Chapter Text
Un bel dì, vedremo
Levarsi un fil di fumo
Sull'estremo confin del mare
One good day, we will see
Arising a strand of smoke
Over the far horizon on the sea
*
Viktor wanders.
It’s late, too late to be out the night before a Free Program, and if Yakov finds out, he’ll be eaten alive. But Viktor thinks the man may have turned in early—his coach is getting old, after all, though he won’t admit it—so as long as he does nothing too stupid, he should be able to slip back into his room without arousing suspicion.
Then again, if he comes to the warm-up session tomorrow with bags under his eyes…
Ah, but he won’t stay up too late, he promises to nothing but the cool air around him.
He just needs some time, a good walk, maybe an hour or so, so he can organize all his scattered thoughts. His thoughts about Yuuri Katsuki. The first skater to break Viktor’s records in a long time; Viktor’s been breaking his own for…he’s forgotten how long. (Things gets a little repetitive when you stay at the top for so long, and sometimes it’s hard to keep track, you know?)
But Yuuri Katsuki…Good Lord.
Viktor still can’t believe how badly he bumbled that first meeting outside the Kiss & Cry earlier. In hindsight, he should have avoided it altogether and concocted some sort of plot for “accidentally” running into Katsuki later in the day. But he didn’t, and it’s set him back, because shortly after he left the rink, Yakov herded him and Yuri up to his usual post-skate review session. What they did wrong. What they did right—a much smaller list than the first one, normally. Who the “threats” are.
Strangely, Viktor couldn’t help but grin his way through that last part, even as Yakov snapped at him to take Katsuki seriously. But then, all Yakov’s advice amounted to was “Don’t screw up your Free Program, Vitya.” Because even Yakov is unsure how to approach the “Katsuki Problem.” He’s unprecedented. The Japanese skater really did come out of nowhere, at least as a serious competitor.
Viktor had spent his free time before dinner looking up videos of Yuuri Katsuki’s past performances on YouTube. And really…he can why Yakov is so out of sorts. Katsuki had been a beautiful skater, step program wise, filled with clear and obvious passion, his choreography moving and emotional. But Yuri had been right—Katsuki’s jumps typically were shit. And if Viktor read Katsuki’s body language right, it had to do with nerves.
Some kind of persistent anxiety problem? Maybe he’d started therapy recently, or some kind of medication. Maybe that could explain his sudden leap in improvement, a balm for the issues that were costing him those jumps in the first place. And then, successful jumps plus those gorgeous step sequences…well, that would definitely make a winner of any skater.
And yet…Viktor doesn’t feel quite satisfied by that answer.
Which is why he’s out here now, walking the streets of Sochi after dark. He’s wearing a more nondescript jacket than usual—no RUSSIA emblazoned on it anywhere—and he has the hood pulled up, so no one disturbs him on his walk. Which suits him just fine. He tires of the press and the fans equally quickly these days. And it’s not that he blames them for his irritation; it’s just…it’s been so long since he’s been able to think after a performance. Every time he steps off the ice these days, he’s mobbed.
Hell, half the time he’s mobbed before he steps on the ice, too.
It wears on him.
Logically, he knows it would wear on anyone, but some selfish part of him wants to believe this is a problem unique to the living legend. Some part of him is still stuck in that arrogant rut where he’s too far removed from all those beneath him to share his problems, because he doesn’t believe other people can have the same ones.
Sometimes, Viktor can’t believe he hasn’t crushed that part of himself yet. A naïve, youthful part of himself. A funny thing to keep when you’re…not so youthful anymore. Any yet…he hasn’t summoned the strength—or is it courage?—to kick the pedestal away.
What does that say about him? What—?
No, never mind that. He can worry about internal matters later.
Now is for Katsuki.
Viktor finds himself naturally drifting down the street toward the rink. Which works. If he heads to the rink, it’ll help him recall Katsuki’s incredible Short Program performance. Viktor’s ability to feel, really feel a skater’s routine, has always been dependent on his proximity to the ice. Videos are good and all, but they’re missing something. Some element of the atmosphere.
Something about the ice triggers Viktor’s memory like nothing else.
As he approaches the doors to the rink, which are blessedly not surrounded by the press this time of night, Viktor starts trying to recall the notes of Katsuki’s music—Eros—which he’s listened to more than a few times over the past weeks, in his attempts to get “inspired” for next year’s programs. Though he’d been struggling with that, especially given his…doubts that he’d be competing next season at all.
He’d started some choreography work for the song, but…God, Katsuki’s choreography had been…Viktor doesn’t think he has a word for it. In any language. Masterful is the closest he can come, but that’s missing the perfect expression of emotion in every single gesture Katsuki made on the ice.
