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"I've decided that I am going to retire."
Those were not the words that Christophe had expected to hear. This time was supposed to be wonderful and exciting. It was the off-season, the summer. He was in Paris and Victor Nikiforov, THE Victor Nikiforov had asked him to join him for coffee and pastries at a little cafe in an incredibly historic area of the city. It was just down a small street from the ballet studio they were both attending for an intensive summer camp. "Excuse me?" Certainly, he had misheard, or misunderstood.
Victor was all of eighteen, his hair long enough that he had to move it aside before he sat. Even with it tied back in a ponytail, as it was at the moment, those pale tresses still seemed as if they were something not meant for normal people. "I'm tired of skating. I'm done. I am going to retire." With that, the young man flopped his head onto the table, sighing loudly and entirely ignoring his cup of coffee. "And I do not even like coffee, Chris? What was I thinking? Why did I not order tea?"
Christophe blinked, unsure of what to say or do. "But you are only eighteen?" He was not prepared for someone to say they were retiring. He himself was only sixteen. He was about to have his first year as a senior. Of course, Victor had won gold at the last Olympics, but to retire already at that age was unheard of.
"I am … Did you see what they said about me?" Victor sat up, tea and coffee forgotten as he reached into his bag to pull out a magazine. He flipped to the article titled 'Victor Nikiforov training in France' and then handed it over to Christophe. "The fourth paragraph. Right there in black and white, look at what they wrote!"
Chris nodded, wishing this was in French, but it was in English. Carefully, he read the paragraph out loud, "Can we expect the same level of excellence from Victor Nikiforov as we look forward to another year of seeing the young phenom on the ice?" Chris tilted his head, unsure of what that was bad -- but maybe he had read the wrong paragraph.
"How will I ever top last year?" He sighed as he moved his head enough to be able to look at Chris through the tendrils of pale hair that had escaped the ponytail. Those absolutely liquid looking blue eyes, "Maybe I should just become a model?"
Chris was left blinking at the realization that Viktor Nikiforov's backup plan, if he didn't keep skating, was evidently to become a model -- then he realized that it was actually a good plan. He didn't know how many magazine covers had already featured Victor. Every skater that he knew had posters of the man in their rooms. "But then I'd miss you!" Christophe's eyes widened as he realized what he had said. He hadn't meant anything so honest. Yes, when he had been younger, Victor had thrown him a flower -- but Victor had thrown so many young skaters a flower or a plush animal. Victor had always been known as a skater that encouraged others. He had beautiful bright eyes and an impossibly perfect smile. Today, Christophe was realizing that smile wasn't as real as he had thought.
"You'd miss me?" Victor looked surprised, those blue eyes wide.
"Of course, I would!" Christophe could feel his heart beating fast enough that he felt his chest was going to explode.
"Do you like me?" Victor didn't miss a second as he asked, leaning forward on the table, his coffee ignored.
"What do you mean?" Chris would deny that his voice squeaked on that for the rest of this life.
"Do you think I am handsome? Pretty? Beautiful?" Victor smiled, a bright smile even as a few tendrils of pale hair covered one of his eyes. He reached up to try and grab the stray locks, pushing them back towards the ponytail.
"I think you are Victor." There was something wrong. Chris couldn't figure it out at first. Then he realized -- the smile. It was fake. "Oh -- Victor." He was reaching out, his fingers wrapping around Victor's hand as he leaned forward, "Come on. Let's go for a walk. Please?"
Looking unsure, Victor stood up, letting Chris take his hand and lead him from the cafe. Paris was beautiful. A partially cloudy day, the sun soft through white cotton candy clouds, and Chris was walking with Victor, holding the other boy's hand.
"Do you want me to be a skater?" Victor's question came as he was walking towards a park, looking up at the sky as he did.
"Why does it matter what I want? What do you want?" Chris stopped as he looked at Victor. The man was stunning. A loose white shirt with dark purple jeans, probably designer, were perfectly in fashion right now.
Victor sighed, closing his eyes as he took a step forward, resting his head on Chris's shoulder, "Are we friends?"
"I'd like to be?" Christophe didn't know what to do. He reached over, pulling Victor into a hug as he lightly let his fingers trace over that pale long hair. He'd wanted to touch it since -- well, as long as he could remember, and here he was, Victor against him on a beautiful Parisian spring day.
Before Christophe knew what happened, Victor's lips were on his, softly kissing him as the older boy purred softly. No matter how many times Chris had fantasized about this, he pulled back with a gasp, "What are you doing?"
Victor stood there in confusion, clearly not understanding why his advances were rejected. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
"No, yes, No .. I --- Victor. I want you to be yourself. I don't want -- this fake." Softly, he reached a hand up, stroking it along Victor's cheek. "I want to be your friend."
"What do you want from me?" The facade of the champion skater was falling to pieces. Confusion clear as Victor's beautiful eyes began to fill with tears.
"Just to be your friend. Hasn't anyone ever just wanted …" Victor didn't have to answer for Christophe to know the answer. Victor had an Olympic gold medal and more championships than anyone his age had ever had, but he didn't have a friend. "I'm your friend, come on!" Without pausing, Chris grabbed hold of Victor's hand to lead him further into the park.
"Your friend. We can skate together and we can message each other without telling our coaches?" Victor was trying to think of what friends did.
"I'd like that, Victor. I get to be in seniors this year, maybe we'll skate at some of the same competitions? Maybe I could go to the camp your coach runs?"
"I'd like that Chris. We could -- be friends?" This time the smile on Victor's face wasn't the one that graced the magazine covers. This time the smile was real and lopsided.
"I'd like to be your friend."
This time, Chris didn't stop the much softer kiss from Victor, just a brush across the lips. "And can I kiss you?"
"Do you want to kiss me?" Victor brushed his hair back again, the honest smile still there.
"Yes." Now Chris was smiling as he leaned in to kiss Victor back. This was going to be an amazing summer.