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Chapter Text

“KATSUKI!”

A dark head of hair jerked up and brown eyes rounded at the loud shout. On the other side of the rink’s barrier, snow flew up as a slender figure spun to a quick stop. 

“KATSUKI!”

The man on the ice skated towards the barrier, raising a hand to cover his smile as he saw the other raising the textbook in his lap to hide his face, as if doing so would suddenly make him invisible to everyone else. Then his mouth dropped as a blond figure stormed into the practice rink from the hallway, a suitcase hoisted under one arm and a cat carrier under the other.

“Yuuri!” he hissed. “Yuuri, is that Yuri Plisetsky? Russian Yuri?”

A brown eye peeked over the top of the textbook shielding his face and Yuuri Katsuki’s face went extremely pale. He gave a tiny, jerky nod in response to the question.

“What did you do, Yuuri? Why is he here?” the other man demanded, torn between grinning and being just as horrified as his friend and roommate appeared to be. 

“I don’t have a clue,” Yuuri whispered. “I’ve only talked to him once before and he was telling me to retire then.”

“Want me to record then? In case he decides to take matters into his own hands and pull a Tonya Harding to make sure you do?”

As the blond Russian stormed closer, Yuuri groaned and closed his textbook, realizing it would be futile to hide or run away. “Not helping, Phichit,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. 

Phichit shrugged unapologetically but didn’t say anything because the blond teen had finally reached them, green eyes glaring and a dark scowl on his face. He towered over Yuuri, who had been studying on a bench while Phichit had been running through some basic choreography. 

“Katsuki!” Yuri spat, setting down his suitcase and cat carrier before crossing his arms. 

“Hi?” Yuuri tried, offering up a timid smile and a hesitant wave.

Yuri’s scowl darkened. “Hi?” he repeated. “Hi? That’s all you’re going to say?”

Yuuri only shrugged, causing Phichit to snort and draw the blond’s attention away from the Japanese figure skater. “Yuri, right?” Phichit asked innocently. “The other Yuri? Aren’t you supposed to be in Russia right now?”

“I’m not the other Yuri,” the Russian snapped. “I am the only Yuri in the Senior division.”

Phichit arched an eyebrow and glanced at his friend with amusement. “Yuuri, did you change your name without telling me?” he pouted. “Because I definitely know that you haven’t announced your retirement. SNS has been saying the opposite, actually.” He gave Yuuri a pointed look before turning his attention back on the younger skater. “Phichit Chulanont,” he introduced himself with a wave. “Thailand. What brings you to Detroit, other Yuri?”

A flicker of hesitation passed through green eyes, barely there but just enough to be caught by two figure skaters who had years of experience in watching for little cues such as that. When Yuri seemed to struggle for words, they both knew. 

Rumpled clothes, tangled hair, a suitcase—signs of a lengthy flight. Both skaters had also traveled enough to recognize the first signs of jet lag setting in. Without even glancing at his screen, Phichit googled arrivals times for the Detroit airport and sure enough, a flight from Saint Petersburg had landed just over an hour ago. He must have come straight here.

Bloodshot, red-rimmed, puffy eyes, a hoarse voice—which meant … 

Yuuri glanced down at his phone when it buzzed with a message from Phichit, a screenshot of the arrival times, confirmation of his suspicions as well. He quickly shoved his phone in his pocket before beaming up at the Russian skater. “It’s good to see you again, Yuri,” he said easily. “You’ve got great timing. Phichit was just finishing up and then we were going back to our place for lunch. Do you want to join us?” He gave Phichit a meaningful look. 

The Thai skater rolled his eyes with a smile. “Yes, mom,” he replied before taking off to skate a few laps to cool down. He and Yuuri still had a good hour of rink time reserved still, but it was officially the off-season and some things took priority.

Things like an impulsive, overtired teenager in the midst of an emotional breakdown and who had likely ran away from home to a country halfway around the world.

Phichit chuckled under his breath as he made one last lap. Well, if anyone was prepared to deal with a situation like that, he and Yuuri probably were. After all, it wasn’t like the first time this had happened. 

Yuuri was packing his book and notebooks in his backpack when Yuri sighed loudly and collapsed on the bench next to him, glaring at his feet. “Why’d he call you mom?” the blond grumbled.

The Japanese skater shrugged. “Probably because I worry over everything a lot and tend to keep him out of trouble,” he replied. “It’s Phichit.” 

Yuri snorted. 

After a few seconds of silence, Yuuri finally got the courage to speak up. “Is everything okay?”

He flinched as green eyes snapped up to glare at him. “Everything’s fine!” Yuri growled out. “Just fine.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “Fine or fine?” he asked and received a scowl for his efforts.

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s Aerosmith,” Yuuri replied with a small chuckle. “Stands for fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional.”

“Whatever,” came the muttered reply. “I’m fine.” There were another few heartbeats of silence before Yuri’s glare intensified. “What are you even doing?”

“Packing up my things?” Yuuri offered. “I thought that was obvious.”

“No! I mean why aren’t you on the ice? Why are you just sitting here, looking like a little piggy loser, instead of skating?”

Yuuri forced himself to laugh and made the sound loud enough to reach Phichit, who had undoubtedly heard Yuri’s question. He could handle the comments. “It’s finals,” he explained with a shrug. “Phichit and I trade off between studying and practicing during our rink time and it was his turn to practice.” His explanation was met with a blank look. “You look tired,” he remarked to the teen.

“So?” Yuri scoffed.

Yuuri shrugged again. “If you want, you can take a nap at our place after lunch,” he said. “It’ll be quiet, since Phichit and I will just be studying for the rest of the day. I’m sure your cat would like to be let out of its carrier for a bit.” He glanced down at the feline, who was glaring at everything with bright green eyes. It was a strangely familiar look. 

“Puma Tiger Scorpion.”

Brown eyes blinked. “What?”

“Her name is Puma Tiger Scorpion,” Yuri repeated, a light blush spreading across his cheeks and nose. “Potya for short.”

“Potya,” Yuuri hummed. “I like it. We cat-sit for our neighbors sometimes, so we have a litter box at our place and some dry food left, but if Potya eats wet food, we’ll pick some up when we get dinner.”

“Lunch, a nap, now dinner,” Yuri sneered. “Next thing I know, you’ll be saying that I can just stay with you.”

“You’re welcome to,” Yuuri responded easily. “I know most hotels don’t allow cats or let people under eighteen reserve rooms, but if you have a friend you’d rather stay with, just let me or Phichit know and we’ll go with you to meet them, to help with your things.”

A strange look passed over Yuri’s face, but it was quickly masked by a scowl. “Whatever,” Yuri muttered. 

“Yuuri!”

Both skaters looked up at the call and Phichit waved them over, smirking. “I thought we were leaving,” Phichit reminded them, passing his own backpack over to Yuuri and taking control of Yuri’s suitcase, leaving the cat carrier for the blond. “And as easy as it will be to remember names, you really need a nickname. Or else it’ll just be confusing. What are the Russian nicknames for Yuri?”

The youngest skater of the group merely glared at him. 

“Yura or Yuratchka,” Yuuri murmured to Phichit, but paused when Yuri flinched at his words.

“Yura,” the blond growled. “Don’t ever call me Yuratchka. No one gets to call me that!”

Phichit plastered a smile on his face. “Okay,” he said. “Yura,” he decided, pointing at Yuri. “And Yuu-chan!” he announced, pointing at Yuuri.

Yuuri’s brown eyes narrowed, but a resigned look appeared on his face. “There’s already a Yuu-chan in my life,” he said flatly.

“But not in mine!” Phichit nearly sang. “Now come on, let’s go. Before the after-school crowd gets here.”

Yuuri paled at the thought and slung Phichit’s bag over his free shoulder, giving a sharp nod in response. The pair of roommates glanced back at Yuri in time to see a flicker of uncertainty cross his face, before his green eyes narrowed and he gave an equally sharp nod. “Fine,” he grumbled.

Chapter Text

Yuri groaned and swatted at his cheek as he felt a sandpaper-like tongue drag across it. “Potya, stop it,” he muttered, shoving his face further into his pillow.

No, not his pillow, he recalled as he processed the unfamiliar fabric and scent. Yuuri Katsuki’s pillow.

He’d reluctantly taken the Japanese skater up on his offer to nap after their late lunch, if only because he’d been awake for nearly sixty hours at that point. He hadn’t slept since he left Moscow and he’d been barely able to keep his eyes open throughout the quick meal. Phichit and Yuuri’s apartment was small, but it was well-lived in and the clutter of their things gave it a homey feel, almost like—

Yuri cursed under his breath as he felt the corner of his eyes prickle. He couldn’t continue down that line of thought. To distract himself, he grabbed his phone.

“Oh, crap,” he sighed as he realized what time it was. He hadn’t just napped. He’d completely crashed and had slept through the entire afternoon and night, straight through to morning. Great, now he needed to apologize for stealing Yuuri’s bed for the night in addition to explaining what he was even doing in Detroit in the first place. 

With more cursing and grumbling than was normal for his mornings, Yuri pulled himself out of the bed and into a change of clothes. He winced as he pulled a comb through his hair, realizing that he definitely needed a shower at some point that day. 

“Morning,” Yuuri grunted when he finally got enough energy to shuffle out of the bedroom and down the short hall to the kitchen. Yuri bit his lip as he took in the deep bags under the older skater’s eyes and the way he could barely keep his eyes open. After a minute, he returned the greeting with a grunt of his own before yawning. 

“Why’d you let me sleep for so long?” he demanded as he slumped into a nearby chair and watched the Japanese man bustle around. 

Yuuri gave him a small smile. “You looked like you needed it,” he said softly. “And I wasn’t going to use my bed anyways—I stayed up all night studying. Breakfast?”

Yuri was going to refuse but before he could, his stomach betrayed him with a loud rumble. He blushed lightly at the sound. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered instead. 

It wasn’t anything special, just scrambled eggs and cheese on toast and a side of yogurt, but to Yuri, it tasted better than what he could usually manage. “What did you do to it?” he asked skeptically after a few bites, poking the makeshift sandwich with his fingers. 

“We’re college students with limited stipends who are also competitive figure skaters with strict nutritional goals,” Yuuri yawned. “We get inventive. I’ll get out towels in case you want to shower or take a bath and we put a bin of the cat food we still had in the bottom of the pantry. Potya seemed fine with it last night.” As he spoke, he was digging in a closet, pulling out said towels as well as a jacket and umbrella. He set the towels next to Yuri before tugging on the jacket and picking up his backpack by the door. “I’m sorry to run off like this, but I’ve got a final in an hour. Phichit should be up soon, though, and if you need anything, our cell numbers are on the fridge, along with the internet password. And if your phone doesn’t work here, you can use Phichit’s old one that we saved for when his family visits the States. Remind Phichit to keep his bedroom door closed so Potya can’t get in there and find his hamsters. Don’t open the door for anyone. There’s milk and bottled water in the fridge, as well as more yogurt if you’re still hungry. Put the dishes in the sink when you’re done. I’ll be done with my final in time for lunch—you can keep yourself occupied until then, right?” Yuuri glanced at the Russian teen, but didn’t wait for an answer before he was waving and heading out the door. “See you in a few hours, Yura!”

