Chapter Text
St. Petersburg, Russia
February 2016
“Get lost,” Yuri growls and he glares at the junior skater who pulls up a chair next to him. Everyone knows that when Yuri demands the tv, you best get out of his way, otherwise the Ice Tiger will eat you alive. Even Yakov will allow Yuri to schedule his lunch break to watch the programs he needs to.
The silver haired boy smiles at him, bright and clueless, while making no show of leaving. If anything he plants himself in his chair more firmly, as if daring Yuri to do his worst. Yuri wonders if this moron is aware of who he is and if he’s planning an assisted suicide. He tilts his head at him and narrows his eyes, letting his chair scrape against the floor over the sound of the commentators.
“I said, get fucking lost.”
“I’ll be quiet,” he promises.
“Not the point. Now. Last time. Get. Lost.”
The boy shrugs again and Yuri is about to flip the table. Yuuri Katsuki is due to skate next and before Yuri can stand up to physically throw the boy out, the crowd on the television roars as Katsuki glides onto the ice for his free program.
“If you make a word, you’re dead,” Yuri snarls but his eyes are glued to the screen. He’s not sure whether to be pleased or irritated that he gets no response but his arch rival is about to perform and Yuri tolerates no interruptions during this sacred time.
Yuuri usually takes second or third in the short programs then nails it in the free skate. It’s been a steady pattern for the past five years and Yuri watches as he takes his starting position. His expression is peaceful, like he already knows he’s going to win, and Yuri would puke but then Katsuki begins to move.
Even from that first step his body is fluid and smooth, his edges so perfectly sharp that Yuri almost falls forward out of his chair in sheer awe. His first jump is his quad toe loop and Yuri nods in approval as lands. When Katsuki moves into his step sequence Yuri forgets to keep a critical eye out even though he’s seen this program before during the Grand Prix qualifiers and final.
Yuri struggles to get level fours on his steps and spins but Katsuki manages them with hardly a sweat. He twists and turns, elegant and certain of himself, of the blades that carry him across the ice. With every movement of body and every slight gesture of his hands, he paints.
His quadruple toe loop is solid but his quad salchow is all over the place so he’s not surprised Katsuki nixed it for the short program. It’s a disappointment when he steps out of it. Yuri has both down but that means shit when Katsuki skates like this, body perfectly in tune with the music and skates flying across the ice as he dances the most intricate and spellbinding of stories.
His theme this year was something about gratitude. People have been speculating about Katsuki’s retirement since it was announced but Yuri knows that he’s just a big fucking sap. The term Katsuki actually used doesn’t translate very well from Japanese to English, let alone Russian, despite Yuri’s frantic searching but he doesn’t need words to understand the message Katsuki is skating. It’s in every spin and step, his love and appreciation echoing as he spins a perfectly centered corkscrew.
He ends with his face raised towards the sky, hands outstretched at his sides, and Yuri yearns for something he can’t even begin to pinpoint. Not even Katsuki’s flubbed jump was enough to disrupt the flow of his performance. Yuri relaxes a little, having been tense and on the edge of his seat, and as he leans back he realizes that the boy sitting next to him is crying. There are tears still rolling down the his face. He’s been quiet so Yuri hasn’t heard him but his face is undeniably red and blotchy.
Yuri says nothing and turns back to the screen, his gaze out of focus as the commentators replay some of the highlights from Katsuki’s program. He doesn’t need to watch right now because every step is burned into his sight and soul. No matter how many times he watches Katsuki skate it’s still inspiring.
As expected, Katsuki takes the Four Continents Gold, and Yuri scowls to himself. He’s already lost to both of Katsuki’s programs at the Grand Prix Final but it seems the freak has managed to step up his game even further since then. He’s not going to be able to beat him at Worlds like this. But no matter how hard he works at it, no matter what Yakov yells or encourages, he can’t move the way Katsuki does. His quads mean so little when there’s no emotion behind them.
The boy is rubbing the tears away from his face, not embarrassed but in the process of collecting himself. Yuri eyes him for a moment, awkward because he didn’t cry but the feeling in his chest won’t go away, and it would be easier if he could just sob like a child. He turns in his chair so he can face the boy. Anyone who can appreciate Katsuki’s skating to this extent is probably worth engaging with.
