway) so maybe it was Wednesday now? That made more sense.

“Hey Phi, nice to see you, why are you just standing behind the couch?” Yuuri did not turn from his laptop.

Phichit’s eyes narrowed. “You’re awake.”

Yuuri turned from the screen to stare unblinking at Phichit before whispering, “How could you tell?”

“Oh my god you’re back! Bestieeeeee!” Phichit casually threw several kilos of hamster bedding across the couch and dashed over to drape himself over the lap of his long suffering flatmate. He felt Yuuri laugh underneath him then tense with a wince and flew back to look at him properly, “Oh my god, are you okay!? I know you weren’t doing jumps- well you did jumps but not quads- but I couldn’t tell how bad things were and I know you planned on downgrading but oh my god Yuuri I honestly don’t know how you’re skating you maniac I still can’t believe you told Ciao Ciao you got jumped but I swear if you opened anything I will tell-”

“Peach!”

“Ah. Sorry.”

Yuuri smiled tiredly, “I’m okay, we downgraded as far as possible without incurring any penalties and prioritized avoiding falls. I’m sore but I’m going to be mostly off the ice the next couple weeks which…” He sighs, “sucks to be honest but… it’s fine I have other stuff I need to...” Brows pinched he rubbed a hand across weary eyes. Phichit couldn’t help but notice the dark bags underneath.

“Congratulations!”

“Hm?” Yuuri’s head quirked to one side, confused. Phichit poked his cheek.

“Your silver medal!” He smiled softly, “Congratulations Yuu.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Okay! You’re awake after a flight, it’s a miracle. That means a celebration meal! What do you want?”

Yuuri glanced back at his screen, seeming torn. Phichit couldn’t help but glance up and saw only streams of numbers detailing various accounts and amounts. Yuuri wasn’t taking any finance or accounting modules this term. Phichit decided to delete that bit of information.

“I don’t really have loads of time tonight.”

“That’s okay, you still need to eat! I can try making ramen again ooooh.”

Yuuri grimaced, “You’re not making ramen.” Phichit pouted, “I do need to eat. We could order pizza.”

Phichit grinned, “We could definitely order pizza Mr silver medallist.”

“No telling Ciao Ciao.”

“Never.”

Yuuri glanced between the limpet still semi attached to his lap and the ever-present glow of the screen, “I need a couple hours on this first.”

“Ugh fiiiiiiiine I’ll do some homework or something you swot.” Phichit rose to his feet on his toes and wandered off to consider some work of his own and coo over the hamster children before dinner. He paused at the doorway, leaning back and crooning, “Yuuuuuuuri.”

“Mm?”

“You need to tell me all about drunken Viktor and the fact he’s confessing his love in Russian over pizza.”

He got to watch a delicious blush spread over Yuuri’s cheeks framing a smile fighting its way through a bitten lip. He frowned minutely as Yuuri seemed to catch himself and his face closed off.

“Sure thing Phi.”

Shouldn’t he sound more pleased?

Thu 1^st Jan

Chris sat not reading the words on the page in front of him. The apartment filling with the fragrant smells of cooking meats and warming wine.

Masumi slid onto the couch, manoeuvring over Chris’s long legs and readjusting the ice pack resting on his hip. He carefully slid the book away and slipped a mug of hot mulled wine in its place, offering a smile and a squeeze of the hand.

 “My parents send new year wishes.” Chris managed a weary smile in response, “Also it has been demanded that we at least show face at the party on Saturday.”

“You just want to flaunt me as your trophy wife,” Chris chuckled.

“Guilty.”

They sit for a while in a more easy silence, listening to revellers on the street, enjoying the heat from the room and sipping their spiced wine.

“Have you messaged Viktor yet?”

Chris sighed, “No. But it’s not like his relationship with his coach is normal. I’m not sure he’d have any idea what to do, this is hardly something he’s had to deal with.”

“Maybe not, but you can at least confide in him as a friend.”

“Maybe,” Masumi watched his partner turn things over in his head. “I know its not Viktor’s fault, but with everything I just…” He ran a hand soothingly over a knee. Chris laughed, “Knowing that idiot he’d probably blame himself or think I was mad at him.”

“Okay, there’s no pressure to talk. Just don’t let this drag on too long.”

“I know.”

“What about Yuuri? Didn’t you say he and Celestino took a while to get things right when he moved to Detroit? Maybe he could give you some advice.”

“Yuuri’s got…a lot going on right now. I really don’t want to pile something small like this onto him right now.”

Masumi smacked Chris’s thigh making him jump to avoid spilling his wine.

He raised a brow as his boyfriend scowled, “Don’t negate what you’re going through, your friends will want to help.”

Chris raised a brow smirking, “Or what?”

He received an eye roll in return, “You’re supposed to be resting your hip you disaster.”

“You started it. I’ll rest here, you can come and join me.”

Masumi was laughing even as he did as was told, the wine had magically been set aside at some point.

The apartment smelt of spice and warmth and rosemary.

Viktor wiped his face with the towel slung around his neck, skin prickling from the cold air even as it flushed with sweat. It was just him and Yakov in the building, the old coach working through some paperwork as was of course customary on new years day, the world’s best skater having nothing better to do and still determined to master a routine not his own.

He hadn’t skated his own short program since Nationals, feeling like he wasn’t able to bring anything new until he could master this unattainable ‘lightness’, rediscover some sort of joy.

‘Your short skate was disjointed’

Well of course it was. Viktor felt disjointed. But he’d felt this way for a couple of years now. Was this the first time someone had noticed?

His phone vibrated and he slipped off a glove to skim through the last couple of messages, heart skipping and sinking all at once. Yuuri’s replies were just as anticipated as ever, and he couldn’t put his finger on what had changed but since Nationals he couldn’t help but feel they were speaking less honestly.

He sighed. It had really only been three weeks, perhaps he was jumping in too quickly. Chris had warned him after all. It’s just that he thought it would be easier to hold back, thought it would be easier to be friends if that was all Yuuri wanted. But he couldn’t work out what Yuuri wanted. Had worked out that he actually wanted much much more. Had worked out too that this really might be more than just a crush. Was worried now, because Yuuri seemed to be pulling back and it could be anything really, maybe he just wasn’t that interested or had only really actually wanted to swap dog photos after all or maybe Viktor had sent 30 drunk messages and accidently declared his love and scared him off.

They had laughed it off and Yuuri had teased him about being hungover and they had still been talking since but something in the forced niceties he was being sent just didn’t sit right. Viktor hoped he hadn’t translated what he’d written, it was very likely he was just busy over the holiday period after all, but he knew if it had been him he absolutely would have translated it.

A harsh, ‘Vitya’ cut through his musings and he glanced up to the coach glaring at him across the room.

“That’s enough for today, get your skates off and get in here. And quit looking like someone’s kicked your poodle unless they’ve actually kicked your poodle.”

“Don’t even suggest something so cruel Yakov.”

But for once he obeyed and obediently slipped into trainers and a comfy grey hoodie. Padding into the office he lowered himself with a sigh into the worn rickety armchair crammed into the corner of the small room. Georgi had rescued the chair from the side of the road several years ago, lamenting over the death trap of wood next to the desk that he’d been swearing would break as soon as he sat down for at least 8 years now (he had grown somewhat taller and heavier since he started that proclamation but the death trap had lived on in spite ever since).

Yakov grabbed a flask from somewhere out of thin air and pulled his own leather desk chair across to join him. Viktor reached to the drawer in the cabinet between them and pulled out two mugs.

The skater and coach sat back and warmed their hands on chipped ceramic.

“Happy New Year Vitya.”

“Happy New Year Yakov.”

The office smelt of spice and dust and leather.

Phichit closed the lid of his laptop with a sigh, the laughter and goodbyes from his sisters and mother still echoing round his head. He stretched and yawned, slipping the laptop to the floor and he burrowed under the blankets on the couch, chasing the warmth and resting his gaze on the ceiling above.