Bah! He needs to go over that performance again, in full. Needs to pick it apart. See if he can find that missing piece Katsuki acquired out of the blue. See if can find what’s forged this new Katsuki out of the slightly broken mold that was the old, nervous one who flubbed all his jumps. It has to be there. The whole story.
He tries the front doors to the rink—most are locked, but one has been left open. He slips inside the building and makes his way toward the ice. No one in the halls. No one in any of the rooms with open doors. No one to stop him, distract him from what seems like an increasingly frantic…compulsion. He picks up his pace, almost running toward the ice he’s spent so much of his life on. That, in some ways, he’s lived on.
Thrived on, certainly.
(But then, Viktor would use that word, “thrived,” to describe a person he’s not entirely sure still exists. If he’s being honest with himself.)
However, as he nears the rink, his ears pick up a noise. No, music. It’s not loud, something broadcasted over the sound system. It sounds more like a phone attached to one of those little dock speakers.
Is someone practicing this late? Chris, maybe? Intent on pulling himself out from underneath Viktor and Katsuki this time? Bin? No, he’s a stickler for curfews. Or perhaps that Canadian…what’s his name again?
Ah, whatever.
Viktor slows down and maneuvers closer to the wall, approaching in the shadows of the hall that leads out to the rink. Maybe if he’s quiet, he can see what some of his competition has in store tomorrow.
From the haunting notes of the music, it must be something dramatic. Passionate.
It must be…Katsuki.
*
E poi la nave appare
E poi la nave è bianca.
Entra nel porto, romba il suo saluto.
And then the ship appears
And then the ship is white
It enters into the port, it rumbles its salute
*
Yuuri isn’t quite honest with Celestino. He doesn’t plan on staying up too late tonight to practice his new Free Program, but he’s not turning in early either.
After he plies Celestino with enough alcohol to knock out a horse over their dinner, then tucks his coach into bed, with the aspirin and water laid out for a nasty morning, he grabs his things and heads to the rink.
He spent a great deal of time thinking hard on which song to use for his Free Program. Certainly, something about love. But Agape wouldn’t work. It didn’t fit his current mindset. And Viktor is, of course, doing Stay Close to Me tomorrow for his Free Program.
Those are the two songs Yuuri knows best, regarding love on the ice, but they aren’t the only ones.
He and Viktor spent some time trying out other songs for the exhibition gala skate, before they’d settled on an unconventional pair skate to a duet version of Stay Close to Me. Which Yuuri is a hundred percent sure would have lit the skating world on fire. It would have blown up Phitchit’s Instagram, at least.
Alas, he and Viktor never got to skate it. All because of that stupid broken blade.
But, if Yuuri doesn’t completely blow his chances in this new timeline, then maybe, maybe he and Viktor can learn that pair skate program again, for another exhibition. Maybe even another Barcelona. (One where Yuuri doesn’t die.)
So, anyway—Yuuri had six other songs he and Viktor had worked on once upon a time. He rifled through those last night, trying to see if any fit with Eros well enough to use for his Free Program. And, to his surprise, he found one.
The last time he’d listened to this song, he’d tossed it aside. This particular version of the love theme didn’t apply to Yuuri, and so he hadn’t connected with it.
But now. Now it’s perfect.
As Yuuri listened to the song, all the choreography started to fall into place in his mind. And in only forty minutes, a record, he’d designed an entire program. (Yuuri knows the phrase “inspiration strikes,” but he doesn’t think it’s ever applied to him quite so much before.)
No matter how hard he practices, he knows this routine won’t be as polished as Eros, but he can hide the flaws from his lack of practice—he’s an expert at hiding the tiny problems in his step sequences, to the point where a lot of people, even those who analyze his videos, don’t think he makes any. As long as he doesn’t flub his jumps, he can make the podium.
No, he can take the podium. Because he knows what Viktor can and will do tomorrow, with Stay Close to Me. And because he knows, he specifically designed his new routine to outmaneuver the great Viktor Nikiforov’s majestic program, by enough to scrape by with a victory even with a few small mistakes here and there.
You can do this, he tells himself for the thousandth time, as he’s tying his skates. Just remember, Yuuri. You already nailed the Short Program. You’re already in the lead. And that’s not an invitation to get nervous! He shoves the churning fear in his gut down again. No, a high score should inspire another high score tomorrow, not sabotage it. You know better. Viktor taught you better!
