If you were to ask Yuuri what emotions had possessed him as he entered into his brand new free program that day, he'd have no idea what to tell you. They say that athletes, singers, and performers of varying expertise have the ability to enter what is called 'The Zone'. This state of being leads to some of the most spectacular feats, mind blowing spectacles of human endurance. The dark side to this phenomenon is referred to as 'The Blackout'. When one entirely devotes themselves to their performance, they often find, after they've finished going through the motions, that they don't remember a single second of it. You may think this a wonderful concept, but how are you meant to replicate something you don't remember?
Many athletes have experienced an instance of entering 'The Zone' once or twice in their career, leaving them effective 'one hit wonders' who peak once, but fizzle out after finding themselves unable to reach the same level of perfection a second time. For that reason alone, Yuuri Katsuki was in a state of shock, panting and heaving as he realized he was already striking his final pose. The ice was numbing the knee he knelt on, hand shaking as it remained outstretched to the sky. He had done it. Had it gone over well? Yuuri's round, chestnut eyes surveyed the crowd, analyzing their reactions. From one side of the arena to the other, people were on their feet, screaming at the top of their lungs. Those who held signs were waving them in the air, creating an invisible vacuum made of kinetic energy. Then his eyes met with a pair that mirrored the shade of periwinkles.
Viktor was standing frozen, mouth literally hanging open, half hidden with one hand. The man's freckles were more prominent today, it seemed, as his cheeks were flushed red with an emotion Yuuri had never expected to see upon his delicate features; amazement. The young skater averted his gaze, seeking out Celestino's visage rinkside, but before he could ascertain the man's location, an excited shriek caught his attention.
"Yuuri! Fantasticheskaya rabota!"
Little Yura was jumping about, waving his arms in the air as if his shout hadn't been enough of an attention grabber. It was a precious sight, one Yuuri appreciated more than words could ever convey.
Waving back, Yuuri responded, pushing his voice to its maximum volume in hopes of reaching the boy, repeating one of the many Russian phrases he had heard Viktor give in interviews. Maybe that time hadn't been completely wasted, at least he had learned to communicate with his self proclaimed number one fan.
"Spasibo!"
Yura grinned with pride upon being noticed by his idol, giving a firm nod before pulling Viktor away by his cuff-links. Yuuri scanned the arena's border, returning to his prior search. When he finally happened upon a ruffled nest of caramelized golden hair, Yuuri was relieved to see his coach exhibiting pure joy, both arms raised and pumping in the air in a victory stance.
The teen skated to meet him, as fast as he could without face planting onto the ice below. For once in his life, Yuuri wasn't dreading his trip to the kiss and cry. After accepting and applying his skate guards, the duo practically floated to the bench, eagerly awaiting the final cumulative score he had earned. Yuuri didn't train his gaze to the floor, instead choosing to stare at the broad screen with unrivaled intensity. The seconds passed in slow succession, ticking by at dripping honey's pace. Ten, and then fifteen seconds, twenty more and then… he saw it.
There, proudly settled next to his own name and flag was the telltale text. Goosebumps pricked at his thin skin ferociously as he read the small set of numbers, 209.42. At seventeen years old, Yuuri was just shy of Viktor's record, the world record of 209.44. He officially qualified for the Grand Prix Final. The noise that filled the arena was deafening. The ground was shaking as if an earthquake was blessing the moment of glory. His cheeks were suddenly warm, but they grew chilled in a matter of seconds. He was crying, live and on camera. These were not tears of grief or self pity, however. These kinds of tears were allowed. Tears of joy, of exhilaration, of triumph .
Yuuri felt like he was on top of the world, like nothing could ever bring him back down to earth. He smiled shyly at the camera being thrust into his line of sight, giving a gentle wave towards the gleaming lens as Ciao Ciao patted him on the back encouragingly. The teen felt his mind wander. Hopefully Peach had seen, and his family too, though it was unlikely due to the time zone difference. The young skater took a small bow, as any polite individual would, and exited the kiss and cry, itching to check his phone in order to see if his family had messaged him. He'd send a text to Kiyo as well.
"Excuse me! Mister Katsuki, can we have a moment of your time, please!"