He was still mildly hungover, like a good student naturally would be at 6pm on New Year’s Day, and had various messages from someone he thinks he was talking to the night before.

He hadn’t seen Yuuri all day, or yesterday for that matter. Even though he’d been categorically banned from the rink for a week he seemed to be only spending a scarce few hours holed up in his room per day and then would vanish for hours on end. Phichit suspected the few hours in his room were not, in fact, being used for sleeping so the whole ‘rest and recovery’ was really quite a loose term.

He dragged himself to the kitchen and rustled around for some scraps or a diet approved ready meal. His eye caught on a couple of bottles stored precariously on top of the fridge and smiled, remembering Yuuri’s excitement a couple of months ago when he’d spotted him, fully buying into the winter season of spices and novelty consumables.

One hand still clutching the blanket wrapped around his shoulders he bent to pull out a pan and set it on the stove.

When Yuuri did finally creep in looking like he’d stepped out of a James Bond set or a shady underground deal it was to a flat that smelt of spice and sugar and smoke.

He found his flatmate cocooned on one of the kitchen chairs, eyes set on the laptop screen in front of him, popcorn half gone and the remnants of a burnt ready meal scattered across the table. He smiled, pulled up a chair and shrugged off the snow dusted suit jacket.  

“If you weren’t wearing so many weapons, I’d say I was sad I didn’t get invited to the party.”

Yuuri huffled a laugh, “You’d have been bored stiff, not enough booze at these things.”

Phichit grinned, “That I can fix.”

He stretched, wandering over to the still warm pan and ladling out two mugs covered in crude suggestive phrases, setting them down on the table as Yuuri’s phone started to vibrate. He glanced at the screen, knowing exactly who ‘Catfish’ was likely to be.

“Not going to answer lover boy?” He teased, off put by the flash of guilt that ran across Yuuri’s face.

“Yeah, I will.”

They sit back, thoughts racing out ahead of both of them, warming their hands on ceramic and coating their tongues in sweet, spiced wine.

Sat 10^th Jan

…

…

…

…

“Yeah, great I’ll just retire then, thank you. You can all have fun with me out the way.”

“What? No, that’s not what I meant y-”

“Then what the fuck did you mean?”

“I’m just saying this is too much, you’re burnt out. This isn’t healthy. Or safe.”

“I am trying to keep everyone safe.”

“At the expensive of yourself!”

“So what do I do then?? Tell me!”

“I don’t know! I’m not trying to tell you what to do but this is the first time in the entire three years I’ve known you where I’ve seen you want something outside of these bubbles you’ve created for yourself! Let yourself be selfish for once!”

“Everything I’ve done in the last five years is me being selfish! I left everything to cha-”

“NO YOU DIDN’T! Everything you left is still here! There’s no time of day your phone is off! No competition or personal moment important enough to you that you leave that world behind and look at what it does to you!! I haven’t seen you in days. You look like shit. When was the last time you slept?? Your next competition is in less than a month and you’re still recovering from a gunshot wound. You’re always working Yuuri. There is no ‘off’ for you. There’s no ‘selfish’ and doing what is best for you!”

“EXACTLY!”

“…”

“Exactly. There is no off, Phi. This isn’t healthy, this isn’t safe. You know what? This is never going to be safe. You want me to be selfish? You want me to drag him down into this?”

“That’s his choice Yuuri!”

“NO. What is he to choose?? Be pulled down into a world of fucking cloak and daggers and death hanging over him? His choice? He doesn’t even know who I am! He has a crush on me. Sure. Fine. Viktor Nikiforov the man of my dreams is flirting with me and thinks he likes me and yes, I want more. Okay? But you know what? He thinks I’m a figure skater from Japan. We’re different people, Phi, I don’t know why I even entertained this.”

“You are a figure skater from Japan.”

“Don’t make this a fucking joke Phi.”

“I’m not joking Yuuri! Yes, you’re a big bad scary night-time story! Who cares? You’re Yuuri! You’re a figure skater! Why can’t you also be Viktor’s Boyfriend!?”

“Because he’d take one look at who else I can be and he’d run. And I wouldn’t blame him.”

“Why can’t you give him a chance?”

“Why should I? I can’t tell every boy I have a crush on that I’m third in line to the fucking Yakuza, Phichit!”

“Viktor is not a boy you have a mild crush on, Yuuri! Look me in the eyes right now and tell me all you feel for him is a crush and I’ll never speak about this again.”

“I TOLD YOU IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT I FEEL!”

“OF COURSE IT DOES! STOP MAKING HIS CHOICES FOR HIM!”

“WHO WOULD CHOSE THIS?”

“I DID!”

“…”

“We’re not in love, Yuuri, we’re not going to get married! But you know what? You’re my best friend. I didn’t run. I just can’t imagine someone who loves you like I do, seeing you and wanting to leave. Stop making yourself out to be some kind of monster.”

“Neither of us had a choice Phichit, it wasn’t my choice to let you in, and you needed me. Nothing more.”

“Don’t you dare-”

“What? If I had a choice? If I could choose right now? I’d take away every memory you had of this life and I’d make sure you never stumbled onto it ever again.”

“…what?”

“Don’t stand there and tell me he’d choose me. I don’t want him to choose me. You have no idea what that means.”

“…”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Yuuri…”

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

Chapter Text

Phichit idly traced figures over the ice, leaning into each move to stretch out muscles aching from hours of repetition. His eyes were on the opposite side of the rink as Yuuri ran through his short program, not quite as smooth as the usual delicate dance but still catching several stares from across the ice.

His jaw tensed as Yuuri leapt into a triple toe loop, leaning hard into an edge on landing but gliding safely away and into a spin. Several woops and cheers reached his ears and he turned to see a few of the men’s hockey team watching from the stands. Phichit couldn’t help but smile a little as Jessie started an ‘oi oi oi’ chant, the three boys all spinning their fists as Yuuri began his fancy footwork. Celestino yelled across the rink and they exaggeratedly hid behind their seats.

Phichit hadn’t spoken to Yuuri in two days.

He hadn’t seen him in the flat either, only at practice, and he didn’t know if Yuuri was now avoiding him forever or just utterly determined to work himself into a grave as soon as possible.

‘This is never going to be safe’

Phichit’s jaw clenched. A month today he would be skating his short program at Four Continents, that was what his mind was focused on. He set his eyes on the blades under his feet, speeding through a sequence he’d drilled maybe 40 times today.

That idiot.

Phichit knew that Yuuri threw himself into danger on the regular, hell anyone who’d seen the man train himself to the point of collapse could probably have guessed that self preservation wasn’t no.1 on his priorities, but for all of that he’d never seen such a look of fear on his face as when Phichit had suggested he consider revealing some of his hidden self to Viktor. It made him angry actually, and he knew that his emotions had gotten away from him and he had kept poking and scratching and tearing and that was never the way to get through to Yuuri but he was angry. Because why should Yuuri have to fear becoming close with someone? He couldn’t tell if this was a fear born from within Yuuri’s mind or from the outside world but he was angry because his best friend had told him he didn’t care about his own feelings and couldn’t believe someone else would. Because his best friend had told him he would take away the last 16 months of their lives and the friendship, the closeness, the everything that they had shared. That he wished all of that would never happen. Phichit was angry. Because Yuuri was an idiot.

‘You needed me. Nothing more’

He’d wondered often what things would be like if he’d never learnt the many sides of his flatmate. Wondered if he ever would have found them out if he hadn’t been thrown into the chaos and seen it for himself. Wondered if maybe he had become too accustomed to the knives he knew lived in the back of the couch, the fact the door was apparently capable of withstanding anything up to a small bomb, the sight of blood every so often getting washed down the sink. Wondered if the fact he could joke and laugh about aspects of this uncomfortable world was a sign he’d fallen in a little too far.

