Chapter Text
Vanity Fair Magazine Headquarters, Financial District (New York, NY) – immediately after the events of Chapter 1
“Do either of you possess even a modicum of shame?” Yuri griped dispassionately, upon catching sight of them emerging from the set dressing room.
“‘Modicum’? Fancy!” Viktor enthused, having expected a quip or two.
He stretched his hand out to muss up Yuri’s hair, but his student was used to predicting his movements by now and deftly side-stepped him. Scuttling off while clutching his Cheez-Its bag for dear life, he somewhat resembled a leopard-printed crab.
“Really? You stood outside the dressing room just so you could make that jab?” Viktor called out after him. “Sorry to disappoint your sense of prurient curiosity, Yura, but we weren’t doing anything even remotely eyebrow-raising! Yusha was simply giving me a hug.”
But Yuri had already sidled up to Otabek, who was in the middle of a conversation with Jacari, Vanity Fair’s head makeup artist. Jacari wasn’t familiar with figure skating, but was an avid EDM fan, and had been intrigued by Otabek’s DJ side-hustle when it had come up earlier.
Yuuri just hummed noncommittally and swung their joined hands together, prompting Viktor to turn and smile at him.
He’d been a little surprised by the urgency with which his husband had embraced him in the privacy of their dressing room, but when Yuuri had explained that he’d sensed his sadness due to that last question, Viktor had felt himself melt a little bit.
Though he and Yuuri both shared a lot of excitement for the future – specifically, around their partnership with the Nishigoris to expand Ice Castle into a top-tier training center – they also harbored significant grief around this chapter of their lives coming to a close.
The coach part of Viktor ached every time it sunk in that his moments guiding Yuuri from the rink boards were running out. And the husband side of him did, too, because even after many happy years together, deep-rooted insecurities from his past sometimes surfaced.
Once Viktor was no longer needed as a coach, would he, alone, be “enough”1 for Yuuri?
What if the stress of getting their training center established made them unwittingly revert back to poor communication habits of their earlier days? They’d worked hard to unlearn them over the years, but even still, every substantial transition in their relationship – Yuuri’s move to St. Petersburg, his own retirement, their move to Fukuoka, Viktor deciding to take Yuri on as a student – had occurred against the backdrop of active competitive careers.
His wonderful Yuuri was now far more confident in their ability to tackle challenges together, but as the coach in their professional relationship, Viktor wondered sometimes if he was taking up too much emotional space when it came to processing “the end”.
“From one sappy couple to another, say hi!”
He turned in the direction of Phichit’s sing-song instructions and squinted at the aloft iPhone.
“How’s it going over there?”
Leo’s voice rang out after a brief lag, and when they drew closer, Viktor could see that Guang-Hong was cuddled into his side.
Now within reach, Yuuri aimed a playful swat at Phichit’s arm.
“Why are you like this?!” he demanded, to which the other barked a very unapologetic laugh. “We’ll all be at dinner together later, they don’t need a play-by-play!”
Guang-Hong perked up at the words, though his excitement was at odds with the heartbroken countenance shaping his features.
“How could you say that, Yuuri?! You know how badly we both wanted to be there! Why couldn’t Haru have tried harder with the guest list?!” he bemoaned, echoing the complaint that several of their other friends already had.
While JJ and Isabella were hosting their daughter’s 2nd birthday party and Seung-Gil was attending his brother’s wedding, most everyone else on the men’s circuit – retired as well as still active – was here in town for Leo’s ice show.
As such, Viktor had had to contend with several disgruntled athletes after he’d relayed the news that only 3 guests would be allowed on the set of today’s Lie Detector filming session. Christophe had suggested they all play strip poker to determine the winners of these coveted spots, but before anyone else could weigh in, Yuri had immediately claimed ‘student rights’, insinuating that he might get into all sorts of PR nightmares unless Viktor was able to keep an eye on him.
This had not been a subtle strategy, whatsoever.
Naturally, Phichit had followed this by claiming ‘best friend rights’, declaring this might “finally be the day Yuuri comes clean about the sordid details of his Viktor Memorabilia Collection! I just know he has some stuff he’s never told a soul about”. Meanwhile, Otabek so rarely allowed himself to look excited about anything, so when he cracked a smile and stated that “it would be really fun to get to be there in-person”, everyone else thought it’d be too mean to deny him the opportunity.
“Guang-Hong, if we let any more of you accompany us, we’d probably get blacklisted from every single non-skating-related media outlet on the planet,” Yuuri spoke up, wryly. “As it is, I don’t envy whoever will have to edit all the footage down.”
Viktor watched him shoot a nervous glance at Andressa, as if expecting her to scurry over and lambast them.
“So, then do what you guys normally do,” Leo spoke up, shrugging. “Yuuri, go buy a few expensive bottles of sake for the crew to split, and Viktor, continue to uphold your title as Hasetsu’s Lead Tourism Ambassador by inviting everybody to come for a visit to Japan.
They all grinned at one another.
“Isn’t that the only reason you guys are allowed back by the First We Feast people?” Guang-Hong now asked.
He wasn’t far off, and immediately, Viktor recalled his and Yuuri’s chaotic Hot Ones interview from last month.
Prior to, they had watched enough of the show to have grown familiar with Sean Evans’ interviewing style, but it seemed that even unflappable YouTube hosts had their limits. Viktor was pretty sure he’d seen Sean take some migraine pain reliever right after the cameras had stopped rolling. Or maybe he’d just been hallucinating by way of his and Yuuri's brush with death after taking on ‘Da Bomb Beyond Insanity’.
He had to suppress a smirk at the thought of the question he’d developed around the appearance for today’s game. In any event, the First We Feast production team had evidently decided that Yuuri's sake offering made up for the pandemonium, because they’d invited him and Yuri to face off against one another in two months for their spinoff show: Hot Ones Versus. Yuuri had gamely agreed, and after what they’d already endured, Viktor had marveled over his fearlessness for days on end.
They chatted with Guang-Hong and Leo for a few more minutes but Andressa was soon giving them the signal to resume filming.
A hint of apprehension flashed in Yuuri’s eyes when Kariesha began to hook him up to the polygraph machine, and Viktor almost forgot that he was supposed to be keeping his hands to himself when his husband tipped his head to rest it against his shoulder.
Even though this truly was all for fun – and it’s not like either of them had anything to hide – he knew that Yuuri was nervous; his comfort levels around media appearances had grown over the years but out of the two of them, Yuuri was still far more easily embarrassed.
Viktor pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“If it’s ok with Andressa, maybe our chairs could stay close together like this,” he murmured in hushed Japanese. “Instead of sitting across from you, I could ask if my seat could remain here at a right angle to yours, that way you can hold my hand more easily. How does that sound, Yuranya?”
Yuuri seemed to freeze against him for a long moment, but when he looked up, the worry etched into the lines around his eyes appeared to have receded, slightly.
“Sounds good, Vitya,” he whispered back, his answering smile almost shy.
Neither Andressa nor Funmi had any issue with his request, and it was with obvious relief that Yuuri saw him settling back in at the table, right next to him. Funmi now sat a few feet away, taking the spot that his chair had originally been in.
“Ok, let’s start off with some baseline questions,” Viktor began, any attempt at schooling his features dashed the moment that Yuuri began to wiggle his shoulders.
It was an irresistibly endearing habit2 that he often wasn’t even consciously aware of.