Oh, could he not have a hard earned moment of rest? So be it, then. Scratch that, he was being ungrateful. Yuuri wanted to rise to the top, it was clearly no one's fault but his own that he had been thrust into the spotlight. As Yuuri often said, every performer is a little bit of an attention whore at heart. It was time to at least attempt embracing that side of himself, though shameful it may be.
"Uh, How can I help you misses…?
"My name is Isa, Isa Hernandez! I have a few questions for you, but let's start with the question every skating fan is dying to hear answered; Are you and Viktor actually butting heads?"
She clearly didn't care about Yuuri's performance. Why did everything always have to circle back to Viktor? Yuuri was his own person, he had plenty to offer… didn't he? The third skater had just been called to the ice, distracting the uneasy boy from the interview for a mere moment before he realized that he needed to conduct himself in a more professional manner, lest he be taken as a joke. She was already treating him like one, no need to further that incentive.
"I mean, aren't we all competing here? Only one person can take the gold, of course I'd prefer it was me, but whoever earns it deserves it. Best of luck to Viktor and all the other skaters here today."
Good answer, Yuuri thought to himself. It wasn't too direct, gently skirting around the invasive question, but it seemed satisfactory enough to warrant no further probing. If he kept this up, she'd surely grow bored soon, maybe even bored enough to ask questions that actually mattered. The short brunette paused for a moment, narrowing her eyes in frustration before catching herself and morphing back into her sunny newscaster persona.
"I see. Do you have any comments to make in regards to the interview Mr. Nikiforov gave at Skate America last month? I'm sure it was disheartening to hear a comment targeting your physical appearance. Fans are still outraged! What about you, are you angry as well? Or just hurt?"
She was good, really good, but if Yuuri could claim to be anything, it would be clever. Years of anxiety and mental preparation for simple everyday conversation had thoroughly improved his avoidance skills, meaning he could typically find a way to talk himself out of having to continue a conversation.
"Well, we are athletes, and like it or not, this is a skill and appearance based sport. Our bodies are the instruments to our success. I need to grab some water, but thank you for supporting me!"
Checkmate. With that comment, Yuuri gave one last smile, delicately maintaining a demure expression. Freedom, at long last!
"Welcome Viktor Nikiforov of Russia, skating to a remixed version of 'Rocket Man'!"
Yuuri halted mid-stride. If he were any less self-destructive, the teen would have continued on his merry way down the hall and to the right where Celestino awaited him. If he had an ounce of self respect, he'd simply turn his nose up and go about his business, because why would he stay? Exactly, he really shouldn't. If Peach were present, he'd drag Yuuri down the hall by his collar.
Apparently he was a masochist, so to the shaded corner bordering the concession stands he went. Just out of sight, he stood rigid, grimacing as his former idol made his way towards the center of the rink. Something alien had hammered his feet to the ground, forcing Yuuri to gaze upon the man who had carelessly, casually destroyed the weaker version of himself.
Despite that hatred, that bitter pain which had inked itself into Yuuri's very soul, he could still, unfortunately, see the beauty within Viktor's skating. The man was radiant, like the dappled sunlight that filtered through the trees adjacent to Yuuri's bedroom window. He was intense, like the rushing overflow of a hidden waterfall, but most of all, he was all encompassing. Everything became Viktor, and Viktor became everything. As long as he was on the ice, the world revolved around him. All these thoughts, these stupid, idealistic delusions were what kept Yuuri's feet glued in place. It was almost time, the music would start at any second. The sound of a violin's taut tune and a man made of music. So it begins.
Twizzles and choreography became so much more than just filler movements when Viktor was the one presenting them. Of course, jumps were what drew the most exuberant reactions from skaters and fans alike, but at the end of the day, figure skating had begun as a simpler sport, one meant to display the beauty of the human experience. The Russian was a prime example of what skating was, at its root. His expression was mild and elegant, yet intense enough to draw the viewer's eye. Yuuri couldn't focus on the words Elton John sang, too enthralled by the program itself to register anything else.
His first jump was a Tano quad flip-triple toe loop combination. He aced it, of course. Viktor's hair whipped in the wind, caressing his cheeks upon landing. Somewhere in the distance, the smell of expensive perfume and Cherry Slurpee intermingled, giving Yuuri a momentary taste of reality. What was he doing? No, he held nothing but contempt for this man, how dare he stoop low enough to admire him?