Phichit mused over the fact he spent most of his time now in some state of worry about a notorious hitman who seemed incapable of looking after himself. Yuuri really knew how to make life weird.

‘If I could choose right now?’

Yuuri may not have chosen to let him in, but Phichit was stubborn.

Celestino was yelling at him to get off the ice. Huh. It was later than he thought.

He looked around the ice. The hockey team were already starting warmups, their coach yelling drills and the responding grunts, calls and cacophony of noise from a group workout filling the air.

Idly he drifted to the gate, slipping guards on and wincing as the motion of walking highlighted the stress of overworked muscles. Maybe he should have a hot bath. Or an ice bath. One of those.

He didn’t usually stay so late after his own session and couldn’t help his mind flicking back to the week before Skate America when he’d been determinedly nailing down the last details of his choreography before having to unveil it on the international stage. Yuuri had taken to meeting him with a hot drink as he came off, joining him for a cooldown workout and then disappearing off to cram for midterms throughout the night.

His flatmate had clearly left the rink some time before without Phichit noticing. He didn’t like this. This didn’t feel right. He missed his friend.

“Phichit,” a voice called out as he made to disappear.

“Ciao Ciao?”

Celestino spent a moment appraising his student, “Everything okay?”

Phichit smiled, “Everything’s fine coach.” It didn’t sound terribly convincing even to Phichit.

“Did you have a fight with Yuuri?”

Phichit winced. Celestino sighed.

“Is this going to affect your training? Do I need to change your ice time?”

Phichit’s eyes grew wide, “No! Did…” He swallowed, suddenly nervous, “Did Yuuri ask to change?”

“No. He said, ‘Everything’s fine coach’.” Phichit laughed without meaning to, of course he did. “Okay, get home and sort this mess out then. I can’t have my two best skaters falling out and making each other miserable. You both need to work hard before you fly out in two weeks.”

“Um…three weeks coach?”

“Ah. Sí. Three weeks.”

“Catch you later Ciao Ciao.”

“Ciao Ciao Phichit.”

Phichit thought to himself, as he slipped on his running trainers, that it would be easier to sort out this mess if Yuuri was willing to speak to him, or even willing to come home. His eyes prickled in the cold air as he stepped out, swallowing the frustrated lump sticking in the back of his throat he convinced his legs to kick off for the run home.

“You…made ramen.”

“I made spicy ramen.”

“You made spicy ramen?” Phichit’s voice was quiet and lost.

Yuuri finally turned from the stove letting him see floppy brown hair over tired, scared eyes, “I’m so sorry Phichit.”

Phichit was surprised to still feel a lick of anger at seeing Yuuri’s face, but as his voice cracks over the repeated ‘I’m so sorry Phichit’ he has to turn away to hold onto it.

“I’m really angry at you you know.”

He’s still wearing his skate bag over his shoulder, still wearing his muddy shoes, which on any other day Yuuri would be yelling at him for, still slightly breathless from the run and now just standing staring at the flatmate he’s barely seen in a month.

“Do you…want some ramen?”

Phichit stared. Yuuri shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“Obviously I want spicy ramen.”

Yuuri clenched his fists, nodded and turned to serve two big, heaped bowls. Phichit could see his shoulders sag in what he guessed was relief (? maybe?) as soon as his back was turned.

“Take your shoes off then you heathen.”

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him, even if it did sound strangled.

Next thing he’s sitting at their kitchen table with a steaming bowl of rich red broth warming his face. The smell is making his stomach twist in hunger but there’s still something heavy in the way. This is a treat, Yuuri cooking like this. Proper ramen ramen, you know?

Yuuri was sat twisting chopsticks between long fingers, he looked like he hadn’t slept since they’d spoken last which honestly might be true.

“Do you…? Yuuri do you…?” Yuuri looked up to meet his eyes. Phichit took a deep breath, “Yuuri if you don’t want us to be friends anymore, if you don’t want me in your life, don’t stay because you think you’re protecting me.” Yuuri was frozen. Wide eyed, he looked ready to cry.

He said he was angry but maybe he was scared. It didn’t seem to be anger stealing his breath away anymore.

‘I’d take away every memory you had of this life and I’d make sure you never stumbled onto it ever again’

Phichit couldn’t manage more than a whisper, “Do you want me in your life?”

“YES.” Phichit blinked. Yuuri’s eyes were streaming, big tears bubbling and spilling over his face in messy drops. He buried his face in his hands, “Yes. Phichit, I’m sorry. I know I said a lot. But please stay.” It took a moment for the sobs to turn into breaths, “Look, if somehow you hadn’t found out about all of this, I don’t know if I could have told you at this point. I can’t say for sure that I ever would. If I could protect you from this forever, I’d still choose that.”

“It’s not just your life though.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you’d take away every memory I had,” Yuuri flinched, “I get that you have this whole part of yourself that you keep hidden away from us when you skate, and I get that you try to keep us safe from all…that but… Yuuri, stop trying to dictate my life. If you actually want us to be friends then can’t you let me choose for myself what life I want?”

“Oh.” Yuuri sniffed loudly, Phichit rocked back on his chair, picked up and threw a box of tissues at him. Yuuri laughed through the tears still spilling out and managed to mumble around a tissue, “I still want to be friends Phi, if you do. If you can forgive me.”

Phichit sighed, “Of course I do idiot.” There was a really rather impressive growl from his stomach. Yuuri grinned up at him. “The food’s getting cold.”

The silence in the kitchen was lighter now, buoyed up by the occasional sniff and Phichit’s happy sighs as the heat hit the back of his throat and warmed his tongue. He split the egg down the middle and watched the runny yolk mix into the broth and paused, biting his lip, “Are you still talking to Viktor?”

Yuuri paused, “I kind of…ignored everything after our…fight. I’m going to though, I owe him an apology.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Yuuri set down his chopsticks and closed his eyes. “What you feel matters Yuuri.”

“I know.” Phichit flinched back, “Sorry. Sorry, I’m trying Phi. I’ve never had someone know so much about me outside of family and you know, work family.” He felt his chest twist at Yuuri’s bitter laugh, “I’m not used to talking like this with you and you’ve known for over a year. I can’t just tell him but,” he watched closely now as Yuuri inhaled deeply and contemplated the ceiling, “…I want to try.” Phichit tried very hard not to squeal. “Not yet, but I want to give him a chance and I want it to work if that’s something that’s possible or if he… if… I want to give him the choice. If we get there. I just…don’t know if I know how to get there.”

“Oh Yuuri…”

“Thank you.”

Phichit blinked, “What?”

“For yelling at me. I needed it. I’ve been a shit friend.”

“I did yell quite a lot.”

“I deserved it.”

“Well I’m sorry too. I’m still kinda mad but like, love you bro.”

“Oh wait.” Yuuri blinked.

“What?”

“I got you a sorry present.”

“A…sorry present?”

“An…apology gift?”

“Who calls it a sorry present? Also if you bought me another hamster we’re going to need to go shopping for a bigger cage.”

“Okay Chris bought the last one and that was a thank you present I believe. Anyway no, fancy a trip to Sweden?”

Phichit narrowed his eyes, opening and closing his mouth several times, “Sorry what?”

“Um, I bought us tickets to Europeans in Sweden. As a sorry. I really fucked up and I wanted to do something nice.”

“You bought me a flight to Sweden.”

“And a ticket to Europeans, yes.”

“Well fuck.  Oh my god. I graciously accept your apology. What the hell? Yell at me more often.” Yuuri smiled cautiously at him, “Wait how much did that cost?!”

“Ahhh don’t worry about it.”

Phichit raised a brow, suspicious, “I forget you like, own businesses and stuff.”

“I also make like $100K per hit.”

Phichit choked on his noodles, “WHAT??” Yuuri grinned. “Maybe I should become a hitman… I’d be sorted.”

