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Yuuri’s never been that great at communicating. Communicating with words, at least. The thoughts are so clear in his head and then, when he opens his mouth to express them they just… well. They don’t come out as they should.
That’s why he loves skating so much: no words, no harsh English with its complicated pronunciation, no Japanese with layered and subtle meanings. Lately though he’s getting better – kind of. It’s inevitable, really, when you’re forced to live with the most outspoken person in the world.
All his life, Yuuri has always pictured Victor Nikiforov as a perfect, ethereal, celestial creature. Finding out how Victor is in reality has been… interesting, to say the least. The man is an impossible mixture between madly curious and completely tactless, always asking inappropriate questions at any given moment and blurting out the most personal things without any sense of shame. Like today, for example.
“This layout has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen,” Victor says, tapping a pen on his notebook. The afternoon session has just started and the Ice Castle is deserted, reserved just for the two of them. They’re going over Yuuri’s free skate layout from last season and his new coach is dissatisfied, to say the least. “Was your former coach dumb or something?” Victor asks, frowning.
“What? Of course not!!” Yuuri exclaims, outraged. “Why would you even say that! I decided the layout not Celestino.”
“Are you dumb then? Look”, Victor taps the pen on his notebook again. Yuuri leans over to have a look and sure enough the page is full of Victor’s chicken scratch cyrillic, which is definitely not helping. “If you do the quad toeloop as your third pass the second half of your program is gonna be much easier and – ”
“No, no,” Yuuri says, feeling a very familiar sense of dread. “That would leave a triple loop as the very last jump. I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I…” Yuuri begins, uncertain.
Triple loop had once been Yuuri’s friend. When he was a little kid he learned the double soon enough, mastering the triple at the beginning of his novice career. As a junior he even got a few +3s on that particular jump. Then Skate America happened. He fell so bad on his triple loop combination that he had to stop skating and leave the rink, his shoulder and head throbbing while Celestino held him up and helped him walk. Since then, he puts the triple loop it in the first half of his programs, and even like that he rarely jumps it cleanly. The idea of that particular waiting for him the end of his competition like an unmovable stone wall he’s gonna crash into is simply too much.
That’s what he wants to say. But what comes out of his mouth instead is: “I… I just can’t.”
Victor looks at him and his eyes turn a little more gentle. A sudden realization strikes Yuuri, that by now he knows that look, he’s seen it enough times to remember it and be familiar with it, the way Victor’s eyes will crinkle a little bit and his mouth will turn the slightest bit upwards, soft and intimate and overall very different from all the smiles he’s seen on him during interviews and press conferences. The thought makes him blush, and he bows his head, concentrating on lacing up his boots.
“All right,” Victor says. “But that would leave you with the quad flip at the end of the program...”
“Well, yes.” Yuuri says, still working on his boots. He ties and tapes them, and just when he’s finished he notices that Victor is looking at him like he’s mad. “What?”
“A quad flip at the end of the program Yuuri? Can you do that?”
Yuuri shrugs. “Yeah, I did it for the free last season. Well, not in competitions of course. But in practice, I did.”
Victor sighs and puts a hand over his eyes. “Words are failing me right now. I swear Yuuri, you are too much for my old heart sometimes,” he waves in Yuuri’s general direction. “All right never mind. Can you show me?”
“Well, my stamina isn’t at its best right now but… I think so.”
“Go on then. I’ll take care of the music. Hey Yuko!”
“Wait, Victor!” But his new coach ignores him, walking away in the direction of Yuko’s office. “How does he even have the right music for that,” Yuuri mumbles, but skates at the center of the rink anyways, and waits.
After a few seconds the music begins, slow strings and soft piano. Sibelius isn’t a popular choice amongst skaters, but Yuuri fell in love with the piece as soon as Celestino made him listen to it. He goes through the motions easily, guided by muscle memory, and when his first jumps come he almost doesn’t think about what he’s doing and nails the opening quad salchow and quad toeloop.