'Move, handle yourself like an adult and forget what you've seen here. Fix whatever bug allowed this to happen. Run, cry, anything. Don't stay here, you'll hate yourself for it.'
Berating and viscous, Yuuri's own monologue was screaming at him, degrading him, pleading with him to seek salvation. It was an act of great sin to remain in that room, a testament to how much Yuuri Katsuki still had to learn. If the teen felt any love for himself, if he genuinely thought he had a chance of knocking Viktor down to size, he would have left the arena. That's how Yuuri knew it was well and truly over. He didn't budge, not an inch. If he had taken even a single step, he may have had it within him to forgive himself, for humans are imperfect creatures, but at least, he could tell himself, at least he had tried… But he hadn't.
Yuuri watched the performance play out in its entirety, even laughing along with the audience when the music's beat dropped, giving way to a fun and unexpected rap and choreography sequence. That was a new addition to the piece. Viktor was known to skate to classical music, opera even. Elton John had been a little more refreshing , but not a stretch. The r&b remix however, was a total shock to everyone present. The Russian had already lured the audience into his shimmer, taught them to look only at him. The unexpected reprise only furthered the notion. Yuuri's own performance was long forgotten. Yes, without seeing the score, Yuuri knew he had fallen short again.
Like a pin had dropped, it was over, the shackles were removed. He was free to mourn, to loathe, but oh, how his weathered soul wished to return to the way it had once been before. His poor, naive little heart wanted nothing more than to allow Yuuri to fall at Viktor's feet, to receive a patient smile from the man, the kind he offered Yura and Chris. What was so wrong with him, to be the one and only person the Russian openly chastised?
It was like a Shakespearean tragedy, but with less melodrama and more self pity, a joke at his expense. He would have liked his own personal narrative to be of more substance, but life is no fairytale. The sky should have wept, but it remained sunny, rays trickling in through the domed building's transparent roof. How silly and conceited. The world didn't revolve around him, no, never around Yuuri Katsuki. Why would it, when someone like Viktor existed? The bastard.
He'd have to convince Lady Luck and Mother Nature of his worth soon, because Yuuri would not, could not simply waste away, marinating in self pity. Viktor could have this moment, as it would be his last. The boy was suddenly made aware of the remaining sentiments he held, self awareness at an all time high. Damn it to hell, the weakness luring him into stagnancy, beckoning him to give into the overwhelming sense of futility. That was why he hadn't properly stomped Viktor's blaze out today. Yuuri had to do the job right, he could no longer hold onto any hesitation. Kindness and grace wouldn't raise him to the upper echelon. What he needed to learn from this experience was calculation, malice with intent.
Katsuki had never acted out with the goal of hurting someone. Of course, he had moments of misguided pain that led to misunderstandings and short term falling outs, but never had Yuuri been purposefully cruel. Adults, however, were often selfish and manipulative, and in the competitive world of figure skating, those were traits he had to acquire, though they were only to be used in the proper circumstances, never to one undeserving. It was less than a month until he could claim to be a proper adult, if only in title, but that half assed attitude wouldn't work in his favor. Yuuri wouldn't beg for Viktor to be who he thought he was. He wouldn't plead for the man's attention or forgiveness.
There in the chilled air of that bustling arena, as Viktor's new high score was announced to the crowd, hidden inside the bleacher's dusty shadow, Yuuri murdered one half of himself. Mercilessly, he strangled it until any semblance of life faded from its eyes, heartbeat ceasing in an anticlimactic moment of grief. Then, wading through his own corpse's remnants, he moved on, as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed. At least that's what he'd say if anyone were to inquire.
Killing someone is no easy task, especially not when the victim is of your own essence. His hands were now stained in black, for they bore the weight of a crime he was unable to take back. Yuuri's head grew fuzzy, thoughts spiraling into an illegible flurry of fear, as if his brain matter had been scribbled on by a ballpoint pen. He walked straight past Ciao Ciao, nodding in acknowledgement. His coach now fully understood the way his student worked, the way his gears functioned, so instead of trying to reassure him as he had the night prior, Celestino let the boy be.
Yuuri was a mess, rotten and mild. What do walking disasters do in moments of weakness? Some people drink, some smoke, everyone has a vice. In his case, the answer was 'eat'. He tried to fight it, walking towards the grocer and then backing away at least ten times. If Yuuri could just walk away, if he could find it within himself to push away the suffocating urge to eat, eat, eat, the night would be saved.