“Peach, you’re on a scholarship and you don’t pay rent.”

“I could like, buy a zoo or something.” Actually that was a great idea. Maybe a petting zoo. Phichit’s eyes glazed over, “Maybe I could train the animals to do the hits.”

“You’re not starting an animal mafia Peach.”

Phichit slurped up some noodles, “It would be kinda cool though. Wait how the hell are we going to go to Europeans? It’s in like two weeks! Ciao Ciao’s gonna kill us.”

“I hoped you’d say yes and already cleared it with him. I’ve booked us ice time at another rink near the hotel while we’re there and we’ll fly to Seoul and meet Ciao Ciao for 4Cs.”

His eyes narrowed, “Yuuri, did you threaten Ciao Ciao?”

“No Phichit, I did not threaten our coach. I told him how beneficial it would be for us to see our competitors outside of the stress of our own competition for once and emphasised how much work the two of us had put into the year and how that was clearly putting a stress on us seeing as we’d taken it out on each other, isn’t that right?”

Damn. Yuuri’s face wouldn’t melt butter but he’d for sure drown you in it. Sneaky little shit.

“How the hell does he think you can afford all of this?”

“I think he thinks I’m a trust fund kid or something.”

“Huh. And uh…I’m not going to end up in a shootout or anything? We’re not going to like, I don’t know, interrupt any kidnappings, are we?”

Yuuri laughed, “No Phichit, I have some unrelated business that I’ll take the chance to see to while we’re there but it involves zero skater plots. I’m very friendly with Sweden at the moment, so Stockholm should be safe. Plus the Russian’s are in charge of Europeans.”

“I want you to know it is not normal to be ‘friendly’ with a country, Yuuri, but I’m not surprised you manage it.”

“I just thought you’d like to go to. I didn’t lie to Celestino. And I’ve never been to Europeans before it’ll be fun!” Ah yes. Somehow he managed to forget every so often just how much of a skating nerd Yuuri actually was. Even though he was, you know, one of the top skaters in the world he was still a fanboy at heart.

“Mmhm you sure you don’t just want to see Viktor?”

Yuuri blushed. Phichit was delighted. Yuuri picked up his bowl to slurp at the broth, mumbling around a mouthful, “I might also want to see Viktor.”

“SORRY? WHAT WAS THAT I DIDN’T HEAR YOU?”

“Fuck off Phi.”

There are still the remnants of the fight somewhere between the two, but it's like the last few mounds of snow after a thaw. The weather has already warmed so you forget about the piles of white unless they catch your eye. They’ll go soon on their own, they just look a bit messy for now.

Phichit felt lighter than he had in weeks as they pottered around washing up and laughing and settling down to watch a film. He was even allowed put on The King and The Skater.

Yuuri still looked dead on his feet. The world still existed outside. But together they composed several texts to Viktor and then curled up under blankets with a bottle of wine.

If Yuuri fell asleep half an hour in then Phichit wouldn’t mind. If his head rested on Phichit’s shoulder then he would just pull up the blanket and lean into his side, maybe turn the sound down. If Phichit found at some point there were tears managing to escape, then he would just let his friend’s steady breath calm him down, let the familiar songs smooth his mind, let the fears run away into the night, out of sight, out of mind.

And if he realised as soon as he stood up to go bed that he’d forgotten to either heat or ice his muscles then maybe it had been worth it, even if he needed bodily dragged out of bed the next morning.

Chapter Text

Viktor sat catching his breath, gulping water and wincing at the cold assault on his teeth. Georgi stumbled past clutching the caffeine lifeforce in his hands and summoning the effort for a glare.

“You’re a psychopath,” was hissed in his face.

Viktor pouted, “You’re not supposed to be drinking coffee Gosha.”

“It’s 6am why are you already warmed up?”

“It’s 6:30.”

“Psychopath.”

“POPVICH THAT HAD BETTER NOT BE COFFEE IN THAT CUP.”

“Shit. Later.”

Viktor snorted as Georgi vanished to the locker rooms leaving nothing but skates and the smell of his illegal rink side java. He gave an overly cheery wave to the growling Yakov visible through the office window, noting the steam leaking out from his head.

His gaze dropped back to the phone in hand, mind dancing and skittering and spiking.

Yuuri Katsuki <3

Hey Viktor [06:03]

He felt warmer than he had in days. Yes, he’d just spent an hour stretching and conditioning but Yuuri’s texts seemed much more effective in breaking through the numbing haze. He was pretty far gone.

Viktor hadn’t skated his own short program since nationals. Yuuri’s routine, he could now execute perfectly. Every stupidly quick step, every choreographic flair, every backloaded quad. He wasn’t satisfied though. He’d taken it apart and built it back up and hadn’t realised that in doing so he’d done the very thing he’d been missing for the last few years. He’d gotten stronger.

The thing is, inspiration wasn’t this magical state of happiness and contentment that filled his days on and off the ice, that was never how it had been, but it had been so long since he had felt inspiration that he’d forgotten what it did feel like. It felt like being able to get out of bed at 5am. It felt like pouring over a sequence as your feet traced through figures and imagining different combinations, variations on a story, pouring over what to try, how to try, wanting to try. So without noticing, through the effort and the work and the hours, inspiration had started to creep in.

Viktor still felt cold, in the emptiness of the rink. He still felt lonely, with only the fragile connection on his phone making him think. He still felt frightened, by the things hiding in the shadows made of ink. But he’d gotten stronger, even as his heart teetered over the brink.

He swirled water round his mouth, relishing the chill coursing down his throat.

A smile was curling over lips uncontrolled.

Yuuri Katsuki <3

Hey Viktor [06:03]

I’m sorry I ignored you for the last few days

And sorry I was being shit before that

You didn’t do anything wrong I just had a rough few weeks and you were being so understanding and lovely and I couldn’t deal with it

If I ever stop replying I’m probably hiding from the world and ignoring everyone

I’m trying to not do that so much

*close up of a small poodle’s face giving ‘puppy eyes’ to the camera*

Vicchan would like to ask for forgiveness for his idiot of a dad

I hope you’re having a good day <3 x

‘Rough few weeks’ had concern ticking through his brain but ‘lovely’ and ‘sorry’ and the love heart at the end had happiness curling deep inside. Viktor was in fact, having a very good day indeed.

‘you were being so understanding and lovely and I couldn’t deal with it’

Something was ringing in the back of Viktor’s head. An impression of a memory that seemed to stand out from the rest. Why was that?

Viktor had fallen on the ice yesterday. He had been curious if he could move the quads in his free program to the end like Yuuri’s programs suggested he was gearing up for. Turns out, he could not. So in the shock of a fall, winded from the skate and adrenaline and pain shooting up through the ice, he’d thought for a moment he was in a dream or a warehouse or somewhere cold.

Then he’d felt a hand on his shoulder. And he hadn’t expected the jolt of fear that had ricocheted from the touch. Yuri hadn’t expected him to flinch and pull away if the look on his face was anything to go by. Then he’d gone and freaked out Yakov by yelling that Viktor must have hit his head or something and Viktor had to withstand Yakov’s concerned yelling as he propped himself up and skated away to prove his stellar health and lack of injury.

Yuri gave him weird looks the rest of the day.

Viktor cooed at him that he really did care which was totally worth it to see the sparks fly out of his mouth.

‘No noise. We are friends’

Viktor had never quite been able to keep the strangely kind shadow locked away in his head.

‘You are safe’

He longed for a name, for a face, for a something, someone to thank, to remember, to know.

He wanted to know how someone wrapped up in the darkness of a world like that could have such warm hands, such a soft voice, such a careful, gentle manner.

He remembered blinking through tears of relief and exhaustion and panic and feeling like the vibrations of the van underneath him might be strong enough to break him. He remembered a hand, hovering in front, palm up. The only visible skin that suggested humanity underneath this stealthy shadow.