Green eyes blinked once, then twice, then a third time. 

What. The. Hell. 

His head hurt from the sheer overload of information and Yuri stared at the door for a few minutes just trying to process everything. Surprisingly though, he’d understood everything the other man was saying.

Well, of course he understood everything. Russian was his native language, after all.

Then the realization hit him. 

“Wait a minute!”

Yuri was still trying to comprehend it when he stepped out of the bathroom, twisting a towel around his blond hair. He’d run through the words during his shower, reaching the same conclusion over and over. It was accented and the grammar was a bit basic, but it was undoubtedly Russian.

Yuuri Katsuki spoke Russian.

Since when could Katsuki speak Russian? He’d watched all of his interviews from Sochi. He’d seen interviews from years previous, whenever Katsuki had been assigned to the Rostelecom Cup and that one time when Worlds had been in Moscow. There had never been any signs that he could understand the language, let alone speak it. 

“That bastard,” he bit out in a low tone, storming back towards the kitchen and the living area connected to it. He turned when he heard a door behind him open. 

“Yura! You’re awake finally!” Phichit chirped cheerily, giving him a wave.

Yuri scowled. “Close your door!” he snapped, reaching down to pick up Potya before the feline could sneak past his ankles. 

Phichit’s lips twitched in a silent laugh, but he did so quickly, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Good morning to you, too,” he said. “I take it you’ve seen Yuu-chan already and he was in mom-mode, wasn’t he?”

“Mom-mode?” Yuri repeated flatly. 

Phichit shrugged. “Acting like a mom would? Making sure you had everything you needed and telling you where things were? Reminding you of every little thing?”

Yuri gave an awkward shrug. Was that how a mother was supposed to act? It wasn’t like he would know from personal experience—he and his mother weren’t exactly close. He’d been in the skater dorms since he’d moved to Saint Petersburg and before then, it had been just him and his grandfather.

“He speaks Russian,” he stated, changing the subject. His green eyes narrowed as he stared at Phichit. “Russian.”

“Was he this morning?” Phichit asked. “I wondered if that would happen. I suppose it’s only natural. After all, he was listening to Russian news and television while he was revising. He tends to go full-immersion when finals roll around.”

“What the hell are finals?” Yuri demanded. “And what do they have to do with him being able to speak Russian? And how the hell did no one know that he can speak Russian?”

Phichit laughed, wondering if the teenager realized just how confused and frustrated he appeared. It was … oddly adorable, he decided. “You really are just a baby,” he remarked. “Senior debut this year, right? That makes you what? Fifteen?”

“Don’t call me a baby!”

Phichit ignored the shout. “We’re university students,” he informed the blond. “Part-time ones, but still students. And when you enter university, there’s this terrible thing at the end of the semester known as final exams. One or two weeks of nothing but exams and papers that cover all of the material from the entire course. If you fail the exam, you fail the course sometimes, because the final exam is most of your grade. And if you fail, you have to do it all over again.” He sighed dramatically. “It’s awful.”

“Sounds like it,” Yuri muttered. “What does that have to deal with that moron being able to speak Russian?”

Phichit’s smile became slightly forced. “I really wonder what your world must be like if someone who knows three languages and is passable in a fourth, who’s been on the honor roll every single semester and will be graduating summa cum laude, and who’s Japan’s top international figure skater is someone that can be called a moron,” he remarked. Yuri flushed at the rebuke. “But to answer your question, Yuu-chan’s in the Slavic Studies program and focuses on Russian. He’s been learning it for about five years now. He wouldn’t be a very good student if he couldn’t speak the language at this point.”

Yuri gaped at the Thai skater. His mind raced, flicking back to Katsuki’s public JSF bio. It had been annoyingly vague, he remembered thinking at the time. Yuuri Katsuki, age 23, from Saga Prefecture, blood type A—Yuri wasn’t quite sure why that was important—living and training in Detroit, where he was also a student. There had been nothing about his specific studies. “But his interviews in Sochi—”

Phichit laughed brightly. “His interviews where there’s dozens of cameras and microphones shoved in his face? He’ll say that it’s because everyone there was asking him questions in English and he thought it would be rude to respond in a different language than that. After living with him for five years, though, I’m just glad he can get any words out in any language during those interviews.”

Yuri scoffed. 

The next few minutes were quiet, as Phichit made a quick breakfast and Yuri finished drying his hair. It was slightly unnerving for Yuri, because he hadn’t expected the Thai skater to deal with silence as well as he apparently could. He didn’t know much about the older man, but he had always appeared as annoyingly cheery as Viktor and Chris—both who did their best to fill any silent moments with chatter about themselves rather than just let things be. 

Eventually, Phichit sighed. “You don’t have to give me any details if you don’t want, but does anyone back in Russia know you’re here right now?” he asked. 

Yuri’s jaw jutted out stubbornly. “I don’t need anyone’s permission to be here,” he growled. “Now that I’m in the Senior division, I can make my own choices.”

“Legally?” Phichit questioned.

Green eyes tossed him a sharp glare. “That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Yuri snapped. 

“I was wondering about that,” Phichit hummed. “But that wasn’t what I asked. I’m asking if someone knows that you’re here other than Yuu-chan and I.”

Yuri didn’t respond.

“Thought not.” Phichit sighed. “As someone who’s been on both sides of this sort of situation, you should really tell someone back home. Even if it’s just a text or an email. I’ll even take you to a cafe on the other side of the city so you can’t be geo-tracked to this apartment building specifically.”

“Why?” came the hostile response. “It’s none of their business where I am or who I’m with.”

“Because it won’t stop them from caring. And when you have people that care about you, the not knowing is so much worse than knowing.”

Yuri scoffed. “They don’t care,” he muttered. “No one cares. Not really.”

He stiffened as dark grey eyes appeared to stare right through him, into the very depths of his being that he kept away from the rest of the world. “If you can repeat that—honestly this time—I won’t say anything more,” Phichit said, tone serious. “But if you can’t, we’re telling someone. You don’t even have to do it yourself. Just tell me their name and I’ll tell them for you.”

The blond teen opened his mouth, fully prepared to repeat what he had said before, but something about the look in Phichit’s eyes made him hesitant. He took a deep breath, prepared to try again, but the words failed him. After a third attempt, he swore softly. “Fine, whatever,” he grumbled. “But I’m not going back to Russia until I want to. You get to deal with anyone trying to force me back before I’m ready.”

Phichit grinned, his eyes squeezing shut at the action, and Yuri’s shoulders slumped forward in relief, glad to no longer have that unnerving stare on him. “Selfie time!” the Thai skater announced, throwing an arm around the blond’s shoulders and snapping a photo before Yuri had time to protest. “Now who am I sending this to?”

Yuri groaned, but reluctantly passed over the name. He just hoped that he wouldn’t regret this. 

Green eyes narrowed as they stared down at the notification that appeared on his phone.

phichit+chu has sent you a message.

Phichit? Phichit, the figure skater? Why on earth was Phichit sending him a message? As far as he knew, they had never talked outside of a competition. 

Actually, back up. Why was Phichit sending him a message? He didn’t know the Thai skater was aware of settings other than ‘public.’ The younger man was an open book on SNS, quite literally. Everything always had the default public, global settings for maximum exposure. 

With an overwhelming amount of curiosity, Chris opened the message.

His private messaging is turned off and I don’t have his number to text this to him (and a certain someone is refusing to tell me it right now). Pass this photo on to him, would you? ASAP

Dark brown eyebrows raised in surprise as he took in the photo and the caption that overlaid it. Phichit had his arm thrown around a glowering Yuri Plisetsky, a seal-pointed cat clutched tightly in the teen’s arms and looking just as put out. A banner was attached to the center of the selfie, with three words:

Finders keepers, Viktor?

There was definitely a story there, Chris decided as he forwarded the image as requested. One that he would be sure to get whenever he saw one of the three next. 

Phichit’s message didn’t ask for a response, but based on how unexpected the situation—and the photo—was, Chris easily determined that a reply was necessary. 

You’re playing a dangerous game. Remember, kittens have claws. You still sure about that statement in your picture?

Phichit’s reply was nearly immediate, a video of Yuri yelling at him in Russian. 

The claws can’t be any worse than the yowling, so yes, I’m sure. Should I charge a finder’s fee?

Chris couldn’t help it. He laughed. No one since Viktor had attempted to match his wit. 

That’s called kidnap and ransom.

Another immediate reply. Chris was almost envious of Phichit’s speed. Almost. But deliberate and steady were more of his style and it rarely failed him. 

Ransom implies I’d give him back. I thought that we’d established with the phrase finders-keepers that I’m not doing that.

The Swiss skater was prevented from replying by an incoming call. “Viktor,” he pouted into the phone. “Are we really that desperate nowadays? And over a ragamuffin kitten of all things? I thought you were a dog person.”

“I’ve been desperate since the banquet in Sochi,” came a loud sigh. “So very desperate. Which is why I need you to tell me everything there is to know about the sender of that photo and why he gets to keep two Yuris while I can’t hold onto a single one.”

Chapter Text

Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief as he fled the testing room. He was fairly positive that he hadn’t failed. He was sure that he understood at least half of the listening portion and really, after using kanji for the majority of his life, the writing part was easy. At least there was only one alphabet in Russian.

Either way, the exam was just a formality, he reminded himself. He’d already graduated—he had the pictures from last weekend to prove it. He just had a paper to finish writing and submit in two day’s time, but in the meantime there were other things to worry about.

Like a certain blond Russian, he recalled as he unlocked his phone and started going through the sheer amount of notifications he had received in the three hours he had been gone. 

Phichit had certainly been having fun that morning. The earliest notification was a selfie, shortly followed by a video of Yuri yelling and a translation request. Those definitely weren’t words Yuuri had learned in class and from his first impressions of the blond, Yuuri could only imagine what they meant. There was definitely a comment about Phichit’s mother in there, though. 

There were a few twitter notifications and group messages interspersed between texts and snapchats from Phichit, but his roommate had definitely done his best to blow up his phone with notifications. There was practically something every five minutes, even if most of the photos were of Phichit and Yuri playing games. 

Yuuri rolled his eyes. Phichit was supposed to be studying, but the king of procrastination seemed to be at work again. 