Food was all he could think about. Nothing could comfort him, nothing other than sugar and lard. Yuuri grabbed one of the worn down handheld baskets from the rack.
Chocolate chip cookie dough for the shame, a jar of peanut butter to remedy the embarrassment. Barbecue potato chips to bandage the self doubt and a tub of strawberry frosting to smooth over the misery. Cheap sushi and a slice of chocolate cake would numb the burning, a salve for the searing wounds he bore. To top it all off, a bottle of Diet Pepsi. It was simply a habit to buy the diet version, and Yuuri had grown to prefer the flavor. Two hundred less calories would make no difference, not with what he was about to do. He went to the self checkout counter, too humiliated to allow someone to ring up each article of weakness. They'd likely look him up and down, thinking 'God knows you don't need to be eating anything, are you seriously eating all this shit yourself?'. They wouldn't voice it, customer service and all that, but they'd surely chastise him silently. Yuuri couldn't cope with the thought.
So he cautiously checked out, flinching at every resounding beep that the machine made. He could still throw it away, he hadn't eaten a single bite of food, not yet. All he'd have to do is find a trash can, they were scattered abundantly throughout the city streets. Three, nine, twelve garbage pails, and yet he continued on. He speed walked to his hotel, bags hanging from the crook of his elbow, weight burdening him with the knowledge of his gluttony.
The boy sat down on his bed, clenching his teeth when he realized that he didn't have any cutlery to eat with. In his frenzy, Yuuri had been too distracted to consider it a necessity. The only thing worse than eating like a wild animal was behaving like one, and he was likely going to do just that, shamefully stuffing food into his face at an inhuman pace with trembling fingers.
Now, Yuuri had rituals. Every time he ate, even if it was just half a protein bar paired with a boiled egg, he absolutely had to listen to a YouTube video. The sound of his own chewing made him nervous, disgusted. No one wanted to bear witness to a feasting pig, not even the hog itself. He threw on some random narrated story time channel and surveyed the items in the thin plastic bag, heart racing. His phone buzzed.
Coach: You placed second! Congratulations, Yuuri. Want to go out for a celebratory dinner?
Yuuri: I feel like I'm coming down w smth. I'm sorry :((
Coach: Is that just you trying not to hurt my feelings or a genuine concern?
Yuuri: I'm actually super nauseous and faint 😭 I promise
He felt horrible for lying. There was good reason for it, though… it's not like he was bailing on his coach for the hell of it. Yuuri treasured their bond deeply, so the fact that he was willing to type a straight faced lie said a lot about the state he was in.
Coach: Get some rest, then. I'm going out for drinks with some of the other coaches. I'll wake you up for the gala tomorrow.
Task handled, Yuuri could return to what he had been doing prior. The lid of the icing made a sharp pop as he removed the red plastic from its other half. The foil served as a final warning, a beacon of forgiveness, one which he ignored. Without a spoon, Yuuri had to make do. He used the lid of the container to shovel icing past his lips, the greasy sweetness coating the roof of his mouth, lubricating his throat for the next meal. The sushi was gone within minutes, so he moved onto the cookie dough. He felt so ill, not just emotionally, but physically. Yuuri's stomach had shrunk in size since he had done this last, meaning the volume of his current portions far outsized his own intake capacity. The boy continued on until he had nothing left, vomit tickling maliciously at the back of his throat. Wait, that isn't right, for there was still a layer of icing remaining at the bottom of the pint, though it was a little melted by now. It looked like toxic pink sludge, something straight out of an 80's horror movie. He ate it anyway.
There he was, alone in a dark hotel bedroom while his peers celebrated their victories together, spooning heaping globs of frosting into his fat face. Oh, how could he have thrown so much hard work away in a single night? There was no doubt in the boy's mind that he had gained 4 kilos, and that was if his body took pity on him. His stomach ached horribly, bloated and round, stretched and horrifying. Yuuri knew he was screwed, that he would soon break out into a pity party and cry himself to sleep. That's what he always ended up doing, regardless of if it was actually warranted. How sad is that? Knowing better than to draw the ordeal out, he simply let it happen, any remnant of fighting spirit leaving his body without remorse. Yuuri sobbed like a fussy child, face flushed and nose running. A horrible, pathetic sight he must have been. The tears bubbled out the corners of his eyes, streaming past his pink stained lips. Just this once. He'd allow himself to be this pathetic one last time .