“What’s your name?” Yuri says and he should pay more attention to the junior skaters but he’s busy trying to kick Katsuki’s ass. There’s no time to look at the future encroaching on him when he can’t even beat what’s right in front of him.
“Victor,” he says and he takes a now calm breath, wiping away the last of his tears. “And you’re Yuri Plisetsky, Yuuri Katsuki’s main rival, and perpetual silver medalist.”
“You are a piece of fucking shit,” Yuri says but as hard as he tries, he can’t manage to fully hide how impressed he is. The Ice Tiger of Russia has a reputation for a reason but that doesn’t seem to phase this baby.
“You love his skating,” Victor says with a small smile and a finger pressed to his lips. His tone is entirely too triumphant for a guy whose face is still a mess from crying and Yuri wishes they were the same age so he could kick him in the face without being accused of child abuse. “I knew you couldn’t be that much of an ass.”
“You’re right and wrong,” Yuri mutters because he is a magnificent bastard and proud. But he’s still human somewhere beneath the fangs and ice.
And he’s long ceased to be embarrassed about his admiration of Katsuki, especially since it’s mixed in with a hale and hearty hatred; he’s going to destroy him one day and it’s going to be amazing. (It’s easier to call it admiration and hatred, because the alternative is too much to bear.)
Sometimes it’s a shame that Katsuki doesn’t seem to register him on the same page but he does acknowledge their rivalry. It only took literal goddamn years to get through Pork Bowl’s head. For all that he’s capable of infusing such flowing emotions into his skating, he’s pretty oblivious off the ice, and Yuri can’t reconcile the two sometimes.
“I’m going to skate on the same ice as him one day,” Victor says as he sighs in delight. He looks at Yuri. “You’re so lucky.”
“I’m going to fucking crush him,” Yuri says because he’s not lucky for constantly getting silver to Katsuki’s gold but Victor laughs. “Shut up! You wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ll win Junior Worlds this year, after all,” Victor says airily. Yuri raises an eyebrow because he can appreciate cockiness, he really can, but it’s still irritating to hear it come from anyone other than himself. Victor misinterprets his look and grins. “I won last years.”
“Congrats. Now get out.”
To his surprise Victor gets up.
“Next year I’ll be making my senior debut.” He crosses his arms, his hip jutted out. “I would have moved up this year but Yakov wouldn’t let me.”
“And?” Yuri asks, glaring at him. The same thing happened to him but he’s not going to sympathize with this arrogant child. Yakov knows better than this idiot junior skater.
“Then we can see who gets to compete against Yuuri Katsuki,” Victor says with a polite smile that only hides what a complete and utter asshole he is.
Yuri stares at him for a minute, taking in his long hair and longer limbs. He can’t recall what Victor’s skating looks like though doubtless he’s been on the same ice as him. But Victor presents a pretty image, almost as fey as Yuri had been as his age, and something in his gut chills at the realization.
“I’m Russia’s champion,” Yuri says in a low tone.
“You are,” Victor agrees. He smiles at the television where Katsuki is being interviewed. “But not the World Champion.”
‘And not Russia’s for long,’ his tone says and Yuri is about to throttle him. But Victor saunters out like he’s already beaten him and Yuri is sure he’s never hated anyone this much in his life. He glances at the screen where Katsuki is still answering questions and clenches his fists. No, Victor is definitely the worst, because he’s an uppity little brat; at least Katsuki has earned his medals.
Hasetsu, Japan
April 2000
Yuuri is twelve when his parents ask him if he prefers ballet or figure skating. It’s a monetary concern for them because while Minako-sensei is willing to cut her tuition in exchange for an ongoing tab at the onsen, it’s not enough to offset the cost. And with school, there’s no way that Yuuri has time for both, though his parents kindly do not bring up the topic of nonexistent friends.
They don’t rush him into choosing and even then Yuuri is thankful, because ballet and figure skating are what consumes his small life. It’s going to take a lot of thought and he spends the whole week quiet and contemplative as he tries to decide his fate.
Mari laughs at how seriously he takes it but she quit ballet the minute their parents let her and she’s never gone ice skating save for once, claiming it was too cold and it hurt her butt to fall that often.