As he boarded the bus back to their apartment, Yuuri facepalmed as another notification came through. This time it was a video of Yuri throwing his game controller down against the ground and going into another tirade in his native Russian.

Translation? was the simple request.

That’s angsty teen, Yuuri typed back. The university doesn’t offer a course in that. I’m pretty sure it’s a universal language, though.

True, came the immediate reply. I kind of want to poke him and see how he reacts. Or hug him. That might be fun to see.

Phichit…

I’m gonna hug him. 

Phichit, NO!

Phichit, yes!

Yuuri facepalmed again and muttered a few choice words under his breath. This was not going to end well, he just knew it. Cringing, he slid down in his seat and waited for the inevitable result.

It came in the form of a phone call. 

“I told you it was a bad idea,” Yuuri said upon answering.

“Which is scarier—Russian prisons or female teenage figure skating fans?” Phichit asked in a tiny voice. 

“Definitely the teenage girls,” Yuuri replied with a sigh. “Why?”

“...I think I broke him.”

Yuuri blinked, then took a deep breath. “I’m sorry?” he asked.

“I think I broke him,” Phichit repeated. “I hugged him and he tried pushing me off but when I hung on, he just kind of … broke and …” He trailed off and held the phone away from him, so Yuuri could hear the background noise a bit better. The Japanese skater swore when he all too easily recognized the sound of deep, heart-wrenching sobs.

“I’m about to get off the bus,” he informed Phichit, pulling on the yellow signal so the driver would stop. “I’ll be there in three minutes. Just … keep hugging him.”

“You want me to do what?” Phichit yelped as the bus pulled over, but he received no response. Before the bus was even fully stopped, Yuuri was out the doors and sprinting down the sidewalk towards their apartment building. 

Two minutes and forty seconds later, the door to their unit burst open. Yuuri panted for the remaining twenty seconds, resting his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath. Once he was sure he could speak, he raised his head and stared at the scene in front of him. 

It was certainly a strange sight, he thought. Yura was scowling, but he was definitely furiously wiping tears off of his cheeks and refusing to look at either Yuuri or Phichit, green eyes still watering. And as touchy-feely as Phichit could be, the Thai skater was looking decidedly awkward with his arms wrapped around the slender blond and patting his back and shoulders tentatively, not quite sure if the action would be allowed. 

Yuuri sighed and dropped his backpack to the ground. “Lunch?” he asked, glancing between the two. “I think it’s time to talk.”

They’d regret it later on, but this sort of situation called for something that a figure skater’s diet couldn’t provide. Comfort food would have been preferable, but the Japanese, Thai, and Russian skaters all had differing ideas of what could be considered comfort food, so they went for the next best thing that the United States could provide. 

Juicy, greasy burgers, lots of melted cheese, and every fried appetizer imaginable, topped off with an obscene amount of caffeine. 

Thankfully, the diner at the end of their block was able to provide all of that and had long been considered the saving grace for Yuuri, Phichit, and every college student within a mile of the place, especially during finals. 

“This is seriously a thing here? Fried pickles?” Yuri asked skeptically, prodding at the breaded food cautiously. 

“Anything can be fried,” Phichit said, snatching the last mozzarella stick. “Remind us to take you to the state fair.”

“We will not,” Yuuri interjected sharply, glaring at his roommate. “It’ll be August and we’ll be ramping up for competition season then. Binge eating at the state fair is the last thing we need to be doing then!”

“But Yuuri, it’s the state fair!”

Yuri braced himself and took a small bite of the fried pickle, chewing it thoughtfully. It was okay, but it wasn’t his favorite thing among everything the other skaters had ordered for him. “You’d really let me stay that long?” he asked tentatively, throat tightening at the implication behind those words.

“You can stay as long as you want,” Yuuri replied firmly as he swallowed a bite of his burger. Beside him, Phichit nodded emphatically. “But if you don’t mind, we’d like some explanations. We’re a bit … confused.”

“And what he means by that is we have no clue why you’re here or want to stay with us and if the Russian police or government are going to start looking for you and possibly arrest us, we’d like some warning,” Phichit added with a smile. 

Yuri let the corners of his lips twitch upward in a tiny smile before he frowned and stabbed his fork into a fry. “My grandpa died,” he said bluntly, forcing the words out. “Three days ago.”

“Oh, Yura,” Yuuri breathed.

Yuri flinched. “Don’t!” he bit out when he saw the older skater start to get out of his seat and join his side of the booth they were sitting in. “Just shut up, so I can get this out. I don’t want to talk about it more than I have to, so no questions and no hugging.” Green eyes glared at both of the other skaters, who traded looks but nodded in agreement. They wouldn’t say a word. 

He’d only been in Moscow for a week. He’d wanted to stay for an entire month, but Yakov had only agreed to ten days, saying that he needed to train even harder during the off season to prepare for his Senior debut. Everything was normal during that week. Everything had been perfect.

Until it wasn’t. 

He’d had a stroke in his sleep, according to the doctors who had come out to his grandfather’s small apartment. He hadn’t woken up and likely hadn’t even felt a thing. There was nothing that could have been done. 

But that didn’t change anything. It didn’t change the fact that he had bid his grandfather good night like always and woken up completely alone in the world. That had been the most terrifying time of his life, going in to wake his grandfather up, thinking that he was just sleeping unusually late and realizing that his skin was cold and he wasn’t breathing. 

That morning, his grandpa was supposed to come to the ice rink with him, to watch him practice his quads before they went to the grocery store so Yuri could make sure his pantry was stocked before he returned to Saint Petersburg in the following few days. 

Instead, he spent the morning making burial arrangements.

Not that there was a lot to do. When his wife had died, before Yuri was even born, his grandpa had made most of the arrangements then. He’d wanted to be buried next to her, in a plain pine box, with a shared gravestone between them. His name was already carved into it; the marker was just lacking the date. 

His grandpa was a simple man who always hated a lot of fussing. So Yuri had arranged for him to be buried the next morning with no ceremony. It was just Yuri, a bouquet of lilies for the grandmother he had never known, and a bag of pirozhki that he’d split with the graveyard attendant to commemorate the well-lived life of Nikolai Plisetsky. 

Then, he’d gotten on a plane to Saint Petersburg after paying rent for his grandfather’s apartment for the next year, to make sure nothing was untouched until he was ready to come back. He’d expected that returning to his small apartment and Potya would be easier than staying in Moscow, but he’d passed by the ice arena on his way home and knew then that he wouldn’t be able to do it. He couldn’t return to that place, knowing that it had cost him five years with his grandpa. Five precious years. 

So he’d done the first thing that came to mind. He’d grabbed a few extra skating things, switched out the clothes in his suitcase, packed up Potya in her carrier, bought a plane ticket, and headed back to the airport. 

“And no one else knew what all was going on?” Phichit asked, after Yuri was silent for a few minutes. “Your coach? Your rinkmates? Your apartment manager in Saint Petersburg?”

Yuri shook his head, blond hair falling forward to cover his face and his eyes.

Yuuri and Phichit traded looks and Phichit groaned silently when he saw tears welling up in the corner of his best friend’s brown eyes. It wasn’t unexpected, but he wasn’t sure he could handle a second round of tears quite yet. Not when he was struggling so hard to keep back his own. 

“Why us?” Phichit asked. “Or, why Yuu-chan specifically?” he amended when green eyes shot him a sharp look. 

“Because of the photo that moron posted on Instagram!” Yuri snapped, pointing at the Japanese skater, who blinked in confusion. “The one with the quote, idiot!”

Phichit was already on his phone, looking at the picture. It wasn’t hard to find, considering that had been the first—and only—thing Yuuri had posted on his Instagram since Nationals. 

It had been a photo Celestino had snapped of Yuuri and one of the novice skaters at the club laying side by side in the middle of the ice. Yuuri had fallen on his quad salchow again and had just laid there for a few minutes, burned out from practice and from studying and on the urge of his bi-annual, end-of-the-semester breakdown. The novice skater had broken out of her figures—something she had been struggling with for weeks now—and had skated over to lay next to Yuuri, neither of them saying a word, just comforting each other in the silence. A quote overlaid the black-and-white photo: Sometimes, we just need someone to be there for us. Not to fix or do anything in particular, simply so that we can feel we are supported and cared for during the hard times.

Fuck it. This time Phichit was crying before Yuuri could. 

“You wanted me to be that person for you?” Yuuri asked, stunned. “Really? Why?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” the younger skater yelled, throwing his fork in Yuuri’s direction. “That’s what you said in Sochi!”

Brown eyes blinked a few times in confusion. “I did? When?”

Yuri screamed in frustration. “After the banquet, loser! You challenged me to a dance-off, stripped and pole-danced with Chris, did the tango and grinded on Viktor, then cornered me in the bathroom and said we should be friends!”

“WHAT?!”

Through his tears, Phichit laughed. He was never sure how Yuuri did it, but the Japanese skater had a certain talent for going deathly pale and turning bright red simultaneously. 

“It was so humiliating, I totally lost,” Yuri remarked, a bitter tone entering his voice. Then he glanced back at the older skater and his green eyes widened as he realized something. “Do you seriously not remember?”

Yuuri shook his head furiously as Phichit continued to laugh. “Yuuri,” Phichit scolded lightly. “Were you drinking again?”

“It was a rough night!” Yuuri squeaked. 

The teen’s shoulders slumped and a resigned look sneaking into his eyes. “You really don’t remember?” he asked, voice hard but quieter than it had been. 

Yuuri continued to shake his head. “I’d forgotten that Celestino had even dragged me to that banquet,” he admitted once he gained some control over his voice and expressions. He reached out to wrap a hand around Yuri’s wrist. “But if I told you we should be friends, I know I meant it. I only have the guts to make requests like that when I’ve been drinking.”

Yuri scoffed in reply, but his posture eased. “Loser,” he muttered. 

Yuuri chuckled and tilted his head to the side as he smiled at the Russian teen. “Anything I can do to help,” he said. “Since we’re friends and all that. Stay as long as you’d like and if you need anything, just let Phichit or me know. And if any crazy Russians show up and try to bring you back there before you’re ready, I’m sure Phichit and I can tag-team and fend them off. We’ve probably dealt with worse.”

The Thai skater nodded in agreement before grinning wickedly. “Wait, let’s go back to the banquet for a minute,” he said. “Yura, did you say that Yuu-chan convinced Viktor to do the tango? And then grinded on him? Viktor Nikiforov?”

“Да,” Yuri grumbled. “I wish I could forget about that night for that reason alone.”

Yuuri turned bright red and slumped in his seat. “Yeah, don’t mind me,” he mumbled. “I’m just going to find a nice rock to hide under for the next decade. Have a good life.”