“Is your name Yuuri “I Have The Most Stunning Eyes In The Entire World But My Husband’s Are Quite Riveting Also” Katsuki-Nikiforov?” he read off, hoping that by starting off on such a cloying note, he’d be able to alleviate his nerves even slightly.
Yuuri’s sudden and beautifully lilting laugh stood out easily, even amongst the many others from their spectators.
A hint of pride flared in Viktor’s chest when he noted that Yuri didn’t grumble even one bit at this arguably mawkish kick-off.
He’d now been coaching him for just over a year, and even in that relatively short span of time, it was obvious how much more considerate Yuri was with respect to Yuuri’s anxiety. Of course, he hadn’t displayed this same sense of restraint during Viktor’s own turn, but Yuri related to “the Katsudon” in a way that didn’t exactly translate to their own coach/student dynamic (not that Viktor blamed him one bit for the preferential treatment).
“Yes, it is,” Yuuri replied, his (stunning) eyes sparkling with every word. “The rink commentators insist on reading out the full title at competitions, which always keeps things interesting. Plus, the ISU has to make my entry badge bigger than everyone else’s so they have enough room to print all of it.”
Viktor now gave a giggle of his own, his heart soaring to see Yuuri joking around like this even with the hint of tremulousness in his voice.
“We don’t really make it easy on the big-whigs, do we?” he responded, with an exaggerated wink at the cameras. “Particularly because those adjectives sometimes change, depending on the day. ‘Stunning’ might become ‘enthralling’, ‘riveting’ might become ‘gorgeous’...you get the picture.”
“My, what healthy vanity,” Otabek dryly offered, which made Andressa crack a rare smile.
Viktor turned to give him a dose of his own stoic-thumbs-up treatment, and then brought his attention back to question two.
“Ok, on to the next one: are you nervous?” he asked, knowing that it sometimes helped when Yuuri was free to admit as much.
His husband slowly exhaled and nodded.
“I am. To be fair, though, love, I was nervous from the moment we got into our rental car this morning, after which I had to sit in the passenger seat while you drove through New York City traffic as if we were extras on the set of Uncut Gems,” Yuuri answered, shooting a grim look at the cameras. “Also, it didn’t help that our backseat guests– ” here, he paused to glare at Phichit, Yuri, and Otabek, “ –fought for control over the music pretty much the entire drive.”
Viktor seized upon the latter half of the sentence, completely ignoring the commentary on his (perfectly fine) driving.
“Indeed, it was an absolutely monstrous display of squabbling, and from three grown men, no less!” he declared, with bombast.
“Woah, woah, woah! I stan MUNA like any sensible person should, but Viktor had us listen to Number One Fan five. times. in. a. row.,” Phichit lobbed back with emphasis, after which Yuri gave a vehement noise of agreement. “There have to be limits to your tyranny, you two!”
Viktor was set on ignoring them both, not interested in assertions that this decision had been a cause of distress in any way; as an early surprise for Yuuri’s birthday, he’d booked tickets for them to see the band back in 2019 during their United States ‘Saves The World’ tour, and they still had the most vivid dreams about what an incredible night it’d been.
“Ok, last one, Yusha,” he loudly announced, with an edge of primness. “Were you born and raised in the Saga Prefecture city of Hasetsu, a place that everyone should visit at least once in their lives? Further, a magical coastal town with many wonderful features, but perhaps most salient of all being the traditional onsen run by your lovely parents and sister?”
His voice turned up at the end, and he beamed.
As Leo had mentioned, being ‘Hasetsu’s Number One Tourism Ambassador’ was a title Viktor wielded with the utmost seriousness, and while neither he nor Yuuri were big-headed enough to say that it was Yuuri’s success in the last few years that had single-handedly revived the city’s economy, it also would have felt contrived to downplay the impact.
Given the constant influx of visitors and not even just during tourist season, Yuuri’s parents had tripled the size of their staff. The robust profit margins also meant that they could afford to shut down for a few brief stretches throughout the year to take a proper vacation or come regularly to competitions during the season.
“I was,” Yuuri answered, the glimmer of pride that hung in his gaze making Viktor feel slightly breathless. “Hi okaasan, hi otousan, hi neechan!”
He waved, adorably, at the cameras.
“There are many others from my hometown that deserve a personalized greeting, but we’d be here all day if I followed through,” Yuuri said, his eyes crinkling the way they always did whenever his smile broadened to take up his entire face. “But, suffice it to say that I couldn’t have gotten to where I am in life without all of the love Hasetsu has given me. I couldn’t have asked to grow up in a better place.”
“Damn right! Hasetsu’s the best!” Yuri crowed from the sidelines, with a ferocity that warmed Viktor all the way through.
He and Yuuri were both well aware that in just over a year, Kyushu had come to feel like a second home to him.
“And don’t just take it from our geezer coach,” Yuri continued (ok, the warmth was now fading…). “Nothing beats a dip in the onsen at Yu-topia, and okaasan makes the best katsudon on the planet!”
In the very next instant he began to furiously blush, presumably at the realization that Yuuri and Otabek were now staring at him in an extremely fond manner.
“Anyway…get on with it, old man!” he exclaimed, looking straight down at his shoes and appearing extremely flustered at having been caught gushing on camera, of all things.
Viktor gave a mock-salute and straightened up in his seat.
“Right away, tigrenok! Question 1: After many electrifying months as your coach back in 2016, I publicly announced my “comeback” to figure skating the day after the Men’s Free Skate at the Barcelona Grand Prix Final. Due to your old phone’s dismal battery life, it died while you were composing an Instagram post about my return.”
He now gestured to Phichit.
“As a result, this individual over here beat you to it, and even to this day, I believe his post has around 500 or so more likes than the one you eventually made,” Viktor went on and then paused, dramatically.
“Were you salty about this?”
His husband threw Phichit a playfully annoyed look before responding. Petulance was written all over his face.
“Of course I was!” Yuuri replied. “I’m pretty sure I was the one you were engaged to back then, not Phichit. Even though I was practically allergic to social media at the time, as your student and fiance, it was more than a little grating that he beat me to the punch.”
Viktor felt the urge to preen at this brazen show of possessiveness, and much like during his own turn, provocative ooooh -ing noises – Phichit’s goading being the loudest – echoed around the set.
“All became right in the world, though, medhezvonok moy3," he spoke up, allowing his voice to slide into lofty territory. “We got you a far better phone, and I now make sure that there are at least two different chargers on your person at all times.”
Yuuri rolled his eyes but smiled, all the same.
Viktor suspected that he might never achieve the same levels of enthusiasm around social media as someone like Phichit, but he was increasingly receptive to it in a way that was truly remarkable, considering how he’d once felt back during that first season of working together.
“Question 2: It is well known that before you pursued skating seriously, you trained in ballet from the age of 5 under the esteemed Okukawa Minako at her studio in Hasetsu,” he began to read, as Yuuri leaned forward a bit and eyed him, intently.
“A studio which, incidentally, is booked solid all the way through the summer, so aspiring dancers: make sure to get on the waiting list for next year when it opens up in August! There are still a few spots open in the 2-day workshops that she and Yuuri are co-teaching, however, and they’re offering a discounted rate. For ten percent off when you check out online, enter the code ‘YUURI IS THE BEST’ with spaces and all-caps!”