Yuuri stood, keeling over for a moment as a massive burst of nausea overtook him, then slowly made his way to the room's full length mirror. He burned the image into his mind forcefully, searing the reality of his actions into his consciousness with a figurative branding iron. The sad part of it all was the fact that he didn't feel any better. No surprise there. Binging never fixed things for more than the time it took to actively inhale the food involved… so why did he continue to do it? Why did he have the instinctive urge to fill the gaping sores inside of him with empty calories? The questions were rhetorical, of course, because Yuuri would sooner die than admit to what he had done. Not even Phichit knew of his binging episodes. If anyone were to find out, the boy would promptly take a flying leap off of anything high enough.
Then it hit him; Celestino, his texts…Yuuri had to skate in the gala tomorrow. He would have to wear his stupid skintight costume while sporting a stomach that mirrored that of a pregnant woman. To hell with that, no one needed to see him at his worst, especially not Viktor. The medaling ceremony had been delayed, too, meaning he'd be standing on the podium, receiving his silver while in such a homely state. No thanks.
Sighing, Yuuri ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, only to realize his hands were still covered in icing, as was the rest of him. This night just kept getting better and better didn't it? The teen stood up and walked to the bathroom, allowing the shower to run until sufficiently heated. Instead of popping the drain, he left it in place, opting to sit on the floor instead of standing as the water rained upon him. It was all miserable, every bit of it. He knew he was being ungrateful, that so many others, even his peers, had it plenty worse. Most of his issues were of his own creation. If his stupid head would work the way it was designed to, he'd never ask for anything ever again. He wouldn't need to, the world would be in the palm of his hands. Way to sound narcissistic, Katsuki, he chided himself. The two A.M god complex was definitely kicking in.
After stepping out of the bath-shower hybrid, he dried his hair and brushed the remnants of lard and sugar from his aching teeth. Buzz .
"Now? It's literally two in the morning, who would-"
His family and friends back home, that's who! Yuuri rushed to open his phone, equal parts guilty and excited. In his haste, the phone slipped through his still damp fingers , bouncing off the corner of the bathroom's marble counter. Somehow unharmed, its screen displayed a long list of messages from the Ice castle group chat, as well as a few from Mari. His parents were probably busy with the onsen, he couldn't fault them for that. Yuuri would probably wake up to a few congrats from them in the morning, and that was more than enough. There was one more person he needed to message, though, one who hadn't texted him back for almost two years.
ユーリじゃない: Hey :)). I almost broke Viktor's record today. Everyone was screaming my name, it was literally insane. Maybe I'll end up famous? Jk. I texted you about what happened at Skate America, right?
ユーリじゃない: Well… I still didn't beat his ass, but I got pretty close. I'll steal the gold at the GPF. Are you cheering me on? You better be >:((… I'm the one who introduced you to figure skating in the first place.
ユーリじゃない: Shit, I didn't even realize I was texting you in English… I've gotten pretty good, huh? Living in America will do that lol.
ユーリじゃない: I think you'd be pretty stoked if you had been here. I'm pretty bummed cause I still placed second, but … who cares. I've made a ton of progress! I did end up binging tonight tho 😭.
ユーリじゃない: I'll leave you be, now. I just wanted to update you! I hope your doing well, キヨ. I miss you.
Yuuri tried to ignore the ache that the resulting silence perpetuated, exiting the private messaging room as soon as he had finished typing in the last message. Onto the group chat.
Ice Castle Hasetsu (2.0)
ミナコ: ユーリは私たちの誇りだよ!
アイスマドンナ: いいプレゼンだったね! 美しいですよね?♡
Jackass: あああ,ちょっとまって- ユーリを遊び半分で誘惑してるの?何でも良い…
アイスマドンナ: 黙って >:( おめでとう,ユーリ!おやすみ
ユーリじゃない: あなたのサポートに感謝 <33!
Jackass: 英語ですか?ファンシー
ユーリじゃない: 英語じゃない.カタカナは英語じゃない 😭 でもいいよ 🤷♀️ This is English. If you paid attention in highschool, you'd know that lol.