“Yuuri, get up off the floor. You don’t know the last time it’s been cleaned,” Phichit remarked, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “We’ve seen worse. And besides, it’s not like you announced your deep, dark desire to have Viktor coach you in front of everyone. At least there’s that.”

“Yes, he did,” Yuri said bluntly. “While he was grinding on him. I was there.”

Phichit smothered his laugh and gave his roommate a sympathetic look as Yuuri let out a high-pitched, embarrassed squeak. “I’ll contact that hockey player in the Geology department,” he remarked. “Ask him what kind of rock he would recommend.”

“Thanks…”

Chapter Text

Surprisingly, once he’d explained his situation, Yuri had enjoyed the rest of their lunch. Phichit had kept things lighthearted, sharing lots of background stories to explain photos of him and Yuuri that he had posted on SNS—apparently there was a lot that didn’t get shared to social media, despite how frequently Phichit updated his accounts—and by bombarding Yuri with cat memes. The Russian teen had willingly allowed himself to be distracted, and it had been nice.

Until it stopped.

Unfortunately, once they had gotten back to Phichit and Yuuri’s tiny apartment, the distractions had ended and Yuri had witnessed something he had never seen before.

Both of the older figure skaters took all of the focus they normally reserved for their competition skates and directed it towards other things.

It was really uncomfortable, actually, he thought as he watched Phichit study. Yuri never knew that someone could focus so much attention on books, of all things. Textbooks, at that.

Shaking his head in bafflement, Yuri turned towards the other Yuuri, who had pulled something out of the closet—a suitcase—and was starting to pile things on the small dining table. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, frowning.

Brown eyes glanced at him. “Packing?"

Yuri scoffed. “And where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded. 

“Japan?”

The blond’s mouth dropped open for a second before green eyes narrowed dangerously. “Why?”

Yuuri shrugged. “My family couldn’t make it to my graduation, so I promised them that I would visit once my finals ended,” he explained. “When I said you had good timing yesterday, I didn’t just mean that we were about to leave the rink. A few days later and you would have had to put up with just Phichit for a few weeks.”

“Hey!”

“When are you coming back?” Yuri demanded, ignoring Phichit’s indignant comment from a few feet away. His stomach twisted nervously when the Thai man closed his textbook and propped a hand on his chin, also turning his attention on Yuuri.

“Yeah, Yuu-chan, when are you coming back?”

Yuuri glared at his roommate. “You know perfectly well that it’s a two-week trip,” he said stiffly.

Dark grey eyes narrowed. “No, you said that it was going to be at least two weeks,” Phichit replied. “And I also know that you were considering cancelling your return ticket, thinking that it was for the best—which I still don’t agree with, by the way.”

“Why would you cancel your return ticket?” Yuri’s voice was gruff, but also very small. Yuuri stiffened at how vulnerable it made the younger skater sound.

“I’m not!” he snapped. “It was just a passing comment, one that I barely meant at the time.” His glare at Phichit intensified. “Stop making it into a bigger deal than it was!”

“You said that you were thinking about retiring!” Phichit shot back. “That’s a pretty big deal, Yuuri!” 

“And I think I’ve made it perfectly clear since then that I’m not actually retiring!” Yuuri replied. “We renewed our lease after I said that. I signed on for another season with Ciao Ciao right before finals started! I’m not packing the rice cooker, am I?”

Phichit’s gaze darted towards the counter to ensure that the appliance was still in its normal place. He visibly relaxed when he saw that it was. 

“You can’t retire!” Yuri protested.

The Japanese skater threw his hands in the air. “You told me that I should retire in Sochi!” he pointed out as he started filling up the suitcase. 

“You were crying in the bathroom! I was trying to motivate you!”

Phichit snorted. “By telling him to retire? That’s an odd way to motivate someone.”

“It’s what always worked on Viktor,” Yuri grumbled quietly, crossing his arms and scowling. 

Yuuri froze. “On Viktor?” he asked, a strange tone entering his voice. 

“Da,” Yuri muttered, his scowl growing. “He says it’s just passing comments, too.” He snorted. “Like I’d believe that, not when they’re becoming more frequent every month.” 

Dark grey eyes tracked Yuuri’s moves with barely concealed worry, noting how the Japanese skater’s movements became more jerky and how he packed more quickly. “I mean, he’s the oldest skater in the sport,” Yuuri said carefully, voice sounding slightly strangled. “It has to happen sometime.”

The blond snorted again. “Georgi is only a day younger than him and hasn’t mentioned retirement once,” he said flatly. “He says he’ll keep skating as long as he physically can.” The look in his green eyes sharpened and he glared at Yuuri. “You can’t retire,” he repeated. 

“I’m not going to retire!” Yuuri cried out in exasperation. “I’ll be back in two weeks!”

“And I was supposed to go back to Saint Petersburg, but I’m here in this hovel!”

“For the record, it’s a fairly nice hovel for an off-campus student apartment,” Phichit interjected. He snapped his fingers. “Hey, I’ve got an idea!”

“If it involves us getting arrested, I’ve got a flight tomorrow and I don’t have the funds to make bail,” Yuuri said flatly, crossing his arms.

Phichit rolled his eyes. “Nothing like that,” he assured his friend. “But we promised that Yura could stay with us as long as he wanted and the Russian federation is known for being protective of its skaters. We can probably expect someone to come after Yura in the next few days, now that I’ve told Viktor where he is—”

“Vik—you—what?”

“—and while I already agreed that I would handle anyone that came to force him back to Russia, I was thinking that it might help if Yura wasn’t around to be forced back, if you follow. And to make sure that you’re not going to do something impulsive, like cancel your return ticket and retire like you say you won’t—”

“I’m not—”

“—what if Yura goes to Japan with you? That way he won’t worry about you not coming back, because he’ll actually be there to force you on the plane if need be!”

“When did I ever say that I was worried about him not coming back?” Yuri spat out. 

Yuuri frowned. “Potya?” he asked, gesturing at the cat that had decided the middle of his suitcase would be a good napping spot. 

“I’ll watch her,” Phichit said easily, waving off the worry. 

“I just said that I don’t have money to make bail,” Yurri pointed out, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. “What makes you think that I have the money to buy a last-minute plane ticket to Japan? Those tickets aren’t cheap, even when bought months in advance.”

His roommate merely gave him a look. Yuuri grimaced.

“You’ve already bought it, haven’t you?”

“All that’s left is the passport information. Yura, passport."

Yuuri let out a long sigh when the requested document was passed over without complaint. It wasn’t a bad idea—Phichit definitely had worse ones before—and Hasetsu would probably be good for Yuri’s state of mind right now. “I’ll just … call my parents then,” he muttered, stepping away from his suitcase and pulling out his phone. “Make sure there’s a room free…”

Phichit waited until the Japanese skater was in his room before sighing. “That’s a relief,” he muttered. “I still wasn’t completely convinced he was going to come back once the two weeks were up.”

“Well then, why weren’t you going to Japan with him if you were thinking that?” Yuri demanded. 

“Because my finals finish later than his,” Phichit said. “And the person who normally watches the podium family while I’m gone moved out after spring break and I still haven’t found someone to replace them…”

“The podium family?” 

“Aurum, argent, and cuprum-stan,” Phichit explained, showing Yuri the lock screen photo of his three hamsters on his phone. “I was in Chem 101 when I got them and trying to memorize the periodic table. Of course, bronze wasn’t on there, so it didn’t work out quite like I originally hoped, but cuprum-stan still seems to like his name.”

Yuri blinked in disbelief. “You seriously named your hamsters the chemistry version of gold, silver, and bronze?”

“I don’t think you have any room to talk. You seriously named your cat Puma Tiger Scorpion?” 

“It’s a cool name!”

“Sure it is.”

“Ciao ciao.”

“Ciao, Celestino!”

The coach pulled his phone away from his ear at the loud greeting, grimacing. The number was unfamiliar, but only one skating team was known for being so loud and he could pick out a Russian accent anywhere. “Who is this?”

“Viktor! Viktor Nikiforov.”

That … was definitely not what he expected when he’d come into the rink that day. This would be one for the books. 

“Listen, I had a question for you regarding one of your skaters.”

Celestino sighed. “Whoever did whatever, I’m very sorry about it,” he said in a practiced tone. Something occurred to him. “And if this is about Yuuri and Sochi, then—”

He was cut off by a forced laugh. “No, not this time, though I probably should have called you earlier about that … No, this is about your other skater, Phichit Chulanont? I kind of need his address.”

Phichit’s address? Why would Nikiforov need his address?

In that moment, Celestino decided that he really didn’t want to know. Best case scenario, Phichit had contacted the Russian skater to get something signed for Yuuri’s graduation. For any other scenario, it was best to just plead ignorance or call whatever federation he needed to call. He’d had the ISU, USFSA, JSF, and FSAT on speed dial ever since that first incident…

Though maybe he should add the Russian federation to that list, given the rumors he was hearing about yesterday. 

“Give me your ISU number first,” he said, pulling up the list of registered skaters from previous competitions. “I’m not giving out that type of information unless I’m sure it’s really you.”

“Of course it’s me! I wouldn’t lie about who I am!”

“Maybe you wouldn’t, but there are others that would. ISU number.”

With a loud, drawn out sigh, Viktor rattled off the number, Celestino’s eyes widening when it matched what was listed on the sheet shown on his computer screen. 

“No one else learns this address,” the coach warned as he passed over the requested information. 

“No one,” Viktor promised. “You’re a godsend, Celestino.”

The line went dead. 

For a long minute, the coach rubbed his jaw. He really didn’t want to know or get involved, unless he absolutely had to. But if Phichit was involved, then Yuuri was likely involved, and that was Viktor Nikiforov on the phone. Something needed to be done… 

With a sigh, Celestino reached for his cell phone and shot off a quick text to Phichit. 

I just got an interesting call from Russia. a) I hope you know what you’re doing, b) I hope you’re prepared.

Phichit’s reply did nothing for his worries. In fact, it almost made them worse. 

Don’t worry

We’ve got this

Chapter Text

“What the hell, Katsuki!”

Yuuri groaned. His suitcase was packed, his tickets were printed, his yen and passport had been brought out in preparation for his flight. All he had to do was finish this paper and turn it in, but between Phichit and Yuri insisting on distracting him every time he tried to sit down and write, he was wondering if that would even be possible.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow when Yuri stomped out of his room to glare at the Japanese skater. 

“Your room is like a damn shrine,” Yuri snapped. “Don’t you have any taste? How many damn posters do you need of Viktor?”

From the other end of the couch, Phichit snickered as Yuuri’s cheeks heated up. 

“Study!” Yuuri growled at his roommate, snatching Phichit’s phone away to prevent the Thai skater from procrastinating anymore than he already had. He then turned his attention back on Yuri. “What’s the big deal? You were fine with them yesterday.”