Yuuri smiles. After a week trying out new choreo for Eros, skating an old program on his home ice feels comfortable and familiar, like going back to wearing a favorite sweater at the start of winter. The music swells, and Yuuri goes through the step sequence, blades cutting confidently across the ice. He’s panting by now, a little breathless and legs burning, but he feels elated as well, a feeling long lost to the anxiety of competition and just lately rediscovered.
At the very end of the program, he jumps the quad flip. He stumbles a bit on the exit, but he stays on his feet, transitions to the spin and the end pose. He holds it for a few seconds, then flops down on the ice.
“Whew, this was harder than I remembered!” he laughs, and then he looks at Victor. His new coach is leaning on the boards with his head between his hands. “Was… was it okay?”
Victor just shakes his head. “You know, you could beat my world record with this kind of program.”
Yuuri sits up. “Wellll… I don’t know about tha–“
“I’m telling you, if you skated it consistently and clean your GOEs would skyrocket,” Victor says, skating towards Yuuri and crouching down, putting himself at eye level with his student. “So why didn’t you do it like this in competition?”
Yuuri feels himself freeze, all the ease and happiness from his near–perfect skate washing away. “You know, sometimes I feel…” he hesitates, unsure on the right words to use.
“You feel?” Victor urges him on.
Yuuri gives a deep sigh. He knows how he feels. What he doesn’t know is how to actually say it. “It’s just… when I compete… I feel anxious.”
Victor rises his eyebrows. “All right,” he says, after a pause. “And how does your anxiety feel like?”
“Come again?” Yuuri asks, a little taken aback.
“I asked you how does your anxiety feels like.”
Anxiety, in Yuuri’s mind, works like a lake. Or better, like a river. Like a huge river held up by a dam. And whenever he sees Celestino’s frown, or he fails to land the quad salchow again, the giant concrete wall of the dam begins to break open, a web of fissures appearing on its surface. And then, suddenly, the wall crumbles and the dam falls, and the river crashes down on his shoulders, and he can’t bear it, he can’t, he can’t breathe or resurface as he’s pushed down and down and down.
That’s what he thinks.
What he actually says is: “It’s like, umm… like a dam.”
Victor just looks at him, his brow furrowed. “A dam,” he repeats, the word sounding unfamiliar in his mouth. Then his face opens up and he smiles. “That’s a wonderful idea Yuuri! I’ve never seen one! And tomorrow’s your rest day anyway. We’ll go by train, yeah? Mari can come too.”
He straightens up, skating away. “Come on, get up!! We have a lot of work to do before our trip tomorrow!”
Fuck, Yuuri thinks. That’s it. I’m totally useless at words.
Though maybe in this case he’s not the only one to blame. Victor doesn’t understand, Yuuri thinks, as he sits in a grassy field in Suwa. It’s a pretty touristic spot, Yuuri’s dad said yesterday evening when they asked him for recommendations, a must see destination if you come to Hasetsu. So here he is, sitting on a thick blanket in a field overlooking a gigantic dam. The day is sunny and warm, and Victor and Mari are laughing and taking way too many selfies. He watches as his coach hauls Makkachin in his arms and strikes a pose.
The thing is, Yuuri has been a fan of Victor’s for years. He has watched every performance, every interview, every press conference, over and over. And last winter, when he first saw him skate in Sochi, he almost felt like he knew him, personally. Not just from the interviews of course. Victor’s popularity was astounding, and Yuuri knew that every word the Russian skater said in front of cameras was carefully selected and approved by him and his team. But when he skated Victor poured his whole heart on the ice, without reserve, showing the whole world his very soul. Like his skating, Victor was dramatic, flamboyant and showy, but under all the drama and the bedazzled costumes there was a steady, reliable core which never wavered, built upon years and years of sacrifices. He had bad moments, of course, fears and insecurities which came out as stumbles and shaky landings. But when it was time to act he always did it, for better or for worse. Victor had never been afraid of failure, he had always known he was too good for that.
That is why he can’t understand. Unless, maybe, Yuuri finds a way to explain it to him.
Mari laughs loudly as Makkachin squirms out of her owner’s hold and runs towards Yuuri. He smiles and pets her head, picking out shards of grass from her brown fur. “What says you, Makka?” he asks softly in Japanese.