Viktor…what will he think tomorrow? Will he see Yuuri’s program as another flirty challenge? Or will he read something else out of it? A secret, maybe, that Yuuri can’t say out loud (yet, but sometime he will, sometime soon enough)? Viktor had always been good at reading the messages inside skater’s programs. He had a knack for it. Has a knack for it. Yuuri didn’t give him that. It’s a pre-Yuuri skill. A quality that made (and makes now) Viktor all the more attractive to Yuuri.
Certainly, if Yuuri performs the program well, Viktor will receive the message. Even if Viktor doesn’t realize it’s aimed entirely at him.
Yuuri stands up from the bench, observing the empty rink around him. No fans in the stands. No coaches or other skaters loitering around the rink. No judges sitting sternly to the side, scrutinizing his every twitch. No prying eyes. The condition under which Yuuri performs his absolute best.
If I get it right three times in a row, I’ll call it a night, he promises. He does need energy to perform it tomorrow, after all, so he can’t wipe himself out tonight. That’s another of his anxiety’s little tricks, he knows, pushing him to overwork himself by subtly whispering one more time, until his legs finally give out.
Oh, that was a bad Nationals, he remembers. He wishes he could forget that Nationals.
He pauses halfway to the rink. Wait. He hasn’t done that Nationals yet.
He can fix that, too, after the Grand Prix Final is over.
Huh.
Yuuri sets his little speaker on the wall of the rink, then plugs his phone into it, navigating to his music app and pulling up the song. He put a bit of silence on the file ahead of the song, so he’d have some time to set up first. So as soon as he hits the play button, he quickly detaches his blade guards and then heads out onto the ice, counting down in his head.
He reaches the middle of the rink, takes a few deep breathes, strikes his starting pose…and the music begins.
*
Vedi? È venuto!
Io non gli scendo incontro, io no.
Mi metto là sul ciglio del colle
E aspetto gran tempo
e non mi pesa a lunga attesa.
Do you see it? He is coming!
I don’t go down to meet him, not I.
I stay upon the edge of the hill
And I wait a long time
but I do not grow weary of the long wait.
*
Viktor watches.
It’s all he can do.
Katsuki glides across the ice, his head thrown back, arms reaching out as if to grasp the phantom hand of a missing lover.
His spins are flawless, fast yet soft, perfectly aligned with every note of the song.
His jumps hit either in the most passionate lines or in the quiet, understated gaps in between, giving the routine an ebb and flow, emotions rising and falling between the very breaths hidden beneath the opera singer’s words.
Longing pours out of every roll of Katsuki’s wrist, every extended finger, reaching for a happier time. In the tilt of his chin, up, up, as if toward a half-forgotten daydream still lingering in the clouds. In the bend of his back, performed so easily, yet tortured in tone, as if Katsuki is drawing from the heart of the greatest tragedies, the greatest classic paintings, figures bent and twisted into impossible poses in the quest to scream desire and pain, power and agony, to each and every gaze that dare lands upon them.
Sorrow cries out across the step sequence, a fear of love lost forever, hidden behind words of encouragement spoken by someone who truly wants to believe them. Quick steps. Slow steps. Long and short. Safe and risky. An Ina Bauer, flawless. Everything down to the flutter of Katsuki’s eyes, perfectly coordinated. Moves combined in ways Viktor would never attempt.
And…something else. What is it?
Viktor creeps closer, out of the shadows, even knowing it may give him away.
He needs to see it. What’s the last emotion?
Love?
No.
No, it’s that not that simple. It’s love and something else. Two emotions sewn together so seamlessly they’re nearly indistinguishable. Love is the first, the beginning of the story. But what’s the end?
What is it?
What is it?
*
E uscito dalla folla cittadina
Un uomo, un picciol punto
S'avvia per la collina.
Chi sarà? Chi sarà?
And leaving from the crowded city,
A man, a little speck
Climbing the hill.
Who is it? Who is it?
*
Yuuri moves into the second half of the program, chest heaving, legs aching, heart pounding. But he doesn’t feel the exertion. No, he feels nothing of the world around him. Only the joy rushing through his veins as he leaps into a Quad Salchow. Only the fondness beating in his heart as he moves through a combination spin. Only the nostalgia as he flies through his step sequence.
Viktor coming to Hasetsu, and Yuuri walking in on him naked in the onsen. What a meeting.
A flying sit spin.
Viktor showing Yuri and Yuuri the Eros and Agape programs for the first time, and Yuuri proclaiming his Eros to be Pork Cutlet Bowls. Oh, god. He nearly laughs at himself.
A triple axel.
Viktor’s hand on his shoulder when he’s on the podium after the Ice Castle showdown with Yuri, a reassuring hand, the first of many, to help him through his speech after his win.