“I didn’t see them yesterday!” Yuri replied. “My eyes were barely open! I can’t sleep in there now. It’s too creepy! No matter which way I lay, any time I open my eyes, his face is just there.”

“Lay on your back?” Phichit suggested.

“There’s a giant poster of him on the ceiling!”

Yuuri lifted his computer up so the screen could block Phichit’s stare and large grin.

“Yuu-chan, did you get a new poster of Viktor and not tell me?”

The Japanese skater slunk down in his seat. “It was a graduation present,” he muttered, very reluctantly.

“It’s so fucking creepy.”

“Language!” Yuuri snapped at the younger skater. “And blame Phichit! He’s the enabler here! Nearly all of them came from him.”

“Not the one on the ceiling.” Phichit interjected.

“Study!”

There was a loud bang on the wall behind them. “Shut up!” came a muffled cry.

Yuuri groaned as Phichit snickered. The Thai man slapped the wall they shared with their neighbor. “Go to bed!” he called back.

“I’m trying to!”

With a shake of his head, Yuuri got to his feet. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he decided. “Phichit’s staying out here to study—we all know that you’re pulling an all-nighter at this point, don’t deny it—Yuri’s going to sleep in Phichit’s room, and I’m going to finish my paper in my room and hopefully get some sleep before the fifteen hour flight we have tomorrow.”

“You just want one last night with Viktor watching over you from your ceiling,” Phichit snickered. 

Yuuri scowled and took a deep breath. Then he took a step towards the wall and slapped it just as Phichit had less than a minute before. “Brunch this weekend is on Phichit!” he pronounced.

“Thanks, Yuuri!” a female voice called back.

Phichit moaned. “What did I ever do to you?” he asked. “Keenan is a football player. Football. Do you know how much he eats? And his girlfriend, who’s a dancer?”

“Five words. All-you-can-eat buffet,” Yuuri muttered as he gathered the books he needed to finish his paper. “Study!”

As he stormed off towards his room, Yuuri noticed the other Yuri giving him a cautious look. 

“Scary,” he heard the Russian mutter to Phichit.

“It’s finals. They bring out the dark side in all of us.”

“Study!”

When the next morning came around, they didn’t talk of the night before. Instead, Phichit made breakfast, Yuuri quizzed Phichit as some last-minute studying for his final, and Yuri learned two very important things. 

One, anything Phichit cooked should be labeled with a hazard sign that included a pepper on fire.

Yuri could’ve sworn that his taste buds actually started crying. 

Two, when it came to international flights, Yakov had absolutely nothing on Yuuri. Yuuri’s “mom-mode”—as Phichit called it—the day before was positively mild compared to Yuuri in mom-mode right now. 

“Yura, let me check your flight numbers one more time to make sure they match mine.”

He’d already checked it four times.

“Yura, have you got your passport?”

Yes, for the seventeenth time.

“Is your phone charged enough?”

He was Gen-Z. Of course it was. Not to mention he had two fully-charged portable charge-packs.

“Do you have a sweater for the plane? It gets cold and the blankets they give out are pretty thin…”

Yuri growled under his breath and shot off a quick text to Phichit.

Make it stop.

“Yura, do you—”

Yuuri cut his question off as a finger was shoved in his face. “Yes, I have my passport, yes, I have my phone and charger, yes, I have my wallet, and yes, I have a sweater! I have enough clothes for two weeks, I have space in my suitcase for souvenirs, and the flight numbers match! I don’t know how he did it, but we’re even sitting next to each other somehow! God, Yakov should just hire you to be Viktor’s personal handler. Then he might actually get places on time, Yakov might actually calm down, and everyone else might actually get to relax when we’re in the airports!”

Brown eyes blinked. “Too much?”

“What do you think?”

Yuuri fidgeted. “Sorry. I’ll work on it. It’s just … you’re fifteen. I get extra nervous when it comes to people your age flying, especially when they have the type of history that you and Phichit do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yuuri forced a smile on his face. “Not my story to tell,” he replied. “Just … ask Phichit about when he was sixteen, at some point. You and him have a lot more in common than you might think.” He sighed. “I’ll try to stop.”

“Whatever,” Yuuri grumbled. He would still recommend Yuuri to Yakov whenever the older skater eventually retired. “If you want to actually be useful, why don’t you tell me what to expect when we’re in Japan. What we’ll be doing and crap like that.”

Dark eyebrows furrowed. “Didn’t I—?” Yuuri asked.

He received a derisive snort in return. “No.”

“Oh.” Yuuri gave him a sheepish look. “Well, you’ve probably noticed that there’s a few days between when we fly into Tokyo and fly out to Fukuoka. I was originally going to meet up with some … friends from high school, but they messaged me last night to cancel. Something about work.” Translation: some high school classmates were having a reunion and Yuuri had been invited. He’d cancelled after turning in his paper because he wasn’t going to leave Yura alone in Tokyo. Hasetsu was one thing, but Tokyo was an entirely different story. “We have to take the train from Fukuoka to Hasetsu, but once we get to Hasetsu, my plan was to just spend the rest of the time there with my family. It’ll be a bit boring, probably.”

Yuri crossed his arms. “Is there an ice rink?” he asked.

“In Hasetsu? Of course.”

“Is there a ballet or dance studio?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll be fine,” Yuri said with a snort. “What else would I want to do anyways?”

Yuuri frowned at the comment. There was something … off about it. “Yura … have you ever had a vacation before?”

“Of course, I have.”

“Other than when you travel for competition? Like during the off-season, when you have some time off?”

“I’m a Russian figure skater. We don’t get ‘time off,’” Yuri grumbled. “Any breaks I could negotiate with Yakov, I went to Moscow to visit—to visit my—” He cut off abruptly and turned his head to the side, refusing to say anymore as his throat started to close up on him.

“Phichit and I take some long weekends, occasionally,” Yuuri murmured. “Living in the United States, a driver’s license is practically a necessity and we didn’t always want Celestino tagging along, so we both got ours. We went to Chicago once. Toronto. Niagara Falls. We’ve taken the ferry across Lake Michigan to Wisconsin. Pictured Rocks. Mackinac Island, too.”  

“Is there a point to all of this?”

“You’ve never done anything like that before?”

Yuri’s scowl grew. “As you pointed out, I’m fifteen,” he snapped. “And I didn’t become—what’s the word, emancipated?—until it was confirmed I was participating in the senior division this next season, right before I left for Moscow. Before that, Yakov needed to sign off on me traveling and he had to run everything by my mother who did absolutely jack shit or my—” He cut himself off again. “And it’s not like I had many friends to go visit.”

“Right.” Yuuri frowned and pulled out his phone. Green eyes watched him warily, but Yuri seemed to lose interest when he saw what was clearly a Facebook news feed.

When he saw Yuri pull out his own phone, Yuuri navigated over to a group chat that was mainly active during the summer.

ISU Couch Skaters

Y: Sound off on travel plans for this summer.

L: It’s too early for summer plans, Yuuri…
L: Grats on graduating, btw

G: Congrats, Yuuri!!
G: Yeah, we never have anything set in stone this early
G: But probably training camp over there at some point. 
G: Xiao hasn’t said if it’s Canada or America yet

J: CANADA!

L: Do you just stalk every group you’re in or do you get notifications when someone mentions Canada?

J: Wouldn’t you like to know. xP

L: That’s… that’s why I’m asking, JJ… 

Y: I know it’s early, guys.
Y: Trust me, I know.
Y: But this is an emergency!
Y: Peaches and I might have a long-term guest this summer 
Y: And I just found out that he’s never gone on vacation before today!!!

P: !!!!!
P: ????
P: WHAT?!?!?
P: Seriously?!?!

Y: Aren’t you supposed to be in a final…?

P: Already done
P: Multiple choice
P: 100 q’s
P: Prof. retiring this semester
P: Comm. class
P: = easiest final ever

Y: I kind of hate you

P: Don’t. Even.
P: You’ve graduated already
P: I’ve got 2 more years of this

O: Congratulations on graduating, Yuuri.
O: I’ll be in Toronto this summer.
O: And yes, JJ, I’m staying with you.

J: YES!!!!!
J: Leo, you should join us! It’ll be like old times!

L: Otabek, I’ve said it before.
L: You’re a saint.
L: And JJ, no.

O: Jean-Jacques, I think there’s something you need to say to Yuuri still

J: Oh, congrats, Yuuri
J: It’s not a medal, but I suppose a university diploma is good too

Y: Thanks…?

P: Guys, we need to go back to more important things
P: We’re going EVERYWHERE this summer
P: We have to
P: Never been on vacation…
P: The poor baby!!!

Y: Please never call him that when you’re in the same building as him
Y: I will not be responsible for his actions or come to your rescue if you do

P: Tell me you’re planning on doing something fun in Tokyo
P: You need to make his first vacation a good one!!!

Y: Yeah, I’ve got some ideas

P: … 
P: Cat cafe? 

Y: Cat cafe

P: I know you so well
P: It’s like we’re roommates and best friends or something

Y: Or something

G: Guys, guys!
G: And they were *roommates*

P: NO!

Y: NO!!!

L: If only

J: Am I missing something here?

Y: NO!!

P: Nope, nothing here

O: You don’t want to know

P: … 

L: … 
L: I can’t say that I’m really surprised, but I still have to ask…
L: Otabek, how do YOU know what it means?

O: No comment
O: So, Yuuri, Phichit, I take it you’ll need three couch spots reserved for when I’m visiting?

Y: Yes, please…

P: Guys, guys
P: I think we missed it before
P: But now I’m realizing it … JJ and Otabek are going to be… 
P: *ROOMMATES*

L: PEACHES, I STILL TRAIN WITH THEM!!!!
L: DON’T MAKE THINGS AWKWARD!!!!

P: We’ll have all forgotten this by the time July comes, Leo
P: And if it is awkward, Yuu-chan and I will have a couch for you in Detroit instead

Y: No we won’t

P: Yes we will
P: I made an exception last night
P: But I’m not dealing with that every night
P: So I’ve got plans
P: And designs
P: Once he gets back from Japan, the poor baby will have a bed for as long as he needs it!
P: I’ll be able to sleep with my hamsters!
P: You’ll be able to sleep with Viktor watching over you!!

Y: We are NOT bringing that up here

L: Yuuri, I don’t think you’re getting your deposit back…

Y: That was always a given, Leo
Y: So, this summer? We’ll try extra hard to make vacations work?

P: YES

L: Sure

G: Sounds fun

J: Yeah

O: As long as the roommate jokes stop… 

Chapter Text

A second 10+ hour flight in less than a week was absolutely brutal, Yuri decided. Especially since he could never sleep on planes.