“Hey now,” Victor says, coming over and looking at them. “I’m not your favourite human anymore, Makka?” His pout could rival a five years old’s.
It’s not until the late afternoon that they leave Mari smoking contentedly on the blanket and go for a walk. When they reach the middle of the dam they stop and look down. The Nagasaka river roars hundreds of meters below them, a distant and dull sound.
“Is this how you feel?” Victor asks.
The question does not surprise Yuuri as it did yesterday. They’re here because of this, after all, so Victor can understand. So he tries.
“If the river was strong enough to break the dam and make it fall down, then yes, that’d be how I feel. Also, usually I am,” he points at the river’s bed, “down there, you know. Not all the way up here.”
“I understand,” Victor says.
Yuuri hesitates a little bit, but then decides to just go for it. “No, you don’t,” he says, trying to sound as kind as possible, even if he’s essentially contradicting his coach.
There’s a little pause, then Victor turns and looks at him. “No, I don’t,” he repeats. “I don’t understand what it’s like. But,” he bumps their shoulders together. “I will do my best to help you, if you let me.” His blue eyes are earnest and, oh god, so beautiful. “Isn’t this what coaches are for?”
Yuuri can’t help but laugh. “Coaches are for training, you idiot.”
“Boyfriends, then,” Victor says, without missing a beat.
“Don’t joke about that,” Yuuri says, feeling a blush creeping up his neck.
Victor bumps their shoulders again, but this time instead of moving away he stays close to Yuuri, their forearms and thighs touching. “Not joking. I really want to help you, Yuuri. Please talk to me.”
Yuuri doesn’t answer. He’s trying, he really, really is, but he is so used to keeping these feelings bottled inside of him that the words won’t come. “You… you know I am so bad at words, right, Victor?”
His coach laughs. “You? Come on Yuuri, after putting up with me for months, you can’t be serious.” He presses more closely into Yuuri’s side. “Maybe tell me how did it start?”
“Well, it didn’t really start. It was kinda always there.”
“Even when you were really young?”
“Yes. But back then, when I began to compete, my parents used to follow me around a lot, you know? When I was still in the Kyushu novice track it was so easy.” He looks at Victor. “Did get anxious at competitions when you were a child?”
“I don’t think I even realized what was happening,” his coach says, earnestly.
Yuuri nods. “Most of my friends were like that too. But me, I’ve always felt nerves. But then I would see Mum, Dad and Mari sitting in the bleachers, cheering me on. They used to bring Vicchan along too,” he says, smiling at the memory. “And he was just a little puppy then. But over time the competitions got bigger and bigger, and the rinks were further away from home. One of them would always make time to come with me. One time Mari missed her plane and she drove eight hours to Kobe, carrying Vicchan in the car.”
Victor smirks. “That’s a story I’d like to hear.”
Yuuri smiles at him. “From what I understand, it was an eventful journey.” His smile dims a little bit. ”But then I began the junior track. For my first Grand Prix my mum came with me, and Mari sent me pictures of them and Vicchan on my phone just before I skated. But it wasn’t quite the same. And after that year, they couldn’t come anymore. That’s when anxiety started to affect me for real.”
It hits him then that he’s talking about this, he’s really talking with his new coach, Victor Nikiforov of all people, about his anxiety issues. He’s beginning to feel his throat close up when suddenly Makkachin jumps up on her hind legs and licks his hand, distracting him. He smiles and pets her head. She would make an excellent therapy dog.
“What happened when you moved to Detroit?” Victor asks.
“Well,” Yuuri says, as he keeps petting Makkachin. “When I moved there Celestino said that if I practiced enough, muscle memory would help me. And it did, for a while. But every time I would try to add new elements to my programs I started falling and it would bring back a lot of anxiety. I even got injured after a few years, I was doing Skate America and I fell on a triple loop. From there, things got worse. The only thing that kept it at bay were the pictures my family sent of them and Vicchan, cheering me on. And then, in Sochi, Mari told me Vicchan died and all I could think about was that I could never see him at a competition ever again.”