Viktor scooted his chair backwards and out of reach just in time to miss Yuuri’s lean to flick him on the forehead.
“That’s not the code! You’re shameless, Vitya!” he griped, amidst hushed giggling. “The code is ‘OKUKAWA DANCE 2022’ with two spaces and all-caps. If you try to enter in ‘YUURI IS THE BEST’, I’ll personally make sure that you get charged more and I’ll cut your fouetté form down to the quick.”
The look on his face was rather intimidating and Viktor could almost hear a make-believe Christophe giving a turned-on shiver next to him.
He laughed and edged forward in his seat, though he didn’t yet move his chair back into place.
“Like I was saying, you trained from the age of 5, and anyone who has watched you on the ice can tell that you are more than able to command a dance floor,” he continued on. “That being said, do you think you’re a better ballet dancer than…”
“...this person?”
He revealed the printed picture with a flourish so that both Yuuri plus the camera crew could see. There Viktor was, at the age of 18, in the middle of one of Lilia’s classes. His long hair shrouded his face, and his leg was lifted up behind him in a rather pitiful arabesque that he didn’t blame her for side-eyeing.
He couldn’t remember who’d been taking the picture…maybe Georgi?
Yuuri barked a laugh, which he immediately tried to cover up with a cough (unsuccessfully).
“I think that picture you chose somewhat speaks for itself, moya rybka4,” he responded, though not unkindly. “There are a number of forms of dance like ballroom, for instance, where you’re better than I am, no question, but when it comes– ”
“What do you mean, ‘no question’? I have questions!” Yuri loudly cut in, making Otabek sharply wheel around to hide his face.
“ – when it comes to ballet,” Yuuri continued on with intent, “I definitely have you beat, sorry to say.”
Viktor beamed, glad he hadn’t tried to lie to spare his feelings. The Makkachin tissue box holder was inches away, and he would have had to whack him over the head with it, if so.
And speaking of Makka…
“I’m glad you think so, my Yuuri, but here’s a far trickier question,” he remarked, before casting him a shrewd look. “Are you a better ballet dancer than…”
“...her?”
The subsequent cooing was practically deafening, and the two of them both grinned when Funmi clapped her hands to her cheeks at the sight of Makka wearing a tutu and sitting upright on her hind legs in their home dance studio. Yuuri was also in the frame, pretending to instruct her, whereas Viktor had been the one taking the shot (while trying to cuddle Goya and Meni at the same time, who’d been extremely uninterested in the particulars of pirouettes).
“Awww, of course I’m not,” his husband answered, with stars in his eyes and a hand pressed to his chest. “Makka is the best everything! I miss you, moya khoroshaya5. And of course Menichka and Goyasha, as well!”
His cry towards the cameras was imploring, and Viktor didn’t have the heart to remind him that this wasn’t a livestream. It was never easy to leave their pups behind when they traveled, especially with Makka getting on in age. However, all three furbabies were currently being spoiled to the maximum extent at Yu-topia.
“Me too…our doggies are the best,” Viktor noted, with a last loving look at the picture before setting it aside. “This brings us to question 3.”
He cleared his throat.
“Neechan actually helped me come up with it,” he began, wanting to laugh at the suspicious look these words generated. “As we’ve shared with our fans more and more candidly over the years, I was rather shameless in the early part of our courtship.”
He let his lips quirk at Phichit and Otabek’s slightly muffled laughter, and Yuuri’s cautious smile.
“Your ‘Yuuri on Ice’ Free Program is a very taxing one, and right after the first training session during which I joined you for successive run-throughs of it – with the full jump layout in addition to max difficulty on the step and choreo sequences – I made a big show of collapsing right outside the entrance to Yu-topia. I then begged for you to help me up the stairs to my room. You were so attentive and sweet that, naturally, I couldn’t resist the temptation to milk this opportunity in the following weeks.”
With only a brief flicker of guilt (what else was he supposed to have done?! Desperate times, as they say…), Viktor kept his eyes glued to the page and continued reading.
“At strategic points over the next month or two, I may have played up my fatigue or orchestrated a few sympathy-induced falls when feeling particularly touch-starved. However, there were a few hints that cropped up now and then to suggest that you knew about my deception. And yet, you appeared to have no problem indulging me, anyway, practically carrying me every time that I whined about my pitiful stamina, or my achy knees.”
He looked up.
Yuuri’s cheeks were charmingly pink, and Viktor’s fingers itched to poke at them.
“So, that being said, anata6: did you know about my little charade, back then?” he asked, already aware of the answer but eager to see his reaction, nonetheless. “And if so, why did you let it continue?”
Yuuri began to scratch the back of his neck, his flush growing even rosier.
Viktor nearly cooed.
How was he so cute?!
Even after over two years of marriage and four-and-a-half as a couple, Yuuri still grew adorably embarrassed around some of the particulars of their early beginnings.
His spouse gave a tiny cough and kept his gaze affixed to the table they were seated at.
“Maybe not from the very beginning, but eventually? Yes, I knew,” he responded, and from the slight upturn of his lips, Viktor could tell that he was reminiscing. “And you know exactly why: your little scheme started before we officially began dating, so it gave me an excuse to be close to you and to take care of you, for a change.”
Yuuri glanced at him and his face changed, as if he’d suddenly realized what he’d said.
“Not that you had asked to be taken care of, in so many words…but I liked having the roles reversed, so to speak, at least for those brief exchanges,” he went on, without a trace of levity. “You were doing so much for me, and it felt nice to be able to make sure that you were ok, too.”
The subsequent awwww’ing was somewhat drowned out by the way Viktor proceeded to half-stand and envelop him in an eager hug.
He giggled at Yuuri’s yelp of surprise.
“My Yuranya is sooo sweet!” Viktor cried, swaying them back and forth. “And I love that you take care of me. You’re very good at it.”
There was a brief pause, but then his embrace was being returned with equal fervor.
“I try my best, Viten’ka. You deserve it,” his husband replied, sounding so earnest that it made Viktor’s heart skip a beat.
“Sit down, geezer! That half-standing position can’t be good for your arthritic back!” Yuri called out, the caustic words only slightly intruding on his bubble of bliss.
“Careful, Yura!” he challenged, good-naturedly, after breaking out of Yuuri’s hold. “Off-season or not, I can still put restrictions on your diet at dinner tonight if I want to.”
Viktor allowed himself a smirk when Yuri seemed properly dejected at the prospect of this threat.
“Ok, so no lies, so far, right Funmi?” he asked, to which she gave an enthusiastic thumbs up.
He sat back down, smoothing his disheveled hair and waiting until Yuuri was ready as well.
“Alright, then. Onto the next: I am an irrefutably clingy sleeper, so as soon as it became clear that we would have to endure a multi-week separation for our respective national competitions back in 2016, I custom-ordered four different body pillows of you in various outfits and poses.”
Yuuri's eyes narrowed a bit, but Viktor kept reading, undeterred.
“Over the course of the next six months – and, much to the protest of my wallet, considering how much I’d paid for express shipping – these pillows began disappearing from our apartment, yet the distinct lack of goose-feather carnage suggested they were not the victims of Makkachin or, later, Meni’s restlessness.”
Viktor enjoyed the slight paling of Yuuri’s complexion as he caught on to where this was going.