The ride back to Chicago wasn’t all clear in his mind. But he’d remembered that hand. He remembered reaching for it and feeling warmth and then he was given water and spoken to and his head was wrapped and everything was fuzzy and cloudy and warped.

Talking to Yuuri was natural and easy and Viktor wanted. Then Viktor scared him off because natural Viktor was too much too fast Viktor and Yuuri was quieter and Viktor felt colder and then Yuuri just stopped talking. And Viktor wasn’t used to having someone he wanted to keep hold of so he hadn’t tried. Or hadn’t known how to try. So he sent a few more messages the next day and when those were ignored, he bit his lip and held back his heart and thought maybe I should give him space, maybe I should leave him alone, maybe his patience has run out and I’m taking up his time, maybe I’m too much.

‘Be careful with him’

‘I didn’t say he didn’t want anything’

‘Work out what you both want’

‘you were being so understanding and lovely and I couldn’t deal with it’

Viktor wanted everything and anything. He’d fallen too fast too hard and spent far too many minutes of far too many days thinking of Yuuri. His mind had spiralled a little the last few days it was true, but he was realising it wasn’t the freefall he’d come to expect. Was feeling a little firmer underfoot than the marsh his mind often kept.

He reread the stream of texts. Breathed in and let himself believe that actually, Yuuri might want something too. Funny, mean, bully Yuuri was also sexy, confident, dancer Yuuri could maybe also be shy, confused, overwhelmed Yuuri. Perhaps Viktor could want. Perhaps he could hold out his hand and, when Yuuri felt ready, perhaps he’d reach back.

For a moment he imagined Yuuri in place of the faceless man, smiling softly as he offered a hand through Viktor’s tears, waiting for him to initiate touch.

Viktor flinched. He prayed Yuuri would never be dragged into something that.

Little Yuri burst through the doors to the rink and caught him instantly in a glare.

“OLD MAN. SHOW ME KATSUCKY’S STEPS AGAIN. I’M GETTING THEM TODAY.”

Viktor grinned.

“Sure thing Yurio. Let me just run through my own routines first.”

Days pass and Yuuri tries to send the messages he wants to, even as the learned warnings scream out from the back of his head.

Days pass and Phichit sees his flatmate more, if not at home then at the rink where they can laugh and joke and sweat.

Days pass and Celestino watches like a hawk as his skaters fall back to their usual chaos, as Yuuri’s odd grace returns and as Phichit works harder, longer. As that routine of Yuuri’s becomes like a vacuum, and he can see where he wants to jump higher, skate faster, push harder.

Days pass and Georgi finds the rink more alive with little Yura screaming his success as his feet move faster and beautifully, wonderfully in time, Viktor laughing as Yakov screams at them to skate their own routines for once. As his friend seems to return and his shadows grow shorter.

Days pass and Masumi watches as some shadows grow longer, he works later and feels the breath heavy in his chest as Chris skates longer.

The ground was snowy in St Petersburg, Detroit and Zurich. January was cold.

Days pass.

Hahahaha I think you’re right

Brb going to pass out in the showers

I think Ciao Ciao is actually trying to kill me in revenge for my “secret jump training”

Yakov would murder me in cold blood if I ever dared

~ Maybe if I tell him how bad Celestino has it he’ll lay off his complaints for a while

*I’ll* murder you in cold blood don’t you dare

Yuuri D:

You WISH

I’ll eat the whole thing out of spite

I’m going to tell Makka you’re bullying me again

Don’t bring the children into this

Really???

Ahhh nooo that’s embarrassing

Pleeeeease

*selfie of a pouting face lying in bed framed by floppy silver hair*

Ugh

Fine

Yuuri?

You okay?

Ah idk if you’re busy but I’ll give you some space

Sorry

Thank you

I’ll text you soon x

<3

*selfie of a flushed face in front of an empty rink*

Night Viktor x

*photo of bruised feet, wrapped and blistered next to the bottom of a row of lockers*

Oh my GOD

Gross

:)

Rude

*photo of wrapped, blistered feet propped up on a sofa, ice pack on a new blooming bruise*

And you called me gross

hehe

I’m showing Yurio

Viktor no

I need to prove you’re human he almost broke his neck yesterday doing your free

Wait what

Go to SLEEP you idiot

😭😭😭

How can I slumber when you’re so cruel to me

I need tucked in

Where’s my goodnights kiss

I want a lullaby

And instead I get ABUSE

Oh for fucks sake

You mean it?

Of course! 🥰😊

But Yuuuuuri

No

:((((

No

I wish you were coming to euros

Don’t worry

This way you get to take gold :)

Wow

I mean

?

Nm

2 months till worlds

2 months too looooooong

So dramatic

:( I want to see you

Oh

“Hey Yuuri?”

“Mm.”

“Have you told Viktor you’re coming to Euros?”

Phichit watched a shy, sly smile creep over the disaster’s face. Of course he hadn’t. Always had to be so dramatic.

“It didn’t come up.”

Phichit snorted, sweeping up the last of his luggage and heaving it into the waiting taxi.

“Suuuuure. Let’s go lover boy!” Phichit struck a pose taking one last pre-trip selfie and yelping as Yuuri’s bag accidently clipped the back of his head.

“Woops.”

The yellow light from several lamps washed the hotel room in a warm glow against the early Swedish night.

Chris towelled off his hair and reached for the various creams by the mirror, “No, I’ve still got a couple of hours till I meet Viktor for dinner.” He sighed, “It’s honestly just a relief he’s being sociable again, I don’t want to cancel. I can just sleep late tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry I’m not there with you, love.”

“I’m working, so are you. I don’t expect you to fly to every international competition.”

“Still.”

“I know. How was your meeting anyway?”

Masumi laughter crackled over the line, describing the boredom of another monthly review and absolute tyranny of Dan the pen tapper who always brought a smell of milk and mint into the conference room which wasn’t the worst but was decidedly weird.

Chris’s phone toned and interrupted Masumi wistful ramblings wishing he could be travelling with his partner rather than staying late in a lonely office.

“Was that Viktor?”

Chris leaned over, scrunching product into his hair and frowning, “No. Phichit.”

“Hamster Phichit?”

Chris couldn’t help but grin, “Yes, hamster Phichit. ‘Surprise delivery for you in room 817’…what?”

“Hmm maybe he sent something with his coach for you?”

Chris frowned, “I didn’t think Celestino had any European skaters…”

“Well go get your surprise then.”

“I’m not wearing any clothes.”

“We’ve been on the phone for half an hour, how are you still not dressed?”

“Why would I want to put on clothes while I’m talking to you?”

Masumi’s laughed echoed over the dressing table, “I’d better hang up then or you’ll never be ready for dinner.”

Chris pouted, unseen, “You’re no fun when you’re at work.”

“I know better than to encourage you if I’m actually going to do any work. I’ve got another client meeting soon, I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“I’ll message once practice is done.”

“Let me know what your surprise is, if he’s bought a cat or something we’re sending it back.”

“I’ll forward it directly to the flat ~ don’t worry my love. ~ ”

“You will not.”

“Don’t work too late.”

“Have fun, love you.”

“I’ll flirt with some cute boys for you.”

Masumi’s laughter hung with him as he pottered and dressed and groomed, lightening the room a little more.

Chris came to a stop outside room 817, mildly apprehensive.

He’d barely knocked before the door was flung open by…

“SURPRISE!”

Huh. Phichit Chulanont.

“Hey Chris.”

And Katsuki Yuuri?

He blinked.

Phichit was hanging off the doorframe grinning while someway behind on the floor knelt Yuuri rooting through some luggage.

“What the fuck are you doing in Sweden?”

“Yuuri and I fell out and then he felt really bad so he bought me a ticket to Europeans! We get to see you guys skate!”

“Peach…you don’t need to tell people that.” came a weak voice from the floor.

“And what is Yuuri doing in Sweden?”

