Chapter Text
Yuuri's absolute failure at the Grand Prix Final was probably the lowest point in his entire life. His hangover the next morning only added fuel to the fire of his misery. On his way to the airport with Celestino, his shoe sole came off. On the plane, he spilled orange juice on his lap. In the bathroom on the plane, he whacked his head on a dislodged plastic panel. Back in his seat, he pinched his finger in the belt. Shit was bad. Shit was so bad.
Celestino was a good coach, a great guy, but bad with emotional outbursts. Not in the "doesn't know how to deal" way, but in the "deals way too enthusiastically" way. With placating reassurances and empty words, the large Italian man patted Yuuri gently on the back-- careful of jostling him during a high-altitude hangover-- and promptly fell in for a nap. Yuuri really wanted to do the same, but it was a twenty-hour flight back to Detroit and he just wanted to cry it out. At least he could do that silently.
Weeks of Phichit trying to get him to come out with their fellow rink mates followed. Weeks of Yuuri locking himself in their shared room is what occurred. If not for the blessings of online assignment submitting Yuuri may have failed his classes, it was a genuine miracle he graduated at all, honestly.
On Valentine's Day, Phichit tried his best. "Yuuri," he cooed gently. "I've got a surprise for you~"
"Phichit, I don't want anything." The sad boy groaned under his blanket.
Phichit did not heed the warnings, and wrestled the blanket out from Yuuri's hands, nestling himself inside the cocoon of shame. Two pairs of dark eyes met in humid silence. As the moments ticked by, Phichit showed no signs of discomfort as Yuuri struggled to breathe in the wet darkness.
Finally, he gave in, sitting up on his bed. "Ugh, fine. What is it?" He winced internally at the rude tone he took with his best friend, but thankfully the younger boy took it in stride. He also took something out from behind his body.
"Tadaa!" He shouted, displaying the candy bar proudly.
"Phichit... this is..."
"Bueno White! Who's your best frie—ack!" Phichit coughed the end out as Yuuri held him in a bear hug, shaking softly. "So you ready to talk now?"
Before Yuuri could nod his head yes, both of their phones chimed with an Instagram notification. What greeted them upon unlocking was an image of two pairs of feet, in what looked to be a very expensive spa.
v-nikiforov
[ image ]
1,731 likes
v-nikiforov #HBD to my good friend @christophe-gc !!! #spaday
christophe-gc Nothing like a day out on the town with your greatest competitor, eh? ;-)
"Competitor..."
Yuuri's face seemed to darken as Phichit gave his phone a double tap. "Yuuri...?"
"He..." Tears flowed from his face directly onto his phone screen. "He thought I was a fan, Phichit. He didn't even..."
Their eyes met, and Phichit looked as if his heart had sunk into his feet.
"He didn't even recognize me as a competitor."
"Oh, Yuuri," A deep hug enveloped Yuuri, his body wracked with sobs as Phichit held him into the night.
In March he returned home to Hasetsu. In March he decided he would make up his mind about whether or not he'd retire. Just... one more time, though. Just to get it out of his system.
As he skated Stammi Vicino for Yuuko, his tensions didn't melt away. He didn't lose himself in the music. He mused about his career as a figure skater—if you could even call it a career at this point—and all the ways he loved and hated the ice. With every jump, he imagined he were flying, flying far and away from his career, from his responsibilities, from everyone, so it could be just him. No one to recognize him—or fail to recognize him—no one to tell him whether he should or shouldn't quit, no one to tell him he was fat or stupid or melodramatic. He skated with much on his mind, but nothing in his thoughts. He felt wistful.
Yuuko flapped around making a big deal out of it, but Yuuri could see the worry in her eyes.
Early April brought snow, for some reason. As unseasonable as it was, he'd have to take care of the front entry eventually. Just... not yet. He scrolled through the YouTube comments on the video of himself skating Victor Nikiforov's Routine. The self-exposure to toxic and rude comments soothed him in a way. It was nice to know he wasn't the only person who hated him. The occasional supportive comment was like a cool breeze on a hot afternoon. They made him feel better day by day, and they only continued to pour in even weeks later. Yuuri felt with sudden warmth that, quite frankly, he had time. He had time for this decision and he had time to figure out what he really wanted. Perhaps things would be fine. Everything was fine.
A cat-like stretch had Yuuri coughing around a yawn, finally ready to leave his room for the day even though it was early afternoon. A glance out his window told Yuuri that it was snowing a lot harder than he’d initially thought. Neat. He plodded out to the hallway, pulling on a sweater to protect from the chill. He sleepily brushed his teeth and washed his face, thinking about how he'd probably have to shovel snow.
Entering the main room, Yuuri noticed his sister peeking out of one of the small front windows. "Mari," he whispered. "Is something wrong?" He tiptoed over to her as she wordlessly waved her hand to beckon him over. "Is it the snow? Is it that bad?" Mari shoved her hand out towards Yuuri's face in a 'Stop' motion, her forehead still pressed to the window. After a silent moment, she finally turned around, a knowing grin on her face.
"I think you should open the door, little bro." She said quietly, walking away.
Opening the door, Yuuri was immediately bowled over onto the wooden floor by something large and cold.
“Yuuri!” the something shouted.
Now on the floor, Yuuri dusted the snow off his glasses to find a man firmly planted over him. Hugging him, no, more like holding him. Shaking?
A lock of silver hair fell onto his frames as the man over him nuzzled his incredibly cold nose into Yuuri’s neck. Wait. Hold on. Silver hair? What kind of old man could topple him over like this?
“Yuuri… tadaima…”
What kind of old man could topple him over and then pretend he lives here? A drunk? It’s the middle of the afternoon! He’s heavy! It hurts!
Yuuri managed to choke out an exclamation of pain as he struggled underneath the firm, solid man.
“Ah! I’m so sorry dorogoy, let me help you up,” said the man in a worried voice. Without looking, Yuuri reached for the surprisingly soft and not at all old and wrinkly hand and accepted the help up to his feet. When his hand wasn’t immediately released, he ventured a glance towards the person who tackled him and–
Oh.
Oh my god.
“Eh? Yuuri, you're looking really pale– Yuuri!”
The last thing Yuuri saw–before his eyes rolled back into his head and he hit the floor–was consecutive five-time World Champion, legendary, world record holding, world's greatest ice skater Victor Nikiforov reaching out to touch his face.
Then, darkness.