He was super jealous of Yuuri, who had passed out right after dinner—and he was using that term loosely to describe the plane food—was served and the lights were dimmed and who hadn’t woken up since. 

Well, at least there were movies he could watch. Yuri refused to admit it, but the international flights during competition season were the only way he kept up with the most recently released movies. 

During one such movie, something occurred to him. 

Jabbing the pause button, Yuri quickly shook Yuuri awake. “What’s going to happen when we’re recognized? How are we going to deal with the media?” he demanded.

Brown eyes blinked sleepily. “We won’t be recognized?” Yuuri said slowly, rubbing at his eyes. 

Yuri’s mouth dropped open. Surely he wasn’t that stupid. 

When Yuuri’s cheeks flushed, Yuri realized he’d said that last sentence out loud. Oops. 

“I’m serious,” Yuuri said. “I’m rarely recognized. I’m just a dime-a-dozen skater in Japan, nothing special. And I hate to say it, but Hasetsu really is small-town Japan. Most people there think all foreigners look alike—they wouldn’t really be able to tell the difference between you and Viktor and Chris.” He paused. “Well, unless they were Minako or the Nishigori family.”

“You’re literally the face of JSF figure skating,” Yuri stated flatly. “How the fuck could you manage that if you’re a dime-a-dozen skater?”

“Language,” Yuuri rebuked automatically. “Wait, I’m what?”

“You’re plastered all over their website,” Yuri said. “And all of their updates on skaters start with you. You’re Japan’s only internationally ranked skater in the senior men’s division. Do you not know this? How do you not know this?”

“I’ve been living in the U.S. for the past five years?” Yuuri replied. “I’ve been focusing on other things?”

Yuri face-palmed. “I didn’t know it was possible, but I swear, you’re worse than Viktor. Fucking oblivious idiots.”

“Language.”

Yuri’s eye twitched. 

It turned out that if Yuuri Katsuki on the ice was Superman, Yuuri Katsuki off the ice was Clark Kent. With his glasses and a surgical mask on, and hair hanging around his face instead of slicked back, they hardly looked like the same person. 

So that’s how he did it—that’s how no one ever seemed to notice him at airports when he traveled for competition, how he managed to leave practice sessions and after competition segments without being hounded by media half the time.

“Teach me your ways,” Yuri demanded, cornering the older skater in the airport bathroom, because already he could see people’s phones pointed in his direction just from disembarking the plane. He was sure that without taking drastic measures, it would soon hit the Russian sports media that he was in Japan on an unplanned trip. 

“We really need to have a talk about the appropriate places to have conversations,” Yuuri remarked dryly, but complied. Anything animal print that Yuri was wearing was swapped out with nondescript, dark clothing. A surgical mask was shoved over the lower half of his face and Yuri’s blond hair was pulled back and tucked into a hat.

It was a transformation, just not one as effective as Yuuri’s.

“Because I don’t really try,” Yuuri explained when that detail was pointed out. “When I travel, I look like I always do. I just don’t think anyone has ever paid enough attention to realize how much of an effort I go to to look somewhat decent during competitions.”

Yuri choked. Somewhat decent? If Yuuri thought he looked only somewhat decent, he dreaded to think of what the other skater considered to be attractive.

Probably Viktor, as sickening as the thought was.

“Let’s go to the hotel,” Yuuri decided once they finally left the airport, managing to sneak by the media that always hung about to film foreigners visiting Japan to interview them for a popular television show. “I need to sleep.”

Yuri gave him a side-eyed look. “You slept for nearly the entire plane ride,” he said. 

“I’m a university student just coming off of final exams,” Yuuri muttered. “I’ve barely slept for the past two weeks. I need to catch up on my sleep.”

“I’m not sure it works that way,” Yuuri said, recalling all of the lectures he’d heard from Yakov and the medical staff in Saint Petersburg when he or any skater came in after a night of no sleep. It wasn't possible to make up for lost sleep, according to them. 

“Sure it does. And if it doesn’t, we’re going to keep on pretending otherwise.”

As a male figure skater who was also a college student and who had gone to high school in the United States, Phichit had heard all of the jokes before. Multiple times. As a social media icon, he would freely admit that he sometimes played into the Western stereotypes because really, who wouldn’t? It gave him the flexibility to enjoy the good things in life. Was he gay? He still hadn’t quite figured that out. But if that meant he could wear make-up and dress however he wanted with a little less hassle in his daily life, he wouldn’t bother to correct those thinking such things and would instead play into that particular stereotype. 

There were, however, some stereotypes that he had no time for and that he thoroughly enjoyed crushing into dust.

Like the one he was currently destroying.

Yes, he was short. Yes, he was slender. No, he was not weak. He was perfectly capable for supporting the mostly dead weight of a college football player and hauling his ass over one kilometer to home after spending most of the day drinking to celebrate the end of finals. 

What Yuuri didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“You really need to learn about pacing yourself,” Phichit muttered to the man slumped over his shoulder. “You literally weigh twice as much as me. There’s no way I should be more sober than you right now, Keenan.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re an amazing friend? You’re such an amazing friend, Chuchu. The bestest, most-est, amazing-est friend.”

“So you’ve said. Fourteen times. God, is this what Yuuri always feels like when he has to drag our asses home? I think I need to apologize to him.”

Keenan giggled. “You can’t,” he sang. “Because I’ve—” He hiccuped. “—got your phone. You’re such an amazing friend that you—hic—trusted me with your phone. You said you weren’t allowed to call Yuuri because you’d apologize and then he’d know all the things. All the things!”

“God, I’m smart.”

The football player hiccuped again and there was a certain part of the sound that made Phichit duck and push his friend towards the nearest bush. He winced at the sound of retching a few seconds later.

That was a close one. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute and have a girlfriend waiting for you and that Yuuri likes you enough to make you our brunch buddy. I’d dump you in the road and leave you if those things weren’t true,” he muttered as he hauled the football player up and started dragging him home again. 

“Buddy. Butt-y. Boody. Booty.”

Phichit cringed as the words gradually got louder and were broken up by wild laughter. It was a really good thing that Yuuri had already left, because he would’ve killed Phichit over this. 

Both Yuris would.

“I really need to apologize to Yuuri,” he muttered as they finally reached their building. The elevator was sketchy and he avoided it whenever possible, but Phichit was not going to deal with four flights of stairs right now. His knees would kill him if he tried dragging Keenan up that. And then Celestino would kill him for ruining his figure skating career. And then Yuuri would take the leftover parts and serve them as brunch.

And on that note, he definitely needed some water.

“No apologizing,” Keenan said. “None. Because then Yuuri would know.”

“We make a good team, you and I. I haul you home and you stop me from apologizing to Yuuri and letting him know I’m drunk. It’s a great partnership.”

“We’re amazing friends! And amazing buddies. Wall buddies. Brunch buddies. Study buddies. Booty buddies. All the types of buddies.”

It probably said something that Phichit could navigate the path from the elevator to Keenan’s apartment with his eyes closed. Or with a football player twice his size and substantial amounts of alcohol making his peripheral vision practically non-existent.

With a celebratory groan, the skater let the football player prop himself up against the wall and started knocking on the door to unit 48 incessantly until it moved and he was left knocking on air. 

“That good of a time, huh?”

“I’m sorry, Lei-Lei. I’m really sorry.”

The dark-haired girl that had opened the door laughed and rolled her eyes. “Definitely a good time, then,” she remarked. “Keenan, give Fifi back his phone.”

“I can’t. Yuuri’s going to know.”

“We’ve tried that before. The result was Fifi banging on the door at five in the morning, demanding to go back to the bars because he thought he left the phone there and Yuuri finding out anyway. Now give back the phone and we’ll continue our Pirates of the Caribbean marathon.”

“So that’s where the booty thing came from,” Phichit muttered as he found his phone shoved back into his hands and watched over one hundred kilograms of football player trip over his feet as he tried to run for the couch. “I’m really sorry if that’s what we interrupted last night.”

Leila gave him an amused look. “Go drink some water, Phichit,” she said. “You’ll thank me for it at brunch tomorrow. Ketty can make it, by the way, so you’ve still got a booth buddy.” She paused as the figure skater gave her a thumbs up and hysterical laughter came from her boyfriend inside the apartment at the word 'buddy.' “Also, I think you’ve got a visitor.”

Dark grey eyes blinked in confusion as the door shut in his face. Brows furrowed, Phichit turned to make his way to his own apartment next door, only to find his path blocked by suitcases. Seven of them, to be exact. And a dog. 

One that looked kind of familiar.

“Phichit! Finally!”

The skater blinked a few more times to clear his vision and then his mouth dropped open as he processed the sight a silver-haired figure leaning next to his door. 

Yuuri was going to flip. Viktor Nikiforov was at their door and Yuuri was going to flip because he wasn’t in the country when it happened. 

Maybe Phichit should have let Keenan keep his phone for him…

“Out of curiosity, how long have you been waiting here?” Phichit asked after a minute, once he could get his jaw to work again.

“Just an hour or so, so not too long, all things considering,” Viktor said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Your neighbor is very nice. She gave Makkachin lots of attention and water and even offered tea! But I didn’t want to miss Yuuri or you, so I decided to wait out here.”

The Thai skater gave an awkward cough. “Right,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

Viktor laughed. “She also said to expect that. She said there would be a lot of apologies, because apparently Yuuri is Yuuri—” He tilted his head and the skin between his eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if he couldn’t quite understand what that meant, “—and because you would have spent the day celebrating the end of something? The final end of something? I didn’t quite get that part.”

Phichit snorted and then pressed his hands against his mouth to suppress his laughter. “First Yura, now you? At this point, I should just make a powerpoint presentation on what finals are and send it to your coach. Do you have his email? Give me an hour and I can have it ready.”

Viktor’s blue eyes suddenly found the wall across from Phichit to be extremely fascinating.

The younger skater got a sinking feeling in his stomach as he unlocked the door to his apartment. “Nikiforov—”

“Viktor,” came the interruption.

“Viktor,” Phichit corrected. “I’m sorry but since the last Russian skater who showed up in my life hadn’t told anyone where he was until I forced the issue, I have to ask and I’m going to be very blunt about it—does anyone, especially your coach, know you’re here?”

“I wanted to talk to Yura first before I told anyone,” the silver-haired man admitted as he followed Phichit inside the small apartment.

Phichit cringed for two reasons.

First, because Makkachin immediately ran up to Potya, who was sleeping on the couch. They must have known each other, though, because the feline merely cracked open her eyes and reached out a paw to bat the poodle on the nose lazily and the canine simply sat and rested her chin on the couch, tail thumping happily.

Second, because Viktor wanted to talk to Yuri, who wasn’t in the country, and Russia had no clue where two of its top skaters were. 