Instead of paying attention at school the next day he stares out the window and contemplates. The teachers don’t notice since he’s always quiet and it’s not like he has many classmates who talk to him.
He makes lists instead of taking notes but they look too similar. The cons are about the same; he can’t eat katsudon all the time, he has to wake up early, his feet are more bruises and calluses than appendages some days and he has to talk to the other kids in the classes.
(There’s a plus for ice skating there because he has Yuuko and Takeshi as rinkmates though they’re younger than him while he doesn’t talk much to the other kids in his ballet class.)
The pros are where he stumbles because how can he write down the feeling of flying through the air when he jumps? The sensation of landing a good jump on his skates versus one on the ground is similar and he doesn’t know how to explain the difference. But they’re both good and he can forget that he’s just Katsuki Yuuri, the unremarkable boy, when he’s dancing.
A step sequence can be done on the ground much like a dance is and sometimes there’s no difference. He can’t say it’s always the same to dance on the ground as it is to dance on the ice. But he can’t explain exactly what’s different.
Yuuri thinks about flipping a coin. He goes so far as to flip a 100 yen but before he can see which side it lands on, he shoves it back into his pocket. In neither figure skating or dancing can he be so ambivalent as to rely on pure chance. He understands this already. Whichever one he chooses he will devote himself to not just out of choice but also by necessity.
Instead he decides to take a week off from each. A week won’t be enough lose his hard earned work but it’ll be enough to see which he misses. Minako-sensei looks at him like he’s a little crazy when he tells her his plan but she tells him it’s good that he’s taking this decision seriously. It’s her approval that lets him avoid the studio without feeling too guilty. And she was the one who introduced him to figure skating anyway.
Yuuri finds himself dancing in place, tapping his feet while waiting in line at school and taking every opportunity to gracefully weave his arms through the air as he helps out at home. It helps that he still goes ice skating and he thinks it’s sort of cheating. But he’ll still dance when he doesn’t skate next week. Yuuri’s mind skips at that but he ignores it.
His mom tries one night to softly coax answers out of him after she catches him dancing in the kitchen when he’s supposed to be getting extra plates but Yuuri just shakes his head and murmurs that everything is fine. He doesn’t know what he wants or how to feel. It’s easier to keep going along this path.
The week ends and when he returns to the studio, Minako-sensei nearly tackles him and knocks him to the hardwood floor to ask what his decision is. Yuuri says something about missing the feeling and she grins, saying she’s proud of him. He doesn’t quite understand why but then he doesn’t feel like he had explained himself properly. How does he explain that it’s not a muted joy to return to the studio but something far less? And then there’s the sinking pit and coiling twists of his insides as he realizes that his week without skating is here.
On the second day his mom asks if he’s sick. She knows that he’s skipping going to the rink but she still asks. Yuuri blinks at her then shakes his head. Last week he spent extra time at the Ice Castle since he wasn’t at dance. But Minako-sensei won’t let him do the same at her studio, claiming he does need to rest at some point.
He goes three days before ending up back on the ice. Nishigori-san smiles and asks him where he’s been as he hands Yuuri his favorite skates. He says something about his son Takeshi asking where Yuuri was but Yuuri runs to the locker room before he can finish. Yuuri’s fingers are trembling as he does up the laces, badly enough that he has to redo the left boot so it doesn’t bite into his foot.
He steps onto the rink and he inhales the sharp cold smell. Everything feels right as he skates and when he lands, solid and in excellent form on his double toe loop, Yuuri knows where his heart lies.
Grand Prix Final
Goyang, South Korea
December 2008
Yuri is fifteen, determined to win the Grand Prix Final in his senior debut. He’s aiming for Nationals, Europeans, and Worlds as well, but the GPF is first up so that’s what he’ll focus on for now. He gets Gold in Skate America and it feels so right to sit atop that throne, smirking down at the decrepit guard around him as he prepares to take what is his.
Then Skate Canada comes along and he meets Yuuri Katsuki who takes Gold away from him.
Here’s the thing: Yuri has newspaper clippings and magazine interviews of him haphazardly stuck on his wall and ceiling. He watched Katsuki’s senior debut with mounting dread because as beautiful as his skating was, the man could not land a jump to save his life, and it was killing his score.