Jackass: 見せつける
As much as he'd like to stay up and argue with Takeshi, Yuuri was about ten minutes away from violently painting the floor of his bedroom with stomach acid, so he had to set his phone down and searched for the nausea medication he kept on hand. Yuuri felt like an eighty year old man with all the preventative medication he carried around. Anxiety will do that to you, unfortunately. The boy shuffled through his carry on, then his main luggage, and even the bedside table's drawers, but to no avail. How had he forgotten the Pepto? Yuuri always double and triple checked to make sure everything was accounted for. What horrible timing.
Shrugging on an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of leggings to hide his bloating, Yuuri reluctantly headed to the hotel's canteen in search of a travel sized bottle of Pepto and an overpriced energy drink. It may be two in the morning, but he has no plans to attend the gala, so he'd have plenty of time to sleep in.
The halls felt ominous and empty, like a snapshot of the back rooms. Hotels had a way of feeling cold, sort of like hospitals, but without the stench of latex and antiseptic. Nevertheless, they were equally creepy and doubly disorienting, with their patterned velvet floors and saturated wallpaper. At least hospitals were a blank slate, leaving their interpretation up to the visitor. Hotels didn't allow that same luxury.
Reaching the elevator, Yuuri couldn't help but laugh a little at his own internal monologue, because really, who wouldn't? He either needed to write a book or allow himself to be heavily medicated. Neither sounded appealing.
Just as the doors began to creep closed, a pale hand shot through the two metal panels, its owner audibly panting as if the mystery boarder had sprinted in order to make it. Well, whatever, if saving two minutes of time was that important to them, it was no skin off Yuuri's back. Then the figure side-stepped into the elevator in one movement, suspiciously cautious. The shoulder to hip ratio and overpriced running shoes gave their identity away. A shame, Yuuri could appreciate a good mystery.
The ocean eyed skater did a clear double take upon seeing Yuuri situated in the corner of the elevator. Yuuri went through an array of confusing emotions as they gazed upon one another, both wide eyed and still. The first feeling that hit him was fear, then admiration, then anger towards that admiration, and finally, annoyance. Thankfully, he caught himself and averted his eyes. For fucks sake, there's a code of conduct for these situations! Feign obliviousness and turn the other cheek, don't make prolonged eye contact!
What did he stand to gain, anyways? If Viktor had run into the elevator to start a catfight, he would be sorely disappointed. Yuuri was great at the silent treatment. The Russian, however, seemed to gather his wits and realize the situation that the two of them were now stuck in. They were literally trapped in a giant steel box together for the next minute, what could be more stressful than that? Many things, but Yuuri was having a bad day and felt like the theatrics were appropriate.
"So, um-"
Oh god, not while his self esteem was at an all time low. Yuuri would not be dealing with this today. Cutting the other man off, Yuuri spit out a curt but quiet "No, not right now."
Viktor blinked, his brows furrowing. The painted freckles dotting his cheeks shrunk as the skin beneath them flexed into an expression that was equal parts annoyed and perplexed. Good, let him be peeved. Yuuri thought he'd gotten his point across, but the older skater opened his mouth to speak once more.
"I just wanted-"
"Not right now, please ." That oughta shut him up. If not, Yuuri was liable to allow himself the privilege of puking directly onto Viktor's tacky lilac sweatshirt.
The older skater sighed, rolling his eyes and brushing a hand through the loose locks of hair that framed his face. It was unfair, that someone with such a horrible personality had been gifted with the face and body of a Greek god. The elevator made a dinging sound, signaling their arrival on the first floor. Yuuri made a beeline for the storefront, not daring to check if Viktor was headed in the same direction. He made quick work of the task at hand, efficiently locating the Pepto and checking out within minutes of exiting the elevator. Only when Yuuri was walking back towards the staircase, not willing to risk another awkward situation in the metal box of doom, did he risk a glance behind him.
Viktor stood in front of the lobby's sliding glass doors, arms crossed over his chest. He wore a melancholy expression, staring intently at something only he could see. Though he immediately recoiled in horror at the realization, Yuuri felt a rush of satisfaction upon seeing Mr. Perfect looking down and out. Why should he feel guilty, though? He needed to be cutthroat and ruthless. There was no point in pitying an opponent, especially one who prayed for his downfall. To hell with Viktor Nikiforov.