“Okay, here’s the plan then!” he announced loudly, forcing a smile on his face and opening the fridge. “We’re going to both be responsible right now. You’re going to bring your suitcases in and put them … wherever … and then let your coach know where you are, so I don’t have to fear for my life. I’m going to chug as much of this as I can—” he pulled out a 64 ounce bottle of water. “—and pretend it’s sangsom. Because we need to talk.”

The Russian frowned for a second, before he smiled widely, artificially. “That sounds ominous,” he teased. “Let’s wait for Yuuri and Yuri to join us first, before I text Yakov and we have that talk.”

“No.” Phichit’s voice was flat.

Silver eyebrows arched. “No? Why not?”

“Because neither of those conversations can wait two weeks.”

Viktor swallowed hard. “Two weeks?”

Phichit grimaced. “Like I said, we need to talk.”

Chapter Text

“So when I messaged Chris to send you that photo, I expected that we’d probably get someone from Russia on our doorstep eventually, but I never thought that it would be you.”

“Why not?” Viktor asked. “You addressed the photo to me.”

“Because you’re you,” Phichit said, waving his hand up and down Viktor’s body. “Five-time World Champion? Living legend of figure skating?”

The Russian yawned. “So?”

Dark grey eyes narrowed. “Right,” Phichit muttered. “So how much do you know?”

“How much do you know?” Viktor countered.

“Seeing as I know where Yura is right now and you don’t, I’m going to say that I know a lot more than you currently. Now please don’t make me repeat myself.”

Viktor’s blue eyes sharpened as they scanned Phichit’s face. “He lets you call him Yura?” he murmured. “Interesting.” Long fingers drummed on the small dining table between him and Phichit and Viktor’s eyes wandered away to examine the rest of the apartment. “When Yuri didn’t show up at practice the day after he was supposed to get back from Moscow, Yakov sent me to his apartment to check on him. I was being distracting and unproductive, he said, and he didn’t have the patience to waste on me.”

Phichit winced internally. Harsh. 

But not surprising, given what he knew about Yakov and what he had seen during competitions.

“I figured I would find Yuri sleeping or learn that he changed his schedule. Things are a bit more … relaxed in the first months of off-season—he lectures us, but Yakov doesn’t really care if we change our practice schedules, as long as we get our required ice time and off-ice training in. We all take advantage of it, so no one would have been surprised if that’s what Yuri was doing too. But when I got to his place, Potya and his passport were gone. Everything important was gone. 

“I knew that he was visiting his grandfather in Moscow. I don’t know how I got it or why I had it in the first place, but I remembered that I had his number in my phone. So I called and the number was redirected to the building’s general number and I got the landlady instead. And then I found out about Nikolai.

“You wouldn’t call Yuri and I close, but we do train together. I suspected then that he’d done something impulsive. Something drastic. I just didn’t know what. If the landlady hadn’t told me that she’d dropped him off at the airport for a flight to Saint Petersburg, I would’ve flown to Moscow to look for him. I told Yakov that he was sick and wouldn’t be at practice for a few days because I figured he needed some space.” Viktor snorted suddenly. “You get a lot of things from Yakov, but space isn’t one of them. I was getting ready to explain to Yakov that Yuri was missing when Chris sent me that message of yours. I called Chris to find out more information about you, since all I knew at the time was that you were Yuuri’s rinkmate. And then I called your coach to find out your address. And then Makkachin and I packed up and got on a plane to come here.”

Ah. That explained the text from Celestino yesterday.

Viktor turned a sharp smile on Phichit. “Your turn, I think.”

“Why’d he want to send the message to you of all people?” Phichit asked instead. “He tried telling me that no one would care where he was. You just said that you two aren’t close. So why did I send the message to you instead of Yakov?”

Viktor gave a nonchalant shrug. “Like I said, I figured that he wants space. If that’s what he wants, I’m pretty much his only option. The others would be too …” He trailed off, struggling to find the right word before shrugging again. “They would have come here and dragged him back to Russia kicking and screaming.”

“And that’s not what you’re planning to do?” Phichit questioned, his tone suspicious and his eyes narrowing. 

“Your turn,” Viktor hummed. “I’m curious as to why Yuri chose to come here. I didn’t know you were close with him.”

“I’d never spoken to him until he showed up a few days ago,” Phichit replied. “But apparently Yuuri and Yuri are friends. The name matching makes it surprisingly adorable.”

Viktor’s jaw dropped for a minute. “Since when?” he demanded and Phichit snickered when he realized that the other man actually looked slightly offended. “Yuri never said anything about that! That little—” He hissed something in Russian under his breath.

“Since the banquet in Sochi, apparently.” Phichit smirked when Viktor’s cheeks pinked. “I’m glad that I’ve qualified for the Grand Prix series this next season, because apparently I miss a lot and can’t rely on Yuu-chan to remember any of it to tell me afterwards. And Yura didn’t give too many details, so at some point, I’m going to need you to tell me everything that happened that night, including any photos and videos that you might have.”

“Yuuri—he doesn’t remember?” Viktor asked, a strained expression on his face. “Is that why he never called?”

Yuuri had promised to call Viktor? His roommate was such a little heartbreaker. Phichit snickered.

“That’s probably one of the reasons,” he said.

Viktor’s expression became even more strained. “There are other reasons?” he demanded.

The Thai skater rolled his eyes. “Did you ever actually give him your number?” he asked. “Because I’m going to be very unhappy if I had to go through Chris if I could have just asked my roommate to send you a message.”

“... No.”

“That would be the second reason,” Phichit pointed out. “And the third and final reason would be that even if Yuu-chan had your number in the first place and even if he had remembered the banquet, Yuuri is Yuuri. Enough said.”

“I don’t even know what that means!” Viktor protested. “Your neighbor said it too without any explanation.”

“Give it a week. You’ll figure it out.” 

Blue eyes glared at him. “How can I ‘give it a week’ when you’re telling me that I won’t be able to talk to either Yuri for two weeks?”

Phichit gave an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. That.”

“Yes, that. You haven’t explained that yet.”

The university student shrugged. “Yuuri had a vacation planned. We figured that someone from Russia would show up eventually to bring Yura back there and Yura didn’t want to go back to Russia yet, so he went on vacation with Yuuri. You can’t force someone back to their country if they’re not around to be forced back, right? Simple, really. They’ll be back in two weeks.”

“Where’d they go?”

Phichit arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms across his chest. “For the sake of everyone involved, I’m not going to tell you.” When Viktor opened his mouth to protest, the Thai man held up a hand to stop the words in their tracks. “Here’s the way I see things right now—Russia is missing two of its top figure skaters. Russia doesn’t know that it’s missing those figure skaters yet and we all know that shit is going to hit the fan when things get figured out. However, I know where one of those figure skaters is and Yuuri knows where the other is. So you and I are going to do damage control here and Yuu-chan and Yura are going to have a much-needed vacation—Yura’s first vacation, by the way. How has that boy not had a vacation in fifteen years? Don’t answer that.” Viktor closed his mouth and sheepishly motioned for Phichit to continue. “You’re guessing that Yura needs space and even though I just met him a few days ago, I can definitely confirm that. Yuuri and I already told him that he can stay with us as long as he wants, so we can give him that space, but there should probably be a plan.”

Viktor frowned and his fingers started drumming on the table again. “Plans aren’t really my strong suit,” he said. “Making or following them.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get the impression that when it comes to describing you Russians, impulsive is a bit of an understatement. No wonder your coach is always yelling.”

“How soon do we need to make this plan?”

“That depends,” Phichit said slowly.

“On?”

“Well, you never actually said if you planned to bring Yura back to Russia or not,” Phichit pointed out. 

Viktor frowned. “He’s legally an adult in Russia. He can make his own choices and go where he wants. If he wants to stay here, that’s up to him. All I wanted to do was talk to him in person.”

Phichit beamed, but his smile was hard. “Good. Now, we can’t really make any actual plans until the Yuris get back, but until then, you can stay in Yuu-chan’s room on a few conditions.” Viktor raised a silver eyebrow. “One, call or text your coach. At least let him know you’re out of the country and you’re keeping track of Yura. Two, if the dog is going to sleep with you, move the litter box out of Yuuri’s bedroom. And don’t let Potya into my room. Aurum, Argent, and Cuprum-stan don’t need the trauma. They’ve got delicate constitutions. And three, contact your coach.” Phichit shook his head in exasperation. “Bathroom’s at the end of the hall, water’s in the fridge. I’m going to bed, so Google is your friend for the next few hours if you’re not going to sleep. I’m going to brunch tomorrow with some friends—you’re welcome to join us, if you’re awake. Night, Viktor!”

It wasn’t until Phichit had fallen face first into his pillow that he realized he had probably made a catastrophic error. He had just told Viktor Nikiforov that he could sleep in Yuuri’s room. A room that had twenty-four posters of the skater plastered on its walls and ceiling.

Yuuri was going to kill him. 

With a sigh, Phichit reached for his phone and sent off a quick message to his best friend. 

I’m really sorry, Yuuri. Like really, really, REALLY sorry.

Yuuri snorted as he read the most recent message from Phichit. So predictable, even if he hadn’t seen the photos on social media already or gotten a text from Keenan’s girlfriend about that day’s events. 

“What’s so funny?” Yuri grumbled from his spot on the bed.

“Nothing really. Phichit’s just drunk again.”

Chapter Text

“I want to live the rest of my life here,” Yuri proclaimed. “And when I die, bury my coffin in these walls.”

“That’s morbid,” Yuri remarked as he took a sip of tea. “And illegal.”

“I don’t care,” Yuri replied from his spot on the floor, surrounded by several cats, two on his lap alone. There were roughly a dozen in the small cafe and nearly all of them were fascinated with the blond. It was a far cry from the last time Yuuri went someplace similar to this and the cats had been ignoring everyone. “New goal for after I retire—I’m going to run one of these.”

“And what was your original goal?” Yuuri asked.

Yuri shrugged carefully. “Coach. Commentate. Something to do with figure skating. The usual.”

“Ah, the usual, yes,” Yuuri drawled.

“Well, what about you?” Yuri returned hotly. “You’re getting old—though you’re not as old as Viktor and Georgi yet—and you just finished university. What were you thinking about doing if you followed through on your stupid plan to retire this season?”

“I’m twenty-three,” Yuuri pointed out. “That’s not so old, especially outside of figure skating.” He blatantly ignored the fact that just a few weeks ago, he had said to Phichit that he was positively ancient in figure skating terms. After all, Yuri didn't know that. “And probably translate—with as popular as figure skating is in both Russia and Japan, there’s surprisingly not many who can go back and forth directly between the two languages, usually it has to be translated into English first—or help my sister with the family business so our parents don’t have to work so hard.”