The worst part is Yuri has internet stalked him and he’s seen plenty of videos of Katsuki’s nailing his jumps during practice that he fails to perform in competition. It’s goddamn infuriating and Yuri almost asks Yakov to take Katsuki on because Yakov wouldn’t stand for this bullshit. Yakov would kick Katsuki into shape and make him into the champion that he truly is.
Even Yuri knows it’s impossible but he watches Katsuki skate anyways, yelling at the screen in the privacy of his own room when the idiot falls over and over. He could be so good and Yuri wants to see that.
Yuri had almost dropped his phone when he’d realized he would be skating in the same competition as Katsuki. Mila had accused him of finding a girlfriend, unable to figure out why he was so chipper the next day.
But that wish does nothing to quell the shame and fury as he stands to Katsuki’s right. The cheers of the crowd are deaf in his ears and the thousands of lights from the photographers’ cameras are a blur. Yuri is here to tear down the old kingdom and crown himself the new king of figure skating. Silver doesn’t accomplish that.
But Katsuki has a new fire in him after a dismal senior debut and it’s just in time for Yuri’s own debut. Even so, no matter what kind of drive or determination Katsuki has, Yuri should be able to crush it handily.
He’d wanted to meet Katsuki as a winner, as a legitimate threat to him and all of the other seniors, to earn his respect with a cocky grin and a wave of gold. Yuri knows he’s good.
It’s just that Katsuki is that much better now.
Yuri can’t bring himself to talk to Katsuki, not while they’re taking photos at the podium or later at the banquet. Yakov has to drag Yuri there, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from booking it. Normally Yuri would chafe at that but the entire time he’s there, getting congratulations on his shitty silver like it’s a big fucking deal, he’s holding a scream in his throat.
It’s easy to avoid Katsuki at least and Yuri thanks the universe for that small blessing. Yakov has sponsors and old friends he wants to introduce Yuri to. The future of Russia has a nice ring to it but he doesn’t deserve the title if he can’t win gold.
Katsuki makes his rounds then he and his coach excuse themselves, citing an early flight back. Once he leaves Yuri relaxes a little even though his suit is too stiff, enough that he manages to slip a glass of champagne and when Yakov catches him, it’s worth the familiar irritated look. It’s a thousand times better than Yakov’s concerned faux parent face.
“I’m going to win Gold at the Grand Prix Final,” Yuri tells everyone, his face only slightly flushed. He’s outraged but not surprised when people coo over him. But that’s Yuri’s job, to show them that he’s serious, and he catalogues each face so that he can push himself to train harder.
His senior debut is going to be amazing and it’s not going to be anything like Katsuki’s failure of a run. Yuri is the future of competitive figure skating and he is going to make history.
“Good,” Yakov says when Yuri returns to his side as they prepare to depart. “Show them all what you can do.”
Yakov approves of his drive, and he’s almost as merciless as Yuri about it. He still has to watch that Yuri doesn’t overexert himself. To Yuri’s disgust there’s always someone around at night when he’s trying to sneak extra practice time in and they shoo him off before he can even get his blades on.
He doesn’t win the Grand Prix Final, booted all the way down to fourth, and his blood nearly boils at the injustice. Yuri doesn’t even get to share a podium with Katsuki this time. He refrains from crying but he has to swallow his screams and tears, something Yakov is both acutely aware of and completely flummoxed by.
Yuri is usually not one of his skaters on the brink of letting his emotions flood out; that honor belongs to Georgi, who is in no way competition for either Katsuki or Yuri. Yakov had probably been thrilled to start training up a champion for Russia though Yuri has failed at that so far.
Neither Yakov nor Yuri know what he needs right now and it’s an awkward afternoon as Yakov alternates between hesitant gestures of sympathy and gruff criticisms that lack his usual bite. Yuri orders dessert, some chocolate eclair thing that tastes like ash in his mouth and Yakov doesn’t even raise an eyebrow.
It’s when Yakov starts to say something about skipping the banquet that Yuri snaps. He’s not some kind of fragile princess and he can definitely handle his loss. No one is going to say that Yuri Plisetsky is a sore loser even though he totally is.