Despite his manic behavior and heavy binging episode, Yuuri slept contentedly that night, seeking solace in his new mindset. His dreams were mundane enough to go unnoticed. Just as planned, he would turn over a new leaf.
"Get up, you're going to be late."
Who was in his room? It was still dark outside, no one should be awake at this hour. The young skater gave a grunt and rolled himself further into the thick comforter, nestling into the silky sheets.
"Yuuri Katsuki, you have five minutes to be on your feet. I'll have you running suicides next week if your ready within ten."
Yuuri sat up, clumsily running his hand over the desk to the far right of the bed in search of his thick rimmed glasses. In his Viktor induced trance, he hadn't remembered to text Ciao Ciao any plausible excuse for taking off this morning. 'Sorry coach, I ate my feelings last night, I simply can't be fucked to do jack shit today.' just didn't sound like it would earn him any sympathy points. The boy would have to come up with a decent lie on the spot.
"Coach, I was throwing up all night, I can't skate like this. Remember? I texted you saying I was feeling under the weather." Said Yuuri, tilting his head towards the bottle of Pepto Bismol resting on the mini fridge's lid. His coach ran one hand over his brow, clearly frustrated before sending a knowing glance in the boy's direction. Yuuri had never been a great liar, his intonation often gave him away, but Celestino seemed to understand that he was dealing with something, even if his student wasn't willing to be honest about it. Yuuri appreciated the silent understanding. Hopefully it would be enough to win him another few hours of rest.
"Fine, I'll tell the officials you aren't feeling well enough to skate, but you will be at the medaling ceremony. That's my compromise, take it or leave it."
Well… Yuuri could get away with wearing his JSF assigned uniform for the ceremony and it was better than the alternative, so he gave a reluctant nod and thumbs up before setting an alarm and flipping back onto his side. The door's click signaled Ciao Ciao's departure, allowing the boy to drift back off into a peaceful slumber.
When 11:00 A.M rolled around, the phone settled beneath his pillow screamed incessantly, and if Yuuri had been a wealthy man, he'd have thrown it straight through the drywall. Instead, he slicked his hair back and got dressed, settling his spectacles atop the bridge of his nose. Maybe one day he'd have the funds to spare…
Feeling sick and hideous, Yuuri found it hard to lay the 'confident' facade on thick, but he'd have to make due, because he had made a promise to himself, one that he had no choice but to keep if he wanted to continue moving forward. The winners made their way to the podium, taking turns stepping onto their assigned pedestals. Chris's name was called first, and he accepted the bronze with a wink. Yuuri was called second, bending down gently to allow a woman he didn't recognize the chance to loop the medal over his head and onto his neck. The last person, systematically, was Viktor, who gave a practiced smile as the gold was gently wound through his hair and onto his broad shoulders, settling just below his collarbones. That's right, standing above Yuuri, once again, was Viktor Nikiforov. He couldn't allow this to happen a third time. It stung like nettles on dry skin, the idea of Viktor getting to look down upon him both literally and figuratively.
The ceremony came to a close after what felt like years. Disoriented and irritable due to his lack of sleep, the young skater could hardly keep his eyes open. Just as he was about to make his grand escape, Yuuri felt a small tug on his sleeve, prompting him to jump, startled at the sudden contact. Chris hadn't texted him since brunch two days prior, not that Yuuri blamed him. Figure skating competitions suck the life out of you, there's hardly any time to eat or bathe, much less converse with other athletes. That's what the banquets are for. It did sting a little that he had yet to reach out, though. Yuuri knew he was being unreasonable and overly conscious of something that likely meant nothing. Chris wouldn't forget about him just because Viktor was back in his life, he was too caring a person to behave in such an inconsiderate manner.
Happy that his friend had finally returned to him, Yuuri cheerily set his water bottle down on the bleacher's ledge, spinning on one heel to face the man. Except it wasn't Chris. Get real… What did Viktor want from him, what could be so important that he was willing to risk both their reputations? The Russian was standing tall and proud. 'Give him a football jersey, and you have yourself an all American frat boy, with the way he's puffing out his chest out like a goddamn peacock', thought a disgruntled Yuuri. Viktor wore a plastic smile, very obviously putting on airs. Great, well now he was making Yuuri uncomfortable as well. Why not walk away and end both their suffering?