Phichit laughed, “Oh don’t worry about that, Yuuri’s here for a booty call.” A bar of soap hit the back of his head. “Ow. Wanna help us surprise Viktor?”

Chris blinked. Phichit was really doing his bit for operation get Viktor and Yuuri together but Yuuri was apparently making incredible headway on his own if he had flown to another continent two weeks before his next competition. And he denied they were dating the little shit.

He leaned in close and hissed, “This isn’t like, I don’t know, another sketchy competition something that’s going to end in kidnapping is it?”

Phichit laughed and clapped his shoulder, “Let’s hope not! Yuuri promised me sightseeing and I’m determined to get him on at least one date!”

“I’m getting dinner with Viktor, why don’t I call and arrange an extra two seats?”

Phichit’s grin turned sharp, “It’s a pleasure doing business with you Giacometti.”

Chris tried to smirk but felt that leftover worry bubble up once more, “You’re sure it’s safe? Don’t get me wrong it is wonderful to see you both but I can’t help but be mildly concerned by another ‘surprise Yuuri’.”

The grin softened, “I understand, I asked the same thing. Just think, if anything does happen then you want Yuuri here!”

“I guess that’s true.”

“Here check this out. Yuuri?”

“Mm?”

“How many knives you do have on you right now?”

“Three. Why?” Yuuri looked up to see Phichit and Chris staring blankly at him. He rolled his eyes, “Fine, Four. Why?”

Chris felt Phichit pat his back as he choaked. His eyes were skimming over Yuuri’s figure, covered in skinny jeans and a loose knit jumper.

“Where?”

Yuuri winked. Hot damn was he blushing? Get a hold of yourself Chris.

“Phichit, did you do Yuuri’s makeup?”

The look on Phichit’s face was downright dangerous, “Of course, my boy’s not here to play around.”

Chris pushed the ugly ice block of fear down under the water and breathed. It was okay. His friends were here to watch them skate. They were going out for dinner. Yuuri apparently had several knives on his person at all times. That was just how life worked now.

He winked at Yuuri, “Viktor isn’t going to know what hit him.”

He watched the resulting blush with satisfaction. This should be excellent entertainment.

Mari lit her third cigarette of the night. Yuuri owed her like three favours, or at least two barrels of that crazy French wine, something at least.

She breathed in deeply, eyes flicking up to acknowledge her mother and father padding out and waving as they vanished from the doorframe.

Exhale.

Two piles of documents lay in front of her. One detailing numbers and accounts and figures high enough to make your head spin. One detailing names and associates and dead ends. Both frustrating. Both incriminating.

Three slips with offers.

‘$1M VN _ detain io3threat’

‘$0.5M Ay.md _ detain io3threat _ OR $0.2 SALE’

‘$2M disrupt F/M Fin _ R.K ok’

The phone on the table crackled with the storm outside, wind lashing up from the sea around Hasetsu.

“Frustratingly the money trails are dead because nothing’s lasted long enough for anything to change hands. As usual your dai-san is incredibly efficient and his new friends are proving just as powerful as we were hoping. Obviously that’s good but it’s making this harder.”

“So we’re waiting for someone to slip past? Not good enough. Sochi was a slip and it ended in a bloodbath.”

The cigarette glowed red.

“I agree. We’re better chasing the other route. Those invoices aren’t getting passed through any of the usual channels.”

Smoke curled over the papers.

“Pass everything you have to the Drill Sergeant.”

“Hai.”

“Danke.”

“Bitte.”

Mari pocketed the phone, stubbing out the shrinking cigarette and raising a brow at the small fluffy body curling in closer to her leg.

“Don’t get too comfy Vicchan, you need a walk before bed.”

The ground was wet and the sky was dark as it rained in Stockholm. January was cold but coming to an end.

Chapter Text

Viktor was late.

He had in fairness, only been in the country for about an hour and a half. But see he’d felt all gross from the plane and then his hair had fallen out with the dryer and basically, he had only realised the time when Chris was phoning him and then see he was already 15 minutes late at that point. If he felt a lick of guilt at the relief in Chris’s tone, well he’d pushed it down with an apology and a laugh and a promise.

So he decided that was good enough and threw on an elegant overcoat to hide from the weather. And really he would have only been 20 minutes late except he’d not paid attention on the way up to the rooms and ended up disappearing down an unfurnished staircase into some kitchens and had to bother some poor Swedish kitchen porter to lead him back to the main hotel except it had turned out that she and the sui chef were actually fans and oh yes of course I can take a photo thank you yes I’ll do my best that way? perfect thank you.

At least he was only half an hour late. He’d definitely been worse. Chris was a good friend.

He stood checking his phone, working out time differences and wondering why his last few messages had gone unanswered. Practice? Or class maybe?

The elevator opened and he walked through to the bar where his friend was most likely getting started.

Viktor smiled. Seems like Chris was already making friends, sitting at the bar chatting animatedly with the bartender and a dark haired man that seemed oddly familiar.

Viktor frowned as the man tilted his head back in laugher. Was that…Phichit Chulanont? The Thai skater? At Europeans? Viktor remembered another skating competition where Phichit featured and felt a small lick of fear curl up in his belly.

Chris turned to the maybe Phichit and caught eyes with Viktor, breaking into a grin. Phichit turned as well and seemed to light up without really registering Viktor.

Viktor went to speak when a voice appeared like a breath in his ear.

“Hello Viktor.”

Viktor blinked and breathed in sharply. A shiver ran up his spine and loosened the knot in his belly. He spun, eyes widening at a shy smile, a soft gaze looking up through glasses, a tilted head.

“Yuuri…” he breathed out.

Yuuri was here. In Sweden. Where he wasn’t even skating.

The smile became teasing, “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“Hello…hi. Yuuri. You’re here.”

“Surprise.”

Viktor was surprised. Viktor was very surprised.

“Yuuri!!” He darted forward and pulled him into a hug. If he imagined possibly sweeping him off his feet and passionately kissing him in front of the whole bar then he was actually being very restrained thank you, Yuuri probably wouldn’t like that. Or maybe he would. Maybe…

Yuuri huffed out a laugh and he felt his heart flip and his face heat and everything happily click as those delightful arms hugged him back.

He pulled back with a pout, “Yuuuuuuuri.”

“Mm?” That teasing eyebrow was making him shiver. Viktor hadn’t thought that he’d forgotten how mesmerising Yuuri was but somehow he was lost and relearning all over again.

“I can’t believe you’re here! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming! I told you how much I wanted to see you! What are you doing here?” Was he grinning too much? No he was pouting, definitely pouting, yes he was.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Yuuri bit his lip as if he was nervous which was ridiculous. “Phichit and I just came to watch Europeans.”

Viktor melted. He looked so cute. Yuuri wanted to surprise him. He and Phichit were here for Europeans. Amazing. Wonderful. Yuuri wanted to surprise him.

“Phichit, dear, stop hitting me.”

Viktor turned to see a rather exasperated but smiling Chris with a Phichit hanging off one arm repeatedly hitting his shoulder.

“But they’re so cute!”

“Well,” Chris smirked, “Do we all get greeted like that or is Yuuri just special?”

Viktor laughed and swept over to lift Chris into a spinning hug, whispering in his ear as he set him down, “Chris help. I think I’m dreaming and I don’t want to wake up.”

“No need mon chéri. I can’t believe you’re matched for dramatic surprises.”

Viktor laughed and turned to Phichit, realising that he’d still never actually managed to meet or have a conversation with the man he’d heard so much about.

“Viktor! Lovely to see you again.”

Viktor paused. Chris’s smile faltered for just a moment.

“Ah of course! Great to see you Phichit.”

Viktor spent a night drinking with Phichit in Chicago.

He glanced to Yuuri standing between them, an easy smile on his face as he watched them talk. Once more wondering if Yuuri had any idea what sort of connections his flatmate kept.