Yuuri sniffs as two stray tears roll out of his eyes. He wipes them with his sleeve, while Victor keeps looking at the river.
“So that’s how you felt at Sochi,” he says eventually.
“Yeah. And I know I sound really whiny and like I’m complaining about everything, but–“
“You don’t sound like that at all, Yuuri,” Victor interrupts him. “Actually, you’re entitled to feel however you want to. And as your coach, thank you for telling me all of that.”
“Just as my coach?” Yuuri asks, while he finishes drying his eyes.
Victor smiles his gentle smile at him. “Let’s go back.”
A month later, the evening before they take the plane to go to Okayama for regionals, Yuuri is doing image training in his bedroom when Victor waltzes in uninvited, Makkachin in tow.
“Just stay there”, Yuuri says while he twirls in front of his mirror. His coach just throws himself on Yuuri’s bed and Makkachin jumps right alongside him, barking happily. Yuuri finishes his runthrough and holds the pose for a couple of seconds, looking at himself in the mirror.
“Sexy,” Victor says, and winks at Yuuri when he turns around. “Why are you training in the middle of the night?”
“Trying the step sequence again,” Yuuri says, tugging on a sweater. “I was practicing with Minako today, adding an extra flair for regionals.”
Victor opens his arms wide, like he expects Yuuri to dive right into them. “Oh Yuuri!! You want to make this sexier for me, you shouldn’t have!”
“What?! It’s not for you, its for the competition!”
“What a wonderful gift Yuuri, you are so thoughtful,” Victor sighs, a hand on his chest as if Yuuri’s gesture of rehearsing his choreography as any professional athlete worthy of their name would do moves him that much. “Luckily, I have a gift to pay you back. Well, actually it’s from me and Makka.”
Yuuri frowns. “A gift? From Makka?”
“Yes, well…” Victor looks at him, his playful expression turning into a serious one. “She was very happy you opened up with us that day in Suwa, you see. And even if you have the most beautiful and talented coach to help you keep anxiety at bay now – “ Yuuri scoffs. “She wanted to give you an extra help for your competitions. So, should I give it to him, Makka?”
Makkachin barks right on cue.
“How did he teach you to do this?” Yuuri mumbles at the dog, while Victor gets up and retrieves a small package he had left just outside Yuuri’s door.
“All right. Close your eyes.” Yuuri obeys. “Hold out your hands.”
Yuuri’s suspicious, but complies. “Victor, if this ends with you shoving ice down my shirt again I swear –“
Something fluffy and soft falls into Yuuri’s hands. He opens his eyes. A small poodle plushie looks back at him, almost the same exact colour as Makkachin, its pink tongue lolling out and a paper tissue peeking from its back.
“Is this… a tissue box?”
Victor nods, solemnly. “You see, Makkachin can’t come to every competition because she doesn’t like the plane very much. But this way,” he grabs the plushie’s tail and makes it wag. “You can keep her in mind.”
Yuuri feels his eyes filling with tears. “I… well,” he sniffs loudly. “That was very considerate of you Makka. It’s a wonderful gift indeed. I’ll be sure to pack it.”
“Please do!” Victor says, clapping his hands. “Amazing! I almost didn’t buy it because I thought you would be too embarrassed to bring a plushie to competitions.”
Yuuri smiles. “I thought this was Makkachin’s gift?”
“Yes yes, I just bought it for her. She doesn’t have an Amazon account, you know,” Victor says, matter of fact. Once again, he grabs the plushie’s tail and swings it left and right. “So, what should we name him? How about Vicchan?”
“You know Victor,” Yuuri says, feeling a hot blush spreading from his neck to his ears and cheeks. “Vicchan was actually named after you.”
Victor looks at him, and his expression somehow manages to be compassionate and amused at the same time. “Oh Yuuri. As if Mari hadn’t told me already.”
That night, still sore from hours of practice, he falls asleep to the sound of Victor cooing at Makkacchin in Russian, while a local TV show plays in the background. In his dream the three of them are standing in the middle of Nagasawa dam, in Suwa. Victor chatters away in Russian and holds his hand. They watch the river lazily flowing away in the distance, and Yuuri feels at peace.