“Seriously?” Yuri demanded. “No coaching? No choreographing? No ice shows?”

“I’m a mediocre skater who’s never done his own choreography,” Yuuri replied. “So no? Though I suppose I could volunteer at Ice Castle and teach beginners. I know Yuuko would like to be able to go to the girls’ school events once they start getting older and if I help out, that would give her the time to do so.”

He was very lucky that they were surrounded by cats and Yuri didn’t want to startle them; otherwise Yuri would seriously consider shoving his foot up Yuuri’s ass.

Mediocre? Ha! Yuri wouldn’t have wasted his time, watching a mediocre skater. God, this was just like Yuuri being unaware that he was the face of Japan figure skating all over again. How many times was he going to run into this issue?

“If you’re enjoying this so much, you should visit Aoshima or Tashirojima,” Yuuri said, changing the subject. “Islands here in Japan that are known for their cat populations. I don’t know if we can go on this trip, though—the boats to there and back only run during certain times of the year for visitors.”

“There’s more than one?” Yuri’s eyes lit up.

“Ah, yes?”

That settled it then. Yuri was going to move to Japan when he retired. Ideally on one of those islands.

Then one of the cats meowed and Yuri was distracted.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon—Yuuri had paid for four hours at the cafe—Yuuri took a copious amount of pictures and videos, sending nearly all of them to Phichit and vowing never to reveal to Yura that he had been deemed “their smol son” by the other skater. It was nice to see the blond acting like a normal teenager finally, especially after what had to have been a very tough week—to put it extremely mildly.

At the same time he was sending the pictures and videos though, he had to talk Yuri out of posting his own on social media.

“I can’t just post nothing!” Yuri protested. “I’ve already gone almost a week without doing anything. People are going to think something is seriously wrong if it’s much longer!”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, glad that he didn’t have the same problem. He also felt that it wasn't a good time to point out that something was seriously wrong—the younger skater had just run away and flown halfway around the world twice to get away from things after dealing with a traumatic loss. 

“Rule number one when you’re doing something questionable or borderline illegal—no identifiable locations and no location tagging. Save those particular photos for after the fact, when you’re already well away from that particular spot. Preferably weeks or months later. Do you have any older stuff that you haven’t posted?”

Yuri nodded.

“Then post those. And I’ll get Phichit to send you pictures of Potya if you must post pictures of cats.”

“My fans will notice if the carpet or furniture is different,” Yuri muttered. “And don’t think that they won’t compare photos to others and figure out that it’s your place. They’ve done it before.” His fans went to ridiculous lengths sometimes to track him down, especially when he was competing.

Yuuri added a note in his message to Phichit to photoshop and switch their furniture and floors with previous photos of Yuri’s. He would enjoy the challenge.

Phichit woke up with a horrible taste in his mouth, a pounding headache, and a wet nose in his ear.

Trying not to groan—he wasn’t sure his head would like any noise right now—he rolled over and blinked at Makkachin, who was wagging her tail happily.

Right.

He had been half-hoping that was all a dream or a drunk hallucination, despite his attempts to sober up before going to sleep.

Apparently not.

Carefully he sat up and checked the time, sighing in relief when he realized that he still had an hour or so to get ready for brunch, take some pain relievers, and drink a lot of coffee.

“Good morning!” Viktor said cheerily, a bright smile on his face, when Phichit emerged from his bedroom.

The younger man winced as the loud greeting sent piercing pains through his head. “I now know how Yuuri feels almost every morning…” he muttered under his breath. Raising his voice, he directed a question at Viktor. “Did you call your coach?”

Viktor’s smile drooped and he didn’t answer.

“Oh my gosh,” Phichit groaned. “No wonder Yakov is always yelling and going bald. I knew the hair loss wasn’t natural—you probably make him tear out his own hair.” He shook his head and then cringed when it made his headache worsen. “I’m going to go shower. If you haven’t called him by the time I’m done, I’m going to do it for you and then you get to explain to him why he’s getting a phone call from America.”

“You don’t have his phone number,” Viktor replied.

Phichit’s eyes narrowed. “Do not underestimate my skills, Nikiforov. I doubt you have any idea of what I’m capable of—on and off the ice. But I’ll easily give a demonstration if you push me. And remember that you’re dependent on my goodwill right now for a place to stay.”

“You wouldn’t make Makkachin live in a hotel,” Viktor protested.

“Oh, I’ll keep Makkachin,” Phichit said, forcing a sharp grin on his face. “It’s just you I’ll put out onto the street if I have to.” And to prove his point, he took Makkachin into the bathroom with him as he prepared to shower and locked the door.

A decision he regretted a few minutes later when the dog continually tried to join him in the bathtub after hearing the water running.

When he came out of the shower, Viktor was sulking but on the phone with Yakov—or at least Phichit assumed as such by the loud yelling in Russian that he could hear on the other end.

As he poured himself a cup of coffee—made courtesy of Viktor, which endeared the man a bit more to him—he said a silent prayer for the next few fistfuls of Yakov’s hair that were surely being yanked out at that moment.

He was starting to realize that as much stress as he’d caused Celestino in the past with some of his stunts, in addition to the stress the man dealt with when attending competitions with Yuuri, it was probably nothing compared to what Yakov’s skaters put him through.

He drank the entire cup of coffee in one go and poured the next two or three cups into a travel mug. Out of habit, he also grabbed a water bottle for the brief trip to the restaurant after doublechecking what the others in their group had decided on—or more specifically what Leila and Ketty had decided on, since he doubted that Keenan was doing much better than he was currently.

Viktor’s voice started to get louder and more cheerful. A minute later, Phichit heard a goodbye—he remembered the word from one of Yuuri’s first semesters studying the language.

“Are you satisfied now?” the Russian asked, the sulky tone in his voice immediately returning.

Viktor Nikiforov was a very good actor, given how quick that switch occurred. Phichit filed the detail away in his mind, to remember that what he might see on the outside or in public was probably not representative of what the man was truly feeling.

Somewhat like another skater or two he knew…

“I won’t be satisfied until I’m binging on food I’m technically not supposed to eat and this hangover is gone,” Phichit replied. “So do I have to expect more Russians showing up on my doorstep?”

“Yakov has graciously agreed that Yura and I deserve a two-week vacation,” Viktor announced airily. “If the press ask about us, that’s what he’ll say but he won’t say where. I didn’t tell him where, but I’m sure he’ll figure it out when he looks at my phone bill.”

“Just two weeks?”

“You said that Yuuri and Yura would be back in two weeks,” Viktor reminded him.

“Should have asked for three weeks,” Phichit said. “Factoring in flight times and time zones.”

“I can just say that flights were cancelled—snowstorms, weather, system failure. Aeroflot,” Viktor returned with a shrug.

“Well, as long as you’ve got a plan…”

Phichit needed to start putting his own plans in action, because he doubted that Yura was going to be ready to return to Russia in two weeks.

Hopefully it wouldn’t be too hard to convince Viktor to be a part of those plans. He might as well take advantage of the other skater as long as he was here…

“Fifi! You’re looking better than I thought you would after last night.”

“Lei-lei,” Phichit greeted in return. “You remember Viktor?” He gestured at his companion.

The dancer smiled. “Vividly. Though I forgot to ask—is this the same…?”

“Yes,” Phichit answered immediately.

“The same what?” Viktor wanted to know.

Leila and Phichit exchanged looks for a minute, before Phichit sighed and shrugged. “The same Viktor as the one on the posters,” he muttered, not thrilled to be remembering his horrible mistake last night.

“Oh! Yes I am!” Viktor practically bounced as he answered. “By the way, do you think that Yuuri is going to mind that I signed them all? I couldn’t resist.”

“I mean, it’s already going to be a miracle if Yuuri doesn’t have a heart attack when he gets back,” Phichit replied. “Or a panic attack.” He sat down in the booth, across from Leila and Keenan, who was slumped over on three-quarters of the table. “This is Keenan, by the way,” he told Viktor. “Leila’s boyfriend.”

“Hockey player?” Viktor asked as he did the same, giving the man a skeptical look.

“American football. Grab that chair please? Ketty’s on her way.”

“Kitty?”

“Ketty. She’s a music major with a composition focus. We shared a class a few semesters back.”

“We all shared a class with Phichit a few semesters back,” Leila added. “We’re in the same group for final projects, even. I was worried at first that Ketty and I would have to do all the work because—well, athletes and their travel schedules—so it was a nice surprise when everyone did their fair share.”

“You said composition?” Viktor looked highly interested. “Do you think I could listen to some of her stuff? Because I have ideas but I don’t think I want to use the same person this year as I have for the last few.”

“If you’re nice to her,” Phichit answered. “And if you do, ask to hear the piece she did for Yuuri last year. He almost used it, before he changed his mind.”

Viktor was back to the almost-bouncing, making Phichit regret that they were sharing the same side of the booth. “Of course, of course!”

“Are you just visiting or are you moving here to train?” Leila asked. “Ketty will be more agreeable to helping you out if you’re in the same city, especially if it’s something with a deadline.”

Phichit watched Viktor’s reaction carefully, because he was very interested in the answer.

“Well … if it was just up to me, I’d stay,” came the reply. “But I think there’s a certain feisty kitten I have to talk to first.”

“Stay to train?” Phichit interrupted. “Or stay and do something else?” He mentally crossed his fingers.

“I was prepared to accept Yuuri’s request,” Viktor said slowly. “The one from the banquet.”

“YES!” Phichit pumped his fist—and banged into the table as he tried and failed to leap to his feet, startling everyone. “Yes, yes, yes!” He did a happy dance in his seat as Viktor quickly explained to Leila how Yuuri had asked him to be his coach a few months ago.

The woman frowned. “But Yuuri already has a coach—Ciao Ciao,” she pointed out.

“Co-coaching,” Phichit quickly interrupted before her logic could kill his mood and upset his plans. “Or choreography. It’s not like Ciao Ciao is going to say no to Viktor Nikiforov of all people.”

Leila rolled her eyes. “Sure Fifi,” she said before turning back to Viktor. “If you decide to stay, let me know. Keenan and I decided to get a place together for next year once our leases are up this summer—we’re moving closer to the athletic centers, so the apartment next to Phichit and Yuuri will be open.”

Given how Viktor perked up at that idea, Phichit had a pretty good idea that the other skater would decide to stay.

“Here’s the plan then,” he quickly announced. “Food and then you, me, and Viktor will go back to our place and figure out the details. Keenan will go back to Ketty’s place and bring her loft so we can set it up in the living room.”

Another woman dropped into the chair that Viktor had positioned at the end of the booth. The Russian presumed that she was the Ketty that everyone kept referring to.

“I feel like I missed something,” Ketty said. “What’s Phichit plotting this time?”