“Dinner?” suggested Chris.

Viktor beamed.

Stockholm, he decided, was an excellent city. He found himself enjoying the sound of the rain.

The restaurant was warm, fogged up windows from conversation and laughter blocking out the cold night. Their booth, tucked into an alcove, hiding from prying eyes and letting light bounce off of red brick to tone glassware and soften features.

Yuuri watched as Viktor smiled widely at their server, sending them off blushing with ease. The blush spread to him as Viktor turned, smile changing somehow and eyes shining in the low light. It was all too much and not nearly enough. He wanted to run out the door. Wanted to grab hold and never let go.

“Yuuri? Are you listening?”

Yuuri blinked. Viktor’s smile was teasing. Chris was grinning. He absolutely did not want to look at whatever face Phichit was pulling.

“Oh. No. Sorry.”

“Something distracting you?”

“Ah… no. I mean…”

Viktor laughed.

“Chris how are the cats?” If in doubt, deflect.

Chris gave him a knowing look but obligingly directed the conversation away, letting Yuuri return to regular functions by the time the server returned and began to pour out wine for the table. Phichit laughed as Viktor described Makkachin’s latest grievance with a pair of Viktor’s gloves and nudged his glass forward to be filled.

“One glass Phi.”

Phichit pouted, “But Yuuri we’re on holiday.”

“One glass.”

Chris and Viktor laughed at his plight, “How on earth did you manage convince Celestino to let to take a holiday mid season anyway?”

Yuuri raised a brow, “Phichit’s lying we’re not on holiday, we’ve just relocated training here. That is why we’re only having one glass, isn’t that right?”

“Ah. You’ve booked a rink nearby?”

“Yuuri, Ciao Ciao will never know if we take a day off for some fun,” Phichit is ignored.

“Yeah, there’s one just half an hour from the hotel that’s giving us the mornings.”

“Yuuuuuri the short program isn’t for two days, we can take tomorrow off can’t we?” Once again, Phichit is ignored.

“Wow. I’m impressed you managed to get somewhere to rent so much time privately while Euro’s is on.”

“Ah well it’s a friend of a friend who owns the rink so they pulled some strings.”

Phichit is draped over Yuuri, “Yuuuu-chan! Why are you bullying meeeee?”

Yuuri missed Chris’s amused glance at Viktor, catching the blush dusting his face as Yuuri fielded the hands and face trying to attach themselves to the unamused skater. He also missed Phichit’s wink to Chris as said Yuuri sent a withering look to the Viktor now giggling at the ridiculous display.

“Peach, we will spend the whole day cross training if you don’t get off.”

“Yuuri no! You promised me sightseeing!”

“I promise to make you run to the rink in the morning.”

“Katsuki Yuuri you promised to be NICE to me while we were here.”

“Did I? That doesn’t sound like me?”

“Yuuuuuuuuriiiiiiii.”

Viktor laughed loudly at the chaotic duo. Yuuri couldn’t help but watch as his throat tilted back and a slender hand came to cover the sound from his mouth. Chris slyly took a few photos. Viktor looked down and smiled at him and Yuuri felt his chest tighten and something resembling panic start to curl in his belly. This was too good. He shouldn’t.

“Yuuuuri. It’s nice to see it’s not just me you bully.”

“I…what?” The panic switched for confusion.

“YES,” Phichit exclaimed. “Thank you! No one believes me when I tell them how mean he is!”

“Yuuri!” Chris exclaimed, reaching across the table to grab desperately at his hands and grinning, “What’s Viktor’s nickname?”

“My nickname? Wait, Chris no!”

“Yuuri pleeeeease tell me you roasted him. Your phone contacts are my favourite thing.”

Yuuri blinked, looking down at the hands curled around his palm and smiling slyly, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Phichit giggled.

“Yuuri. You haven’t named me something cruel, have you?” Viktor was looking so earnestly at him, but a smile was curling at his lip and Chris was gleeful and Phichit was trying to keep himself together. This was better than he should hope for but they were all so happy so maybe he could relax. Maybe he could allow this.

Maybe he could try.

He looked Viktor dead in his eyes, solemnly, and then entirely deadpan said, “Catfish from the banquet.”

“Yuuuuuuuriiiiii.” Viktor lay down defeated over the table, narrowly missing knocking over his glass of wine.

Chris cackled, standing to gracefully raise Yuuri’s hand to his lips before ruffling Viktor’s hair with a satisfied, “Told you.”

Phichit silently raised his glass for Yuuri to cheers with, both of them smirking into their glasses as they took a sip.

Viktor raised his head slightly to give a weak glare, “Yurio refuses to call you anything apart from Katsuky or Idiot 2.”

Phichit choked on his wine.

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. “And who,” he gleefully noted the regret flash onto Viktor’s face, “Is Idiot 1?”

Viktor lay his head back to the table. “I am Idiot 1,” was somewhat mumbled into the wood.

“This is the best trip ever.”

When a confused server returned to the table carrying several appetisers it was to a wheezing Chris and Phichit, a groaning Viktor, and Yuuri watching with something like candlelight or mirth dancing in his eyes.

“So what are your plans for tomorrow?”

“Sightseeing!” Phichit paused in his artful mini shoot of the restaurant scenery to cheer gleefully.

“Training.” Yuuri supplied deadpan without missing a beat. Viktor had to bite his lip so as not to laugh at the look of devastation on Phichit’s face.

“Yuuri you promised…!”

Yuuri’s face twitched.

“Training. Then sightseeing after lunch.”

Phichit did an odd shimmy victory dance and neither Chris nor Viktor managed to hold in the resulting laugh.

“Great, I have dinner plans though so we’ll need to be back at the hotel for seven.”

Yuuri looked confused.

“You…have plans?”

Phichit was cruel, Viktor decided. This was unforgivable.

“Yeah, remember Sisi and Ruairidh? From Skate Canada.”

“I wasn’t at Skate Canada why would I…”

“Yes, I know but I told you about them. Ah I thought I’d mentioned it. You’d be welcome but I didn’t think it’d be your thing. Sorry I didn’t mean to leave you on your own…”

Yuuri had a confused sort of furrow to his brow like Phichit had just given him an instruction booklet in a language he hadn’t heard of. Phichit slung an arm around his shoulders, “Oh no! Now I feel bad. This was supposed to be a holiday for the two of us…”

He seemed to ignore the mumbled ‘not a holiday’ from under his arm.

Phichit was looking at him.

Phichit was raising his brows.

Chris tried to choke back a laugh.

Why was Chris laughing?

Phichit was staring at him.

“Ah but Yuuri you might get lost by yourself! It’s not safe to wander strange cities you don’t know ~ ”

“Phichit I will not get lost. I am the one who actually knows where we are right now.”

“Viktor is hopeless at new cities!” Chris just about shouted. “He gets lost in St Petersburg.”

“Chris!” Viktor gasped. Betrayal of the highest order. By his own supposed friend.

“Phichit!” Yuuri was blushing. Phichit had abandoned Yuuri and now was teasing Yuuri and Chris had decided for no good reason to jump on the train and embarrass Viktor. He bet Yuuri wouldn’t be silly enough to get lost a place he knew like Phichit was implying, never mind in the city he lived in like Viktor would and…

Oh.

OH.

Phichit was Viktor’s new favourite person ever. After Yuuri. And Makkachin. And Chris was alright he guessed.

Viktor locked eyes with Phichit and grinned, Phichit grinned back in a scary sort of ‘speak now or die’ sort of way. Yuuri had scary friends. But excellent friends.

“Yuuri,” he purred, “Phichit’s right someone new to the city might get lost.” Yuuri turned to glare at him. Damn. That was hot. Mean Yuuri was even better in person.

Focus Viktor.

“Let’s go for dinner! You can show me around and keep me from getting lost.”

The light caught on Yuuri’s glasses as he ducked his head, hiding his eyes from view. The smile on his lips was unobstructed however.