He’s scowling as he walks into the banquet room, and when he sees Katsuki, standing by his coach as they talk to someone who Yuri should probably know, that Yuri realizes what he needs.
“Katsuki!” Yuri shouts at him. He doesn’t pay attention to Yakov’s attempts at controlling him. No one can stop him because this stupid, beautiful idiot of a gold medalist has annihilated his dreams even while igniting a new one. He ignores all the eyes that turn to him. “I’m going to crush you at Worlds!”
Katsuki looks bewildered and he exchanges a look with his coach but after a moment he nods in acknowledgment.
“Okay. I’ll meet you at Worlds,” Katsuki says.
It’s not as good as winning but it still feels good to hear. This time Yuri lets Yakov drag him away to the other side of the room. When he gets back to his apartment he’s ripping every poster down. Japan’s ace can suck his dick. Yuri is going to fucking kill him.
Trophée de France
Paris, France
November 2015
“Good showing out there,” Christophe Giacometti says as he sidles up to Yuuri during the banquet and wraps an arm around his waist.
Yuuri jumps but he settles down once he sees it’s Chris. Of course it’s Chris. No one else is that touchy with him. He slides free and carefully does not look at Chris’ face, because he’s doing that mock pout and Yuuri never knows how to handle it.
“Thanks. You too. I’m glad we both qualified,” Yuuri says.
He’s taken first place in the NHK Trophy and Trophée Éric Bompard while Chris has his gold from Rostelecom Cup and his silver here from France. They’ll meet at the Grand Prix Final and Yuuri isn’t lying when he says he’s happy for Chris. An injury had kept him from competing to his fullest last year but it seems like he’s healed up now. Chris might be his only friend who skates and he treasures that, even if they seem like an unlikely friendship.
“How’s your new best friend?” Chris says as he waves his phone around. Yuuri doesn’t have to ask to know that means Phichit. He’d spent the first month around Phichit ducking every time he had taken his phone out to avoid an impromptu selfie though now Phichit asks before taking or uploading photos.
“He’s not my-” Yuuri starts before he realizes that Chris is joking. He takes a sip of his champagne, well aware that Celestino is watching and Yuuri wishes he could have more than two. The alcohol helps take the edge off all the people trying to congratulate him and sneak in a question about his future plans. “He’s good. I’m hoping he make it to the Finals this year. He got Fourth in Skate America so he needs second or better in China.”
Phichit is more like a student than a friend, nearly a decade younger than Yuuri. He’s a bright ray of sunshine on the rink and he’s only half joking when he refers to Yuuri as his second coach. Yuuri only smiles because if he says what he’s thinking, that watching Phichit skate is like seeing the future of figure skating manifest before his eyes and he’s so proud he could burst, it’ll only invite his panic. Nowadays retirement is the only question people have for him.
“If he has your recommendation then I should go back and watch his programs closer,” Chris says.
Yuuri nods, because Chris will definitely be pleased with what he sees. Once Phichit gets a handle on his jumps he’s going to be a force to be reckoned with, enough that Yuuri has no doubt he’ll consistently make the podium. This year, Phichit is pouring his heart and soul into his programs, and Yuuri hopes the judges will recognize and reward that passion.
Without needing to be asked, Yuuri leans in so that Chris can take a series of selfies, and he watches as Chris hums and dithers over the best one to post.
“Take your glasses off and let’s try again,” Chris says and Yuuri laughs a little but obliges. He wonders at how many people follow Chris’ accounts to get images of him, since he’s horrible about posting to his instagram and twitter. Phichit had been aghast and he’s tried to work with him to post more but nothing Yuuri does is really interesting enough to warrant posts and tweets.
People want to see him win medals and that’s easy enough to google.
Yuuri follows Chris as he goes to get a selfie with the bronze medalist, a Russian named Georgi Popovich. He avoids meeting his eyes too much, even as he knows that Georgi looks at him with interest. Georgi is rink mates with Yuri-kun and who knows what he says about Yuuri. It’s probably nothing flattering and Yuuri tries to stop thinking about the other Yuri. He still doesn’t know how Yuri-kun feels about him, other than he’s absolutely ecstatic when he beats Yuuri.