A combo jump.
Viktor’s unbelievable jump-and-kiss in China, where they both barely avoided cracking their heads on the ice. And all the kisses after that, too, later that same night…
The last spin before his final move. The final move. The only final move.
*
E come sarà giunto
Che dirà? Che dirà?
Chiamerà Butterfly dalla lontana
And as he arrives
What will he say? What will he say?
He will call Butterfly from the distance
*
Viktor almost calls out to Katsuki after the triple axel—spurred on by a feeling he can’t name—but luckily, his voice sticks in his throat. Because he can’t find the words. He can’t find any words.
The story is on the tip of Viktor’s tongue. It’s there. He can read it like a book, watch it like a play, unfolding before his eyes with every rotation, every step across the ice, everything Katsuki does down to his very breath.
Viktor stands in plain sight now, close enough for Katsuki to spot him easily. But Katsuki doesn’t spot him, and won’t, Viktor knows. There’s too much in this. Too many personal moments all woven together. Too many memories playing out like a film reel in Katsuki’s mind, in time with his movements, in time with his steps, his spins, his jumps. He laid the whole routine out across a storyboard…but god, what’s the story?
What’s the missing feeling? The one he still can’t name. It tells the whole truth.
It’s…
It’s…
Katsuki swings around for one final move.
*
Io senza far risposta
Me ne starò nascosta
Un po' per celia,
Un po' per non morire
I without answering
Stay hidden
A little to tease him,
A little as to not die.
*
Viktor leaving him in the middle of the Rostelecom Cup to be with Makkachin, like Yuuri couldn’t be with Vicchan. Yuuri begging him to go, to be with his beloved pet the same way Yuuri failed to. Something he regrets to this very day. And spits at fate for even now…because if he’d been sent back in time a day earlier, he may have been able to save his poodle’s life.
But fate is fickle.
And Makkachin was (and will be) fine.
And Viktor…Viktor waited for him a the airport, despite his obvious exhaustion.
Yuuri picks up speed.
Viktor taking him out shopping in Barcelona, Yuuri daring to buy the rings, and their…their sorta-kinda engagement Yuuri blushed his way through without saying the word “engagement” even once. Burying it all under Japanese cultural customs that were, yes, equally important to him, but also served the purpose of hiding his…not shame. No, simply his doubt. Like always. His doubt.
But Viktor had no doubt. None at all, as he slipped the matching ring onto Yuuri’s finger.
Yuuri takes off, spinning.
And Yuuri had learned why Viktor had no doubt that night after his Short Program in Barcelona.
Once.
Viktor had seen in Yuuri what Yuuri had never seen in himself. Or, rather, what Yuuri’s anxiety refused to let him see in himself.
Twice.
Viktor had seen the talent, the hard-won skill, the near perfection Yuuri had always been capable of, chained up inside Yuuri’s mind, in a cage labeled self-confidence that Yuuri could never unlock.
Three times.
Viktor unlocked it. That night in Barcelona. In his words. In his touches. In his kisses. In more. Viktor unleashed the reality of Yuuri Katsuki. The one Yuuri had spent so many years pretending didn’t exist because he struggled to find the key.
And in the end, it was so simple…the key. All Viktor had to do was whisper in his ear. That one word. The key to everything. The key to overcoming anxiety. To banishing fear.
Four times.
All you need to remember, Yuuri, he’d said, lips flush with Yuuri’s ear, when you’re out there on the ice, is that no matter how bad things seem, no matter how daunting the obstacles, no matter how much you’re hurting, inside or out, no matter how dark and solemn the world appears to be, no matter what the future seems to hold…
He lands. Perfect.
…there is always, always…
*
Al primo incontro,
Ed egli al quanto in pena
Chiamerà, chiamerà:
“Piccina – mogliettina
Olezzo di verbena”
I nomi che mi dava al suo venire.
At the first meeting,
And then a little troubled
He will call, he will call
“Little one, dear wife
Blossom of orange”
The names he called me at his last coming.
*
Yuuri lands the Quad Flip, Viktor’s Quad Flip, for the second time in a single day, and the moment his blade touches the ice, the answer sweeps over Viktor like a divine revelation.
The story. The whole story.
Love. Profound and deep and endless.
Loss. Bitter and biting and raw.
Longing. For a time that will never come again.
And…
And…for the future…
*
Tutto questo avverrà,
te lo prometto
Tienti la tua paura -
Io con sicura fede lo aspetto.
All this will happen,
I promise you this
Hold back your fears –
I with secure faith wait for him.
*
Hope.