“Oh. Okay,” wow full 180. Viktor had never seen shy Yuuri in person except for that sinfully short meeting in the Sochi locker rooms and he had now decided it was his new favourite Yuuri. Well favourite in an even draw right alongside every other side of Yuuri he’d discovered before. “You don’t have plans already?”

“Nope! Just plans with you!” He had planned to practice until Yakov threatened him to leave and then maybe nap or see if Yuuri was free to chat but now he had REAL plans with REAL Yuuri. This was much better.

Yuuri’s eyes flicked to Chris, “What about you Chris? We kind of gate crashed your night tonight, sorry.”

“Ah unfortunately I am all booked up tomorrow night mon ami,” Viktor thanked Chris profusely in his head. “And don’t be silly, it is a delight as always to see you.”

“Always?” Yuuri smirked.

Chris laughed. For some reason. Viktor was not in on that joke.

Viktor gasped, “Yuuri!”

“…Viktor?”

“You promised me dancing! We should go dancing! It’ll be just like Sochi!”

There was a moment where Yuuri stilled and Viktor panicked. Phichit’s arm seemed to tighten where it was still flung around Yuuri’s shoulders.

“Ahh. Maybe we shouldn’t go dancing the night before your short program?”

Viktor cursed himself.

‘We don’t talk about today, today was a bad very bad day’

He had forgotten with how wonderful the night had been that Yuuri had not fully enjoyed the Sochi final. He had crossed off the possibility of an injury after seeing him dance effortlessly around the ballroom for several hours but something had obviously been affecting his skate. He should be more careful with how he brings that up. And also stop holding Yuuri to stupid promises like taking him dancing that he made while drunk.

“Oh. I forgot about that. You’re right. I’m sorry, we can just get dinner.”

“We can go dancing another time Viktor,” Viktor met his gaze, sparkling now as the light moved from the glass to his warm brown eyes. “If it stops raining, I know some places that are nice to walk in the evening, if you want to see the city after dinner.”

Stop panicking Viktor. Find out what you both want. Don’t pressure him. He came here to surprise you, at least partly. He wanted to see you.

“I’d like that.”

There was quiet for a moment as they looked at each other. Viktor hadn’t been expecting this tonight. Hadn’t been expecting to see the man that had been filling his thoughts every day for the last two months. Hadn’t been expecting to get to see Yuuri in person for weeks yet. Hadn’t planned, hadn’t prepared. Maybe if he had his heart wouldn’t be pounding quite so hard. Maybe.

“It’s a date.” Oh Viktor had not been expecting that. Had hoped absolutely. Had wanted and imagined and dreamed but had absolutely not wanted to assume or push or pressure. “Oh. Um. I mean… I’m sorry…that was…not like…well not not but you probably don’t… I’m going to the bathroom see you tomorrow. I mean I’ll see you in a minute. I’ll see you soon.”

Yuuri vanished like he was being chased, blushing right down to his roots.

“Viktor dear,” Chris smirked.

“Mm.”

“Close your mouth before the flies get in.”

His mouth snapped shut. He turned to face Chris. Wonderful Chris. Best Chris in the world. Viktor was so lucky to have him in his life.

“Chris, I have a date with Yuuri.”

“Yes, mon ami, I was there.”

Slowly he became away of a one man paparazzi monster a couple of feet away. Phichit giggled at him, “Don’t worry, I’ll save these ones for the wedding.” Viktor took another sip of wine from the long stemmed glass and rested his head on his hand, sighing like the lovesick idiot he undoubtably was. He barely registered the, “Chris, fancy going to check Yuuri hasn’t expired in the bathroom just yet?”

Chris, the traitor he was, left with nothing more than a salute and a pat on the head for poor Viktor who became suddenly aware that he was alone for the first time with Yuuri’s mildly terrifying best friend. At least he seemed on board with Viktor and Yuuri going on a date? And he joked about a wedding, that was good right? Was this a shovel talk?

“Okay first of all,” here we go. RIP Viktor. “How many fucking hints do you need oh my god Nikiforov you’re denser than Yuuri.”

Viktor blinked.

“I’m…sorry?”

“Work with me man! We got there in the end so no harm no foul but like, I thought I was going to have to ask him out for you for a minute.”

“I thought you were going to threaten me.”

“Why would I threaten you?”

“You know like, hurt him and I shall rain fire upon you that sort of thing.”

Phichit smiled, his chin was resting on fingers laced together, fringe flopping artistically over dark eyes like the perfect little angel Viktor was sure he was not.

“Do you think I need to?”

“Yeah guess not.”

Phichit smiled and it was like the rain had been banished by the sun. What the hell kind of magic did these two possess? Viktor had a sudden thought that it maybe wasn’t all that surprising they had managed to come to Europeans. Celestino wouldn’t stand a chance against the two of them combined.

“Great! Now. I know we like technically spent a wild night drinking together yeah yeah sure, but! Honestly, I saw you for like five minutes and you were passed out on a bed – wait, not in a creepy way I was waiting with Chris – but like HUGE fan and you actually seem really cool and Yuuri never normally introduces me to his cool skater friends so this is amazing. Selfie?”

Viktor blinked. And laughed.

That brief last minute aside Phichit had not been anything like he’d imagined. Tonight had been fun. Dare he say he might even count him as a new friend. They easily spent a few minutes playing about with filters and smiling seductively over wine glasses before taking a few artistic solo shots of them reclined over the booth seat, the lighting was ideal after all. They both decided it was in the interest of art to refill Phichit’s glass just once. For art.

“Hey Phichit,” Phichit paused his insta post to look up grinning. “I never thanked you for what you did.”

His grin seemed to waver, “Viktor you don’t…you don’t need to thank me.”

“No. I do. You didn’t even know me and I don’t know what it means for you to have…got me back but, thank you.”

Phichit put the phone down, biting his lip, “You’re safe now. That’s what matters.” He laughed awkwardly, “Plus I wasn’t the one to do anything I just sat and panicked with Chris.”

“Am I safe?”

Phichit blinked, looking shocked. Oops. Viktor hadn’t really meant to ask that out loud.

“I don’t know how much I can say but…I think so? There are people that are…were…watching to keep us safe? I don’t really know what happened but you should be safe here, now. I think.”

“Sorry I didn’t mean to ask for things you can’t say.”

Phichit gave him a wry smile, “Don’t worry, I know it’s a bit weird being in the dark with one foot in the door. I’m sorry I can’t explain anymore.”

Viktor managed to laugh a little. It wasn’t an answer, not really. It didn’t explain who took him or how or why. Or anything about who it was that saved him. Still, even hearing just that much was like having the weight on his chest that had been sitting around gathering dust for months raised slightly and letting air spill in.

“Phichit?”

“Yeah?”

“Does Yuuri know about…any of that?”

Phichit froze.

“Does Yuuri know what?”

Viktor snapped his head up to meet Yuuri’s gaze only for him to look down quickly at Phichit.

“I refilled our wine when you weren’t looking.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes and reached out to flick Phichit on the head.

“Ow.”

“Come on we should get back, it’s getting late.”

“Ah I’ll ask for the bill,” Viktor offered.

“Don’t worry, it’s paid. My treat.” Yuuri’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, not that he was looking at Viktor.

Chris raised a brow at him over Yuuri’s head, he at least must have known what Viktor was asking.

“Wait Yuuri this place is expensive, let me split it!”

Yuuri finally met his eyes and smiled slightly more relaxed, “I came to surprise you, my treat. You can pay tomorrow.”

The air that had quietly grown tense seemed to lighten again.

Phichit turned to him and exaggeratedly mouthed ‘trust fund kid’, nodding seriously.

“Peach for fucks sake, stop telling everyone I’m a trust fund kid.”

They left the artificial warmth of the restaurant to brave the cold damp night with laugher back in the air.