The man muttered out an unenthusiastic "Hey". The younger of the two wasn't impressed. Instead of gracing Viktor's pathetic attempt at… whatever this was with his attention, Yuuri opted to visibly cringe and gather his belongings, ready to make his way back to the hotel. He heard a sigh.
"I'm getting deja vu over here, Katsuki. Do you make a habit out of ignoring people? You did the same thing at the banquet of our last assignment."
Yuuri spun around, ready to bite back before taking note of the various cameras littering the venue. Viktor's face betrayed his impatient tone, a perfect portrayal of kindness and humility. So that's what this is, an attempt at saving his stupid 'saintly' image.
Mimicking Viktor's expression, hand on one hip, Yuuri ignored his racing pulse and flight instinct, taking a subtle breath to calm himself before retorting in a tone so soft it could have been mistaken as a whisper.
"Aren't you embarrassed?"
The unconcealed look of shock on Viktor's face was pure gold, totally priceless. The bastard really had the nerve to act taken aback when he had been the one to initiate conflict? Nerves thoroughly shot, Yuuri darted out of the rink before the older skater had time to formulate a response.
Ten minutes and a short jog later, Yuuri arrived at the hotel. The teen unceremoniously shoved the costumes he had left strewn about into his carry on bag with little regard for their well being. Anger was something Yuuri hadn't been familiar with for very long. In the past, when someone made him 'mad', the real root emotion was generally sadness or shame. He needed to learn to cope with rage, lest he ruin his innocent image along with half the items he owned. Skating costumes weren't cheap, after all.
Celestino didn't even attempt to convince Yuuri to attend that night's banquet, opting to attend on his own in his student's stead. While the other skaters were 'living it up', Yuuri slept. The next morning, he and his coach boarded the plane back to Detroit in practiced silence, both exhausted from fulfilling their respective roles.
Phichit greeted Yuuri at the door, eyes darting between Celestino's car and his best friend, silently asking if Yuuri wanted help with his bags. The brunette nodded in affirmation, grateful for the offer as his bones felt like they could crumble to dust at any second. He hadn't eaten a single bite of food all day in order to make up for his episode the night prior. Hunger and exhaustion are not a good mix, but Peach always put up with Yuuri's pissy attitude after competitions, and the older boy returned the favor when need be.
Once Yuuri's luggage had been unloaded, Celestino offered one last 'congrats' and headed home for the evening, leaving his students to their own devices. Phichit was eager to hear about any drama that had gone down, but Yuuri was far too drained to give a proper retelling of the two odd interactions he and Viktor had shared. Understandably, the Thai skater was quick to pout, disappointed and out of the loop.
"I promise I'll fill you in tomorrow, ok? Sorry, Peach."
"Don't apologize, I'm being selfish. I'm the same way after assignments. Get some rest! Do you want me to make brekkie tomorrow?"
Yuuri paused, stomach growling in anticipation.
"I'm ok, thank you. Still got an upset stomach. Is it cool if I take a shower real quick? I'm disgusting after that red eye."
Standing and grabbing his cell, Yuuri peeked over one shoulder, awaiting Peach's response. He knew the answer would be yes, but asked out of courtesy. They shared a single bathroom, so a shower meant one person would be without a place to pee until the other was finished. The other boy had already managed to grow distracted again, thumbing through some 'hot article' on his phone, head in the clouds.
"Yeah, go for it."
The hot water would be a welcomed reprieve for Yuuri's torn muscles. Hell, maybe he'll even splurge and take a bath! After taking a quick trip to his room for a fresh pair of sweats, Yuuri locked the bathroom door and began running the warm water. As the teen undressed, he noticed a small hint of stubble on his legs. God, his hair grew fast. The cabinet under the sink had a nasty habit of creaking obnoxiously whenever it was fiddled with. Yuuri took great care to open it as cautiously as he could to avoid the horrendous sound. His razors should be next to the Clorox. Scanning the area, a crystalline glint caught his eye. Leaning closer to inspect the object, Yuuri found himself met with a familiar sinking feeling. There was a bottle of Grey Goose vodka under his sink.
"Phichit!" Yuuri yelled through the door.
"What?!"
"Why is there vodka under our sink?!"
Phichit's guilty silence told Yuuri all he needed to know