“Every time I asked you about the disappearances, you managed to change the subject using eros-based methods of distraction– ” (Vitya! You couldn’t have just left it at ‘change the subject’?!) “ –but the time for comeuppance is nigh!”
He slammed his palm down onto the table and attempted to look stern.
“Were you responsible for these ‘mysterious’ vanishings?”
Seeming unperturbed by Phichit’s squawking laughter, Yuuri crossed his arms and surveyed him over the top of his glasses.
“Before I answer, would you perhaps like to shed some light on these ‘various outfits and poses’ rather than glossing over that part of things?” he inquired, in an overly sweet tone of voice.
Viktor adopted his signature lip-tapping gesture.
“Noooo, I don’t think that’s necessary, is it?” he cheekily countered. “It’s a very simple yes or no question, Yusha.”
Yuuri huffed and scrunched his eyebrows.
“I won’t get into the details, but since Vitya is refusing to clarify, let me just say that he somehow found the most shameless dakimakura manufacturer in all of Japan!” he crowed, waving an arm around. “One of the pillows had me outfitted in a version of the Eros costume that makes the real thing look downright modest in comparison.”
Yuri and Jacari loudly guffawed.
“Now, I wasn’t inherently against him sleeping with these pillows when we had to be apart,” Yuuri went on, matter-of-factly, even while his cheeks flamed. “However, when Vitya insisted that we be surrounded by them on all sides while in bed together on just a regular night, I had to take matters into my own hands. Was it a dastardly thing to do? Perhaps…”
Trailing off, he coyly smirked at him (incidentally, looking very much like Viktor’s favorite version of the four pillows that had gone missing).
“But, do I care? Not at all,” Yuuri finished, in that commanding tone that always made him unravel just a little bit.
“He is definitely telling the truth about not caring,” Funmi piped up, sounding delighted.
This was followed by enthusiastic applause that made his husband jump, almost as if he’d forgotten that they had an audience.
“Well, there you have it, everyone,” Viktor said, with a put-upon sigh. “Don’t be fooled by how cuddly my Yuuri looks in all my Instagram pictures. He is an unabashedly ruthless man.”
For a moment their gazes locked and they stared, sizing each other up. But only a split-second later, these “intimidation tactics” gave way to hearty gales of laughter on both sides.
Yuuri shoved his glasses up to wipe at his eyes, and Viktor hiccuped a few times before accepting the water bottles that Andressa brought over.
“Ok, question five,” he read off, trying to act natural and not as if he was literally vibrating with excitement; for at least three-quarters of these questions, he could have predicted how Yuuri would answer, but this was truly one in which Viktor had no idea of the outcome.
Even if he had his suspicions…
“After lots of encouragement from you and our other friends, I dipped my toe into the world of fanfiction writing earlier this year, and wrote a self-insert, Space Jam sequel fanfic7 starring you, myself, and Yura, as well as, of course, the lovable Looney Tunes from the original movie. In case anyone missed my tweet about it from a few days ago, I’ll make sure the Vanity Fair team includes a link when this goes live!”
He felt a rush of affection wash over him at Yuuri’s proud smile.
The cheerleading Yuuri had done from start to finish of his writing/posting journey had meant the world to him. In those moments when Viktor’s innate perfectionism had reared its crippling head, Yuuri had reminded him that stats ultimately wouldn’t be able to capture the most important part of this whole thing: how much fun and fulfillment he’d feel in the creative process.
Of course, they both recognized that it was nice to have external validation, but in a parallel to the coaching narrative Viktor often spouted, Yuuri was able to get him to see that he was writing for himself, first and foremost.
He’d come up with the story idea after their 200th or so Space Jam re-watch, in preparation for the worldwide release of Space Jam: A New Legacy later this summer. After learning that the producers had considered focusing on non-basketball athletes like Tony Hawk or Jeff Gordon, the premise of centering it around figure-skating as a commentary on his own retirement back in 2018 had rapidly formed.
“I posted my story to Archive Of Our Own a little over a month ago, and though reception has been largely positive, I’ve gotten a handful of hate comments, which initially, had me feeling a bit down,” Viktor continued, trying to keep his voice neutral.
“After several days during which I kept a close eye on the comment section, I noted an interesting trend: within only ten or fifteen minutes or so of a negative comment being posted, a guest user, or maybe even two or three guest users would head into the comment section and begin battling with the original negative commenter. Now, mind you, I began noticing this well before I’d ever tweeted about my fic, so no one at this point would have known that Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov, himself, had been the author of this Viktor, Yuuri and Yura self-insert story.”
The slight tightness around Yuuri’s mouth was rather damning.
Though his husband’s poker face had improved by leaps and bounds over the years, there were still a few minute tells that Viktor prided himself on being able to pick up on. Though he wanted nothing more than to dive over to hug him again, he willed himself to keep his ass firmly planted in his seat…at least, until he’d gotten the verbal confirmation he suspected was just a minute away.
“Thanks to my neurotic attention to detail, I was also able to pick up on certain speech patterns that suggested that the various vigilante hate-comment-battles on my fic were actually perhaps not the work of six or seven or eight different people as initial appearances would suggest, but only one or two. Probably only one.”
Viktor paused, letting an expectant silence stretch out for a bit.
“And so, I ask, Yuranya: were you the writer behind these very sweet defenses of my honor?”
Yuuri’s mouth stretched into a smile that looked painted-on.
“Believe me: I would have liked to have been, but I wasn’t the writer of them, no.”
Funmi’s response was succinct and immediate.
“That’s questionable.”
A heady sense of triumph flared to life in Viktor’s chest.
But before he could say anything, Yuuri was holding his hand in a grip just short of vice-like, his brandy-colored eyes boring into him as if he’d forgotten they were in the middle of a filming set instead of entirely alone.
His expression was dead-serious.
Any sense of mirth Viktor felt around the humorous nature of the question vanished.
“Listen to me, Viten’ka: I mean it. I didn’t go into the comments section to wage war on your behalf…but that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t behind the idea, overall,” Yuuri stated, with a furtive look towards the sidelines.
Following his gaze, Viktor was shocked to see the blatant sheepishness displayed on Yuri’s face.
His cheeks were violently pink, the same way they were whenever Yuuri praised him on his step sequences.
“But if you expect me to apologize for getting Yura to do my dirty work, so to speak, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Yuuri continued, with an easily discernible shake in his voice. “You were so excited about your idea, and your story is brilliant…so after seeing how those strangers’ comments made you feel so insecure, the idea of sitting idly by was unbearable!”
His eyes started to shine and despite himself, Viktor felt his own begin to swim with tears; the sheer feeling conveyed in Yuuri's words mirrored the occasion during which he’d let him read his final draft.
Viktor had been surprised at how nervous he’d felt, beforehand.
But upon reflection, it made sense: it was Yuuri's opinion that mattered most to him.
Plus, there’d been the needling voice that had popped up every now and then as he’d worked on the story, reminding him that his Yuuri was so smart and had done tons of writing while studying in university. He’d told Viktor over and over again that it didn’t matter to him that he’d never gone to college, and that intelligence was measured by so many other things than the receipt of a baccalaureate degree printed on stiff paper, and emblazoned with a fancy crest.
And he believed Yuuri…
Mostly.8
But Viktor couldn’t deny how full his heart had felt when he’d seen how his husband grew genuinely excited as he read…how he’d laughed or gasped at all the right parts, and had even underlined or made comments of praise on the physical print-out.
He’d managed to captivate Yuuri with something besides his skating, and it’d felt so incredibly good.
Because, in truth, the part of Viktor that was used to adulation due to the reputation and career that preceded him still found it hard to believe that there were other things about him that people might be drawn to.
“Those…those idiots who wrote those mean things, they’ve probably never tried doing anything creative, themselves,” Yuuri went on, the hold on his hand tightening with each ardent word. “Because if they had, they’d know how crushing it is to pour time and thought into something, only for it to be torn apart by anonymous people, online. People who don’t know a single thing about you, or the validation that even a “Living Legend” yearns for.”
Viktor allowed his tears to spill over at the sight of his air quotes around the phrase that they both had such a complex relationship to: Living Legend.
Well, shit.
This question had certainly not gone the way he’d been expecting.
He’d written a story that was largely comprised of crack-y antics; in one scene, he’d detailed how a quad jump-off between Yuri and the tornado-like Tasmanian Devil had completely derailed when the latter had gone past the standard four rotations, achieving not only a quintuple toe-loop, but making Yuri faint with envy in the process.
As such, Viktor had thought this inquiry would give them both a few laughs, and they’d move onto question 6 in just a minute or two.
But as had happened during his own turn in the hot-seat, he and Yuuri were suddenly both dabbing at their cheeks with tissues, and Andressa was signaling for the filming crew to give them a break.
Phichit, Yuri, and Otabek seemed to realize they needed a moment alone, so they just contented themselves with huddling together and shooting increasingly worried looks their way.
“Are you mad at me?” Yuuri whispered, his voice wobbling in a way that made Viktor’s heart painfully clench.
He let out a teary laugh in response and brought Yuuri’s head down to rest upon his shoulder so that he could hold him properly.
“My silly, loving Yuranya,” Viktor replied in a hush. “How could I possibly be mad at you for this? I suspected, after all, but to actually hear you talk about why, it’s…”
“...it’s healing.”
Yuuri's tentative “It is? Really?” made him tighten his hold.
“Of course it is,” Viktor choked out a little brokenly, finding that he wasn’t as ashamed around his weepy display of emotion as he thought he’d be; he was much too happy to care.
“You supporting me by getting Yura of all people to go apeshit on my behalf? You b-believing in me when I was so excited about something other than skating…how could it not be?”
Then again, it helped that Yuuri was sniffling equally loudly.
Even before Viktor had made the realization, it was Yuuri that had connected the dots to see that the process of writing fanfic had been more than just a fun exercise. It had been yet another installment of Viktor's post-retirement endeavor to try new things without the weight of expectation, or fear of failure.
He’d found it unexpectedly liberating, and they’d even toyed with the idea of jointly writing and roleplaying a story, together.
“Well, it’s pretty easy to believe in you, you know,” his husband mumbled, leaning back just a bit so that they were looking at one another. “You’re incredible.”
The praise filtered through to his ears, and elation tugged at Viktor’s nerve endings.
How could Yuuri just say things like that?! Like the sentiment came so easily?
At a loss for words, Viktor clung to him once again and over his shoulder, he could see that Yuri had moved just a short distance away from Phichit and Otabek. There was a restless energy about him, and as soon as their gazes met, Yuri jerked his head in the opposite direction, looking embarrassed.
A surge of fondness swelled in Viktor’s chest, and he disentangled himself from Yuuri. It might not be pretty (and he’d likely sustain a punch if he tried to hug him), but right now, there was someone else that also deserved his gratitude.
…
“Aghh! Bozhe moy!9 It h-hurts, Yusha,” Viktor gasped through a laugh as he clutched at his stomach with one hand, and fumbled for the Makka tissue box holder with the other.
It was a small consolation that Yuuri was equally red-faced and fighting for breath, as they’d already been told off once before by Jacari. The frazzled makeup artist had basically given up at this point on making sure their foundation looked even, or hiding the tear tracks on their cheeks.
Yuuri had eventually gotten so tired of pushing his glasses up to wipe at his eyes that he’d set them down on the table somewhere around question 10 (“Particularly relevant in light of the fact that we’ve been watching and weeping over the final season of the reboot, you mentioned in your Elle Japan interview last month that one of your favorite anime characters is Sohma Ayame, from Fruits Basket. If I may be so vain, I’d like to think I greatly resemble him, perhaps not in terms of grandiosity of language, but at least somewhat in appearance. That being said, do you think you’d love me more if I had enthralling gold eyes like Ayame?”).
“Seventy-five percent of the way th-through,” Viktor managed to rasp, looking down at the tear-smudged sheet.
Ah, yes…question 16.
Hopefully, this one wouldn’t get him into trouble later. Considering that the incident of note had taken place over seven years ago, it felt like fair game.
“Ok, baby, number 16,” Viktor announced, torn between wanting to catch Phichit’s eye and respecting his sense of self-preservation.
“At the 2014 Sochi Olympic Games, you were an alternate for Team Japan, and thus traveled to Russia with the rest of your teammates in case you were needed to skate. Once it became clear that you wouldn’t have the chance, you were expected to board a flight back to Detroit to continue training remotely under your former coach, Celestino Cialdini and his various assistant coaches. This was, of course, so that you’d be prepared for the 2014 World Championships.”
Yuuri sucked a noticeably loud breath in and the very faint sound of alarm bells began clanging in Viktor’s head.
He ignored it, however, shoring up his sense of resolve; with only four “true” questions remaining – considering that the last was a standard one that everyone was asked – he had a limited number of opportunities to catch Yuuri in a lie.
“However, the evening before you were due to fly back, you informed Celestino that you’d contracted some kind of “highly allergic viral infection– ” (air-quotes were a non-negotiable, here) “ –and would need to remain in Sochi for an extra week on bed rest. And, of course, quarantined to your own room, as per the Olympic Village medical team’s advice. Given that Celestino had a number of other athletes he was responsible for in Russia, he didn’t bother to follow up on the veracity of this ghastly infection, and took your word for it.”
At this point, Phichit wasn’t even attempting to hide his mirth, and Viktor's former worries around his self-preservation instincts summarily fled; Yuuri was now glaring daggers at them both, his icy stare competing for attention with the increasingly loud warning of Abort! Abort! ricocheting around in Viktor’s head.
“Given that Celestino had a packed schedule for the remainder of the week, your assigned Team Japan chaperone agreed to send him daily updates about your condition, but as the week proceeded, it seemed that these notices were few and far between,” he went on, not even sure if he was actually trying to hide the upturn of his mouth anymore.
“Moreover, unusual rumors circulated around some of the nightlife events in the Village – specifically, events I was in attendance at – around sightings of a certain irresistibly magnetic, poodle-loving but elusive athlete named…”
Viktor stopped, struggling to keep his lips clamped together in order to contain his laughter.
Really, Yuuri's lack of creativity around his incognito identity in Sochi was pretty astonishing. Based on the pictures he had emailed Phichit all those years ago – pictures that Phichit had dutifully held onto, for…blackmail purposes? – it paralleled Yuuri's equally hilarious lack of effort in disguising his true appearance.
With only a cheap wig, colored contacts, and slightly different manner of dress, it was almost like he’d wanted to be caught.
“ –named Katsura Youji– ”
Here, Viktor made the mistake of catching Otabek’s eye.
It was probably the rarity of seeing that particular expression on Otabek's face – nostrils flaring and lips twitching in a clear effort not to laugh – that made him lose it.
Viktor's long ponytail whipped against the table as he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking, freely.
He and Yuuri had, of course, exchanged stories about the Sochi Games before, but it wasn’t until the drunken revelry after this year’s World Championships that Viktor had learned of his husband’s adorable ruse to…well, not meet him, per se.
“Catch a glimpse of him in the flesh and maybe work up the nerve to exchange pleasantries if they happened to be dancing in the same vague area” seemed like the more plausible goal.
Granted, Yuuri Youji had only dared to prowl the Village on two different nights – apparently, it had taken him a full four days to figure out how to track down where he would be – but he’d left a sizable impression behind, nonetheless.
Had Viktor been more sober (and the other partygoers less self-involved), he might have been able to meet his soulmate nearly two years earlier! In the weeks after Phichit’s post-World’s banquet revelation, he’d pouted almost constantly about it, but had made up his mind to save asking Yuuri about the ploy until this very moment.
Phichit had reassured him that Celestino was aware of the charade by now, and he’d been comforted by the thought that he didn’t have to worry about getting Yuuri in trouble with his former coach.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Yuuri loudly replied, apparently unwilling to wait for him to actually ask the obvious.
Viktor was relieved to hear that he didn’t sound mad around the reveal, and in fact, there was a ghost of a laugh in his voice.
“Katsura Youji may have sorta-tried-to-but-not-really shoot his shot with his lifelong idol at the 2014 Games, but at least he stayed within his own ethnicity category,” Yuuri went on, bringing him up short in his laughing fit.
Viktor stilled, his spine stiffening.
Uh oh…
“The same can’t be said of one Nikaidou Biito trying to sneak into the Team Japan dormitory at the PyeongChang Games,” Yuuri dryly remarked, a statement that preceded a veritable explosion of sound in the form of Yuri, Phichit and Otabek howling with laughter.
Damnit.
Viktor had actually forgotten about that. Developing the ‘Biito’ alias had definitely been one of his more harebrained ideas…
But really, what had Yakov (and the International Olympic Committee) been expecting? That Viktor would have just calmly agreed to sleep without his then-fiance for weeks, without even a bit of scheming?! The idea that he would have just taken the archaic separate quarters rule lying down flew in the face of everything he held dear.
“Yuuushaaaa,” Viktor whined, though a smile flitted around his lips (which became harder to fight when Yuuri reached out to begin playing with the ends of his ponytail).
“Vityaaaaa,” Yuuri responded in a matching tone, before delightedly glancing over to where their friends still seemed to be in hysterics. “It was a shame that Nikaidou-san’s charm didn’t work on the Team Japan dorm security staff."
Viktor pretended to sulk for a bit before an alternate question popped into his head.
“Since I didn’t get to ask the actual question, I’ll ask this one, instead,” he spoke up, tipping his head to rest it on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Do you think it was Nikaido-san’s rudimentary Japanese that gave his true identity away?”
His husband immediately laughed, but then softened the gesture with a kiss to his cheek.
“No, honey, I don’t think that was the issue.”
Viktor immediately looked to Funmi, turning his best puppy-dog eyes on her.
She laughed and began to nod.
“He’s telling the truth.”
Viktor would have been lying if he’d said he didn’t feel some relief at this confirmation; especially in the earlier days of their relationship, he’d worried that he wasn’t learning Japanese fast enough, and particularly during those hectic months in the first half of the 2017-2018 season, he’d had to drop his language study almost entirely while getting ready for the Games.
“I remember – or rather, rumor has it – that Nikaidou-san’s Japanese was actually very impressive,” Yuuri went on. “I think it was more the fact that, at one point, he was nodding his head with such vigorous excitement that his very convincing wig slipped off, revealing a distinctly silver head of hair…much to everyone’s complete surprise.”
They looked at one another and burst into giggles.
“I still remember how mad Yakov was,” Yuri could now be heard telling Kariesha, and it made Viktor remember how he had insisted on taking a picture of him Biito, “for whenever Yakov thinks I’m the most unreasonable one”.
Viktor wiped his eyes (again) and sat upright as memories of Yakov's dangerously-puce complexion surfaced.
“Speaking of: Yakov, if you end up watching this, Nikaidou-san misses you greatly and can’t wait to see you in a few weeks!” he crowed, waving eagerly at the cameras.
Ever since his March 2019 retirement, Yakov had committed to visiting him and Yuuri in Japan at least once a year, and this summer’s reunion would be a larger Yubileyny one, as in addition to Yuri being present, Mila, Georgi and their significant others (Sara, and Georgi’s wife, Aviva) would be flying in as well for the 1 week vacation home stay in Okinawa.
Viktor cleared his throat.
“On to question 17: Over the 2018 off-season, Versace – the Italian haute couture fashion colossus we all know and love – made the best decision in its entire company history by choosing my Yuuri as their new brand ambassador, for which they developed their best-selling Eros Flame cologne.”
Jacari and a few others wolf-whistled, making Yuuri's cheeks turn the exact vermilion hue of the sleek fragrance bottle in question.
“The two of us promoted the launch via a pretty sensuous marketing campaign that went public towards the latter part of that year,” Viktor continued, feeling that ‘sensuous’ was a somewhat mild descriptor.
The Versace development team had blatantly told Yuuri that they’d wanted to embody the “intense rapture” that was “so emblematic” of the routine, and even after the subsequent years of doing joint photo shoots, filming music videos, and just generally taking on media appearances together, that particular campaign would always stand out in Viktor’s memory for pushing the limits on their “seductive power couple” persona.
It had been thrilling, and also slightly embarrassing, though moreso for Yuuri than for him. They’d both sort of wanted to die when Nikolai Plisetsky had complimented them on “their passionate chemistry”, which had made Yuri refuse to speak to them for a full 2 days afterwards.
“Yes, that’s true,” Yuuri replied, with an expression that suggested he couldn’t decide on whether to be pleased or embarrassed. “Didn’t you keep the final photo proof as your phone background for something like half a year, even though I’d asked you at least a million times to change it?”
“Ugh, I remember that,” Yuri called out, dispiritedly, just as Viktor made his retort.
“Excuse me, anata, I believe I am the one asking the questions!” he countered, after which Yuuri mimed zipping his lips.
“Anyways, needless to say, the whole thing was an indisputable success, and this was despite your assertion at one point that ‘it probably wouldn’t sell all that well, at all’,” Viktor continued, making sure that the cameras caught his very pronounced eye-roll. “In fact…”
He felt a bit like a cat, skulking around in the shadows and waiting for the best moment to pounce. Making a big show of laying the paper down slowly, he brought the tips of his fingers together like some kind of villain in his ridiculous basement lair, prompting Yuuri to raise an amused eyebrow.
“...isn’t it true that once your parents began spraying this signature scent around Yu-topia’s common areas, that visitor rates to the onsen tripled over the next six months? And, in fact, didn’t this prompt other Hasetsu business owners to do the same, to the point that sales of Eros Flame in Saga Prefecture actually began to rival sales in other, much more populated parts of the country?”
His husband crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked away before mumbling something that sounded like “...told them how creepy that was”.
Viktor could barely keep from basking in the glow of this (highly, highly reluctant) admission.
He wasn’t above commandeering this media appearance to drive home a point of persuasion for his endearingly stubborn Yuuri; Versace had approached him two weeks ago about developing yet another scent (to commemorate the end of his career), but, much like last time around, Yuuri had expressed doubts around how well it’d do.
Viktor had off-handedly mentioned this to Mari-neechan, and she’d actually been the one to suggest working in a relevant question, today. It was their hope that the anticipated fan commentary on Eros Flame might help Yuuri realize that there was still very much interest in anything that he’d be involved in, whether cologne-focused or otherwise.
“What was that, Yuranya? I failed to catch your reply!” Viktor sunnily proclaimed, unsurprised at the glare this elicited.
“I said that I’d told okaasan several times that it was creepy to make the entire onsen smell like that,” Yuuri grumbled, his face looking like it was glowing.
It was irresistibly cute.
Even still, Viktor prided himself on his trollish tendencies.
“So is that a yes to my question?” he asked, making his voice sugary-sweet.
Yuuri very composedly put his glasses back on, and then nimbly picked up the Makka tissue box holder to whack him on the top of the head, once, twice, and then three times.
“Yes, Vitya, yes to both of your shameless inquiries,” he answered, with a bit of a weary note in his voice.
Even with his hair now disastrously disheveled, Viktor whooped with jubilation, and only hoped that their fans would take care of the rest in terms of persuading Yuuri about the second fragrance line.
“Question 18: it’s common knowledge by now that thanks to Minako’s unhinged bartending practices during our Hasetsu wedding reception, the both of us made several drunken and, as some might say, risque declarations of love as the night went on.”
Yuuri face-palmed but nodded, begrudgingly.
“The next morning, I asked you if okaasan, tousan, or neechan had been embarrassed by our behavior. Immediately, you said ‘no’, and that they were all just happy that we were so happy.”
Viktor hesitated, wondering if his eyes would give away just how important this question was to him.
The Katsukis had never said or done anything to imply that they’d lied, or had asked Yuuri to lie to him on their behalf…indeed, they truly did seem content around any and all aspects of their relationship, as long as Yuuri was.
But Viktor wasn’t oblivious; when it came to Japanese relationship norms, he was a good deal more uninhibited than was typical, and the social media comments claiming that he wasn’t “Japanese enough” for Yuuri, or that his/their PDA “must be so embarrassing for the Katsukis and all of the traditionally minded people in Hasetsu”…
It grated on his insecurities, sometimes.
Viktor was confident in many aspects of life, but he was also human.
And the opinions of everyone in Hasetsu, all the people that shaped Yuuri into the man he was today, meant a great deal to him. Viktor had a nonexistent relationship with his own parents, so the idea of doing anything to alienate the family he’d found such belonging with was devastating.
As such, his voice sounded a bit small when he uttered the question.
“Were you telling the truth? They really weren’t ashamed of m–, of how I acted?”
Thankfully, Viktor had caught himself before saying ‘me’.
Yuuri’s body language changed so quickly, it was a wonder he didn’t get whiplash.
In a gesture that he would later reflect upon with awe (and an appreciation for irony, given the nature of the question), his husband whipped his head up from his face-palm stance and practically dove to hug him. His chair made a terrible screeching sound against the floor as he forced it closer to Viktor’s own, and Yuri actually hissed aloud.
“What?! No!” Yuuri cried, actually shaking him a bit from the force with which he was clinging. “Never, Viten’ka, they could never be ashamed of you.”
His tone was vehement and the force behind it burned.
“They adore you, and I’m certain that the day you officially became part of our family – I say ‘officially’ with emphasis because you’ve been part of our family long before our wedding – was probably the happiest day of my parents’ lives, aside from the day their kids were born,” Yuuri went on.
Funmi’s whispered cooing was just audible enough, and Viktor turned towards her for confirmation.
“He’s telling the truth. No doubt,” she said, with a kind smile.
Viktor faced Yuuri head-on, and after noting that he was eyeing him with worry, aimed a wan smile in his direction. It was the best he could do, given the jumble of emotions fighting for space in his heart.
“As for neechan…the happiest day of her life was the day that Minako-sensei finally agreed to let her quit ballet, so we can go ahead and declare our wedding day as the second-happiest one of her life,” Yuuri quipped, some of the ferocity on his face lessening.
This afterthought caught him off-guard, and quite involuntarily, Viktor’s smile turned genuine. The cocktail of Yuuri's reassurance and humor began to fizz through his veins, easing the tightness in his chest, and making him feel so much lighter.
As he looked into his favorite pair of eyes, it registered that there was nothing there but pure honesty.
Suddenly, he was almost bowled over by the sheer certainty of Yuuri’s reply; God, he was lucky.
Viktor leaned in a bit, hoping his unspoken request for a kiss would be granted, but loud sniffling in their periphery caught his attention before he could follow up. For once, it seemed that someone else had succumbed to tears before they had.
“Awww, Phichit, it’s ok,” Viktor called out, wanting to laugh a bit at how uncomfortable Otabek looked with the other man crying freely against his shoulder.
He was patting the top of Phichit’s head, gingerly, in a stiff-looking “there, there” gesture.
Given the limited options – Yuri probably would have tried to stab him if he’d tried crying on him, instead – it seemed that Phichit was doing the best with what he had.
“Phichit-kun, do you want a hug?” Yuuri called out, keeping an arm around him but extending his other one out.
But Phichit waved him off, and Viktor really did laugh when he saw that Phichit was now pulling Dua Sleep-a – the hamster plushie that he’d named after his favorite pop singer – from his backpack. He gave them a teary grin and then proceeded to smush his face against her sewn-on microphone.
Now convinced that he really was ok, Viktor exhaled a long breath. It sort of felt like he’d just gotten off a dizzying roller coaster, and as glad as he was that he’d included the question that often nagged at his most raw, ragged edges, he was now thanking his past self for having decided to end things on a lighter note.
He turned to his husband, wondering if he was also feeling slightly wrung out. Perhaps they’d take their chances and get someone else to drive once things wrapped up so that they could nap in the backseat.
Almost as if reading his mind, Yuuri whispered quietly to him in Russian.
“You alright, Viten'ka? Want to take a break before the end?”
But Viktor shook his head, feeling much more like himself. Once they had a moment alone they could talk about it, and he made a mental note to bring it up in his next therapy session.
“Just one more question, moya rybka,” he announced, prompting Yuuri to ease his hold on him.
He remained close and didn’t move his chair away, but there was now a slight distance between them.
“Apart from that one standard question that everyone gets asked, we are now at the end,” he stated, looking again to Funmi. “Funmi, before I read out question 19, could you remind everyone of my Yuuri’s lies to truths ratio?”
She nodded and held up two fingers.
“So Yuuri is slightly more honest than you are, Viktor, or…at least so far. Out of the 18 total questions asked, he was caught in a lie twice, meaning he tells the truth 89 percent of the time. Pretty good, I’d say.”
Yuuri aimed a slightly fearful look in Phichit’s direction – presumably, due to the worry that he might reveal a similarly scandalous anecdote about him as he’d done during Viktor’s turn – but the coast seemed to be clear: Phichit was still holding onto Dua Sleep-a as tightly as ever, and was chatting quietly with Yuri and Kariesha.
“Not bad at all,” Yuuri mused, with a knowing glance at him. “It would seem that I, too, am ‘a public figure of stunning integrity’.”
Viktor laughed to hear his own words echoed back at him.
“I have never doubted that, Yuranya,” he emphatically stated, before looking down at the last printed question.
“Question 19: in your interview last month with Golden Skate, you were asked if there was anything special your fans could do to honor you during your final competitive season. For example: maybe you want them to throw certain plushies onto the ice after your performances, or for Mizuno to develop a specially designed warm-up jacket for you, or to work with Versace on a new fragrance…”
He let his voice peter out and donned an expectant look, grinning when Yuuri tried to pinch him.
“But your response was, as usual, very sweet and humble,” Viktor went on, remembering how he’d felt both extremely enamored as well as just the slightttttest bit frustrated when he’d heard his reply.
Even after so many years of backbreaking work and commitment, Yuuri was hesitant to ask for things, and sometimes Viktor wanted nothing more than to shake him, feverishly, begging for him to make just one outlandish, lavish request.
A Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov Level of Boasting and Flaunting type request…something that captured the general “hyping yourself up” sentiment of: “Actually, I am amazing, and I deserve good things! Lots of them!”
Of course, there was also an equal part of Viktor that adored how truly humble Yuuri was; we really do balance one another out, he thought, fondly, as he made to continue.
“You said that you wanted all of your supporters not to be too sad about this chapter coming to a close, and that you wanted everyone to remember that it’s only because of all the love and support you’ve received that you made it this far,” Viktor read off, pleased to hear how Otabek and a few others began to clap.
Predictably, his husband began to blush, smiling shyly.
“Now, while I am in no way doubting that you really meant that, I wanted to take this opportunity to ask: is that all you want? Meaning: are you absolutely, positively sure that there’s nothing else that your fans, sponsors, and all of the many people who love and root for you can give you to show how much you mean to them?”
A stretched-out silence followed his words, and Viktor felt a thrill of delight when he saw how Yuuri shot a furtive look in Funmi’s direction.
Aha!
So there was something, after all.
“Vityaaa,” Yuuri then whined, before beckoning him to move his head closer, presumably so they had some privacy to talk.
“It’s ok, anata,” Viktor murmured, interlacing their fingers. “Whatever it is that’s running through your head right now, just say it. You deserve it, even if you think you don’t. I promise you that.”
“Come on, Katsudon! Whatever you ask for I can guarantee you that it’s probably a million times more reasonable than anything your geezer husband would answer with,” Yuri called out, making everyone giggle. “Don’t forget: you married a peacock!”
“He’s right, Yuuri!” Phichit now shouted, making Viktor whip his head around to look at him in betrayal. “Just go ahead and say it! That is…as long as it’s not some freaky sex thing!”
They made twin noises of outrage – Viktor was the only one allowed to hear such lascivious requests! – and then Yuuri was throwing the Makka tissue box holder in their general direction.
“Why would you say something like that?! It’s not freaky at all!” Yuuri squawked in protest before giving an exasperated sigh.
“Ok, fine! I’m almost afraid to hear what Otabek might chime in with, so I’ll go ahead and admit that I might have thought about what it’d be like to skate with golden blades in my final season…blades like the ones you’ve always worn, Vitya.”
Viktor froze, feeling like the breath had been punched out of his lungs.
“I mean, it doesn’t have to be the same exact style, obviously,” Yuuri rushed to say, completely misinterpreting his silence.
Yet again, here was incontrovertible proof of his and Yuuri's innate connection!
Ever since his spouse had made his retirement announcement last month, Viktor had racked his brain for some kind of gift he could give him to commemorate their last season working together. The visual of Yuuri skating at the Beijing Games while wearing a set of gold blades – emblazoned with the word ‘champion’ in Cyrillic on one side, and in kanji on the other – had actually come to him in a dream.
They were still in the process of being made, and wouldn’t be ready for another month or so, but to hear the words actually tumble out of Yuuri’s mouth…
For the millionth time in the last few hours, Viktor’s eyes grew wet.
And perfectly round, too, in a moment reminiscent of when he’d heard his then-fiance ask for him to stay in competitive skating as his coach for one more year.
He moved in a blur of euphoria, plastering Yuuri’s arms to his sides as he gripped him in a hug that nearly pushed him out of his chair.
“It’s fate!” Viktor exclaimed, not bothering to modulate his volume. “My champion, my amazing Yusha! I was going to wait to tell you once they were finished, but now I’m too excited!”
Yuuri made a noise of confusion within his iron-hold, and Viktor re-angled his head so that he’d be able to see his face when he said the words.
“They’re already being made, anata: golden blades, and I’m getting them engraved so it reads ‘champion’ in both Japanese and Russian,” he said, the words coming out in a breathless rush of excitement. “They’ll be ready in a month, and I know you’ll look so stunning wearing them.”
His husband’s eyes widened as the news sunk in, and then they, too, were brimming with warmth and surprise and awe.
Viktor vaguely registered that Yuri was loudly reminding them that they still had one last question to go, but he couldn’t be bothered to divert his attention from Yuuri’s captivating gaze.
Everything narrowed to the way they moved in unison to press their foreheads together, and pride thrummed throughout the entire extent of his body to the very tips of his fingers. He recognized how hard it must have been for Yuuri to admit that this was what he wanted, but his amazing Yuranya had said it aloud anyway: in his last season, he wanted his external appearance to match what everyone already knew.
That he was a champion, through and through.
End.
Footnotes:
1. If you like hurt/comfort stories (specifically, one where Viktor is the one hurt and Yuuri is doing the comforting), you might enjoy part 2 of my Olympics fic series, which delves into Viktor’s insecurities around this transition
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2. I couldn’t find a clip of this online (criminal!), but the thing I’m talking about – which I’m sure most fans know about, anyway – is from the 4 minute, 38 second mark of episode 1
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3. Romanized version of the Russian term of endearment translating to “teddy bear”. This endearment is gendered male
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3. As you might be able to tell from the use of ‘moya’ as opposed to ‘moy’, this is a female-gendered Russian endearment (the romanized version), but neither Viktor nor Yuuri care at all for gender conventions. I have always head-canoned that Viktor identifies as genderfluid, anyway – an identity he feels able to fully embrace post-retirement – so they use any and all pet names for one another. This particular one literally translates to “fishlet” (little fish), but is taken to mean ‘baby’
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5. Romanized version of the Russian endearment translating to “my good girl” and often said to pets. This endearment is gendered female
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6. This Japanese term of endearment is probably one you’ve heard in other anime, though from what I understand, it’s a bit old-fashioned. Japanese wives will use it to refer to their husbands in a way that is similar to the English endearment ‘dear’
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7. I’m actually a bit tempted to write a fic with this very premise (i.e. Viktor, Yuuri, and Yurio being asked to star in the Space Jam sequel), because could you imagine the kinds of chaos that might ensue if our favorite characters had to share a screen with the likes of Foghorn Leghorn? Also, in that one scene where Charles Barkley is bargaining with God for his talent to come back (i.e. “I’ll never go out with Madonna again”), I can see a direct parallel to Mickey Crispino, promising “I’ll never think of my sister like that ever again” LOL
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8. I headcanon that Viktor might feel inferior every now and then as compared to his brilliant, degree-holding husband, so if that sounds like something you’d be interested in reading about, check out my Tumblr post
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9. Romanized version of the Russian expression translating to “Oh my god!”
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