“Your friend has already liked all my pictures,” Chris tells Yuuri as he shows him the notifications.
Yuuri laughs a little because Phichit will not sleep when he knows there’s an event going on and if Celestino finds out he’s going to throttle him when they meet back up. He can already hear Celestino’s lecture about night owls and proper bone growth, especially because he’s heard it enough himself.
Yuuri eventually leaves Chris and returns to Celestino’s side, nodding and smiling when it’s appropriate. Luckily Celestino averts the discussion away from Yuuri’s future plans, well aware of what they are, and fully agreeing with keeping a tight lid on the matter. By the end of the night though, Yuuri is more than a little wound up, because it’s the one constant he hears, even more so than the congrats on his gold and placement.
It’s not till he’s curled up in bed, listening to Celestino breathe softly in his sleep in the bed next to his, that Yuuri begins to relax.
He opens his phone to see congratulation texts from his friends and family waiting for him. Yuuri had ignored them earlier in favor of calling but he’d kept that call deliberately short, waiting until a few minutes before the banquet and then using that as an excuse. Lately instead of making him feel better it hurts to hear their voices.
Skating is his everything, but Detroit isn’t home; he left home behind in Hasetsu so he could pursue competitive figure skating. Yuuri tried one year to skate competitively from Hasetsu but it hadn’t worked out. He needs to be around his coach and rink mates to be in the proper state of mind, otherwise he starts hyper panicking about failing his family and hometown.
It’s enough that he worries about disappointing his own standards.
Yuuri visits in the off season but it’s not enough for his parents. And it’s getting harder and harder to leave Hasetsu when October rolls around. The town will never be busy but there’s life there now, and it’s thanks to Yuuri. His wins have brought skaters to the Ice Castle and business to the onsen. Minako-sensei even has students again, enough that she’s been holding recitals for the past few years, though Yuuri isn’t sure that’s any of his doing so much as she’s seized the opportunity.
Yuuri looks at the images Chris uploaded, and he can still remember the young boy who had nervously approached him after he had won his first Worlds for an autograph. Even now, Yuuri can’t explain to Chris that he’d brushed him off because he’d been wound up with anxiety after his Gold medal.
How do you explain to a newly debuted senior that the World's Gold medalist is panicking because people are going to expect more wins from him? It just sounds selfish.
Luckily Celestino had caught the tailwind of the incident; he hadn’t made Yuuri do anything right then and there but after explaining what had happened, he’d encouraged him to respond. Yuuri had mailed Chris a proper photo and autograph, which in Chris’ mind had absolved him of his inexplicable rudeness and solidified them as friends. Yuuri has softly thanked Chris dozens of times to his confusion because if it hadn’t been for him, Yuuri wouldn’t have had any friends during his first years of competition.
Yuuri likes the images and then follows the link Minako-sensei sent him about the GPF line up so far. He’s qualified, and so has Chris, but it seems like they’re the first two. Yuuri sighs in relief at his secure placement.
He missed out on last years GPF and his insides churn at the recollection. There’s no way he can miss this years, especially if this year will be his last. He’s been skating competitively for almost a decade and a half. No one but his coach has an inkling that he’s going to announce his retirement after Worlds.
Yuuri stops on a photo of Yuri-kun posing with his latest gold medal from Rostelecom Cup. There’s no doubt that Yuri-kun will qualify as well, barring injury or incident. He’s going to find out at some point about Yuuri’s retirement and Yuuri has no clue what his reaction will be. The media refers to them as rivals, and they are, but it’s much more intense on Yuri-kun’s part.
Yuuri bites his lip over the half written text because Yuri-kun deserves to know. It’s not the first time he attempts to send this message. He sets his phone aside instead. His flight to China is tomorrow afternoon. He’ll tell Yuri-kun eventually. And worst case, he’ll find out at Worlds, like everyone else.
It’s selfish and cowardly but Yuri-kun is the one who started this whole rivalry. Yuuri is going to be the one to end it but he doubts Yuri-kun will like how he goes about it very much. Yuuri will be twenty-seven by the time Worlds comes around in March though.
Figure skating has been his life but it’s time for Yuuri to go home. Whatever Yuuri wins or loses at Worlds, he’